Gabriel
Chapter One

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Just east of Denver, Colorado
September 5, 2001
5:07 p.m.


The clickety-clack of the train beneath his feet
acted as a sedative, its repetitive motion
lulling him into a light doze.  But he wouldn't
relinquish all of his faculties to sleep; he'd
learned during the first trip in July that the
nights were cold - and the men he worked with
were no better than common thieves.

He'd gotten some funny looks that first day from
the mostly t-shirt clad group on the train
platform as he stood there sweating in his
jacket.  It didn't take long for them to realize
that the night air was thinner and much colder
as they'd plunged deeper into the Rockies.  Just
as within the first week, he found himself
attacked while he slept.  All for the warmth of
fleece-lined Gore-tex.  Good thing the foreman
had chosen that moment to take a leak, seeing
the scuffle in the tent next door and firing a
round from his pistol to break up the fight.

Though his pay was cut by half that week - the
company didn't like troublemakers.  He was
warned that the next time he incited the men, he
was gone.  Dropped off the train in the middle
of nowhere.  So long, sucker.  Protestations of
his innocence fell on deaf ears; after a brief
moment of past insolence that rose unbidden, he
realized it was better just to keep his mouth
shut and his eyes open.

These days, he caught catnaps when he could, the
knife he got from the cook in exchange for his
only pair of socks tucked and ready in his belt,
plainly displayed for all to see.  His left hand
curled around its handle, he'd used it several
times to ward off threats.  Guns were a luxury
enjoyed by the company's goons who made sure the
grunts did the work.

Right now, he didn't know which he would prefer
- the knife or the socks.  The days weree getting
cooler as well, and his feet suffered constantly
with blisters from the heavy boots.  They were a
damn good pair of socks, too, he thought.  Made
for protection from the cold and given to him by
the Colonel before he left.

He could see it mirrored in his friend's eyes,
silently shared - a memory of dainty feet
hanging from the back of a delivery van.  Of him
slipping socks over those painted toes like
Cinderella slippers... of her teeth-chattering
smile and beaming blue eyes, relieved and filled
with the joy of freedom.

Sky blue, like the vast expanse outside the
window to his right, marred only by the smears
of dust on the glass.  He saw her in everything. 
In the red fire of the sunset and the pale white
of the heat lightning at night.  Heard her sighs
in the wind that stirred his hair and felt her
breath in the sun on his face.

Touched her skin every time he dreamed, waking
with hot, silent tears squeezed through grime-
laden eyelids.  Her loss hurt him still; sharp,
piercing pain that he assuaged only with the
slam of his pick into the soil.

Questions filled his mind again, but he refused
to let them surface.  Only when she could answer
would he ask.

"Comin' up on Denver, boys.  Grab what ya need. 
You know the drill."

The foreman's voice made him look away from the
rolling landscape to reach under his seat for
his backpack.  He'd accumulated a collection of
useful things in his travels; some, courtesy of
the company.  Blanket, canteen, flashlight and
two-way radio for communication in the holes. 
But those were simply necessary.  He'd bartered
some of his pay for what he knew he'd eventually
need most - packs of beef jerky, matches, and
other odds and ends that would serve him well
once he made the break.

*If* he ever made the break.  Shaking off the
dire thought, he rose from his seat as the train
slowed to a stop.

He *would* make the break.  He had no other
choice but to believe that.


Undisclosed Location
West Virginia Mountains
April 7, 2001
3:50 a.m.


The floor was cold at his back, in sharp
contrast to the hot, searing pain in his chest. 
Sticky, iron-scented blood seeped through his
fingers as he cried her name.

"Scully!"

Over and over, through the miasma of disbelief,
he kept on, scrambling to his knees as the cold
air rushed in through the open door.  "Damn it,
stop!  Scully!"

The far off hum of machinery reached his ears
and he crawled toward it, finally getting his
feet under him as the slap of boots against the
concrete floors came from the other direction. 
Shouts of alarm from the far end of the bare
hall didn't stop him.  Though the blood that
flowed from him seemed to drain him and he
staggered, bracing himself on the wall for
support.

"Scully!"

Blinding light came from the open door just ten
yards away, and a sudden inrush of diesel-laced
air assaulted his naked body.  The hum became
louder and more mechanically menacing, but he
kept on, forcing his legs to move.

"Mulder, stop!"

It was Frohike's voice, more demanding than he'd
ever thought possible.  Coming from close behind
now, followed by a stream of salty curses.

Almost there, he was almost there.  He had to
get to her, to stop her.  Dizziness made his
head swim; he knew the blood loss was catching
up with him fast.

A warm hand wrenched him down, just as a bullet
zinged past his head.  Then more, and more,
seeming to ricochet off the walls to pierce his
skin.  But he wasn't hit, was he?  He didn't
know anymore.  Scully hadn't shot him, had she? 
Why couldn't he feel his arm?

"Shit!"  Frohike again.  What the hell was going
on?  "Get down, get down!"

More gunfire criss-crossed the hall before
Mulder's glazed eyes as he slumped down the
wall.  Must have really taken a hit this time,
was his last thought before he slipped into
unconsciousness.

     
Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 5, 2001
6:15 p.m.


"Fuckin' K-whores," Jesse growled, as he threw
his blanket next to Mulder's in the tent. 
"You'd think they could at least give us a tent
without a fuckin' hole in it."

Gabriel grimaced at the moth-eaten tent, but
said nothing.  He'd seen better and he'd seen
worse.  At least he hadn't seen a rattlesnake,
like the ones that loved to seek shade in their
tent outside Albuquerque.

Jesse was fairly new; they'd picked him up in
Reno a month ago at the start of their rotation
there.  He was built like a steamroller and had
a big mouth, 'K-whores' mumbled at every
opportunity, whether it be at the beans and ham
for dinner, or the warm beer on Saturday night. 
Like everyone else, though, he didn't complain
too loudly.  The company wanted 'K' - as
krycekite came to be known as - and they didn't
care who dug it up.  And while not the easiest
way to make money these days, it was the
fastest.  If you survived the contract.

"We don't start til the mornin'," he said to
Gabriel, finally satisfied with the placement of
his blanket.  "Wanna check out the town?"

Gabriel shook his head, avoiding eye contact. 
"Nah.  Think I'll just get something to eat and
sack out.  I need to check the lists again."  An
hour's leave wouldn't be enough to do all the
searching he planned on doing; he'd get a fresh
start early Sunday morning.

"The lists?"  The big man's tone was
incredulous.  "Who you lookin' for anyway?"

The 'lists' were posted weekly on the Internet,
which thrived now that the Administration's
clamp on electronic communication was gone. 
Rolls of the found, those who resurfaced still,
looking for lost loved ones.  A shot in the
dark, really - but one thing the people refused
to give up on was hope.

The only drawback was the lack of computers; 
the former Administration had confiscated
hardware in an effort to quell cohesive
organization of the Resistance.  It hadn't
worked, of course; the new world was proof of
that.  Now, only a privileged few had access,
but the numbers of computers were growing. 
Gabriel did what many others in the crew did -
sacrificed part of his pay to the foreman for
use of his laptop once a week.  It was worth it; 
the only way he could keep up with his loosely
scattered friends was through the newsgroup the
Colonel had set up before he set out on the road
as well.

Months had gone by with no word - yet.  He was
confident that they would succeed.  There was
really no other option.

"I'm just looking," he told Jesse.  "Never know
who you might find."

Jesse was okay, he supposed.  Might be a big
blowhard, but Gabriel could tell he didn't have
a sneaky bone in his body.  He didn't *have* to
sneak around and thieve like the rest.  With his
almost seven foot tall frame and biceps the size
of a defensive lineman, he had proven to be a
valuable commodity to the company.  He could
lift three times the weight of a normal man. 
Still didn't mean he got a bed to sleep in, but
he got a bit more of everything else there was
to be had.  And he'd taken a liking to Gabriel,
that much he knew.

The setting sun cast a burnished sheen to
Jesse's forehead beneath the close cut scalp and
his teeth, when he smiled, were bright in the
dim tent.  "Man, you need to get out more.  Cut
off that skanky hair and get rid of that shit on
your face.  There might be *women* in that town
over there.  And if I *ever* seen anybody that
needs to get laid, it's you."

At that, Gabriel let his face loosen into a
grin.  Half-turning, he said in reply, "What
makes you think I'm not getting laid on a
regular basis, huh?"  He went into the nearest
town every Sunday like the rest of the crew did,
but for different reasons.  He'd even visited
some of the same barrooms and whorehouses in an
effort to tamp down some of the suspicion,
though he hadn't availed himself of the female
companionship.  After a few weeks of working
with these men, he discovered there were
definitely a few who preferred any port in a
storm, so to speak.  So far, they'd left him
alone.  Plenty of willing partners in the camp,
and one thing he *didn't* need was a pack of
gorillas thinking he was anything but straight.

Jesse's smile faded.  "You think you foolin'
anybody?  I hear you at night - all that moanin'
about 'Scully.'  Who the hell is Scully, anyway? 
I'da never pegged you for a fag."

At that, Gabriel's face hardened and he looked
away.  "None of your God damned business," he
bit out, cursing himself for allowing the
pitiful yearning of his dreams to give that
tidbit of information away.

"Was she your woman?"

"Shut up, Jesse."  Instinctively, his left hand
went to the knife in his belt.  If he had to, he
wouldn't hesitate to kill the man.

"It ain't no use lookin' for her, you know." 
Jesse's voice was softer now, coming from the
open flap of the tent.  "Believe me, man.  I
know what I'm talkin' about.  She ain't comin'
back."  At Gabriel's silence, he sighed.  "Suit
yourself."  The dust tickled Gabriel's nose,
signaling Jesse's departure.

He relaxed, but not enough to loose the grip on
the knife.  Taking a deep breath, he turned to
make sure Jesse had gone before allowing himself
to sag a bit.

Jesse's words weren't meant to hurt, he knew. 
Though he'd not let himself get close to anyone
in the crew, he had talked to Jesse a few times,
only when the need for human contact overwhelmed
him.  He knew that Jesse had lost his wife and
children to the Invasion; the man had told him
of his search and the day he'd finally realized
they weren't coming home.  How it had made him
cry for once in his life - and how it had freed
him to begin life once again.  Jesse now looked
forward to making a bit of money and settling
down with another woman; this was the first time
he'd pushed Gabriel in the same direction.

It meant the man was getting too close.  Gabriel
knew he'd have to watch his step carefully from
now on.  He didn't need to care about anyone -
didn't want anyone caring about him.  His plans
forbade the emotional attachment of friendship; 
one day, he'd have to make some difficult
decisions and he wanted nothing to interfere.

There was only one thing he wanted.  He walked
to the foreman's tent, purpose in his step. 
Time was wasting; he wanted to make the most of
this little break.


April 7, 2001
En Route to Tennessee
5:35 a.m.


"Keep still."

The hand that laid against his shoulder was firm
and Mulder struggled to escape its painful
pressure as he tried to open his eyes.

"I said, keep still!"  The admonishment was
hissed into his face.

Mulder cracked open his eyes to see Frohike's
face float above him.  He felt the rumble of
tires beneath his back, grimaced at the way the
truck dipped and swayed.  They must be on one of
the mountain passes, he knew.  Skimpy daylight
bled through the cracks in the tarp that
fluttered about them.

Gulping away the cobwebs, he rolled his head
from side to side, taking in the anxious face of
Langly, who crouched at the back end, his gun
barrel steady through the narrow gap in the
covering.  Frohike worked feverishly beside him;
Mulder felt the pressure on his shoulder release
for a second and saw the bloodied pad fly over
Frohike's shoulder.  In seconds, another had
replaced it, and he gasped at the renewed burn
of pain.

Through cracked lips, he formed the question.
"Scully?"

Frohike dropped his eyes to his work.  "Byers is
driving us to Tennessee.  We're gonna be okay,
Mulder."

Tennessee?

"Alternate location.  Gotta hand it to Krycek; 
he had all the bases covered," he said with a
grim laugh.  "We'll be there in a couple of
hours.  I think we lost 'em."

No, he wasn't saying what Mulder most wanted to
hear.  He tried again, this time louder and more
distinct.  "Scully?  Where is Scully?"

"Just settle down, Mulder.  You've lost a lot of
blood."

Mulder gritted his teeth, more so against
Frohike's ignorance of him than the sharp pains. 
He squirmed under the rough wool blanket that
covered his legs and muttered, "God damn it,
Frohike, answer me!"  The movement of the truck,
combined with the fear growing in his stomach,
produced waves of nausea that pushed at his
throat.  He opened his eyes wide, then let them
roll around, looking for some point to fix on. 
But everything was moving too fast; the truck,
the air, the sliding past the subject he most
wanted to speak of.  "Where the hell is Scully?"

Frohike reached past him; Mulder watched his
hand disappear, then come back, fisted around a
syringe.

"No!"  Mulder's left hand rose up to curl around
Frohike's wrist.  Hot, frightened tears welled
up and overflowed down his temples.  "Just tell
me where she is... why won't you tell me?"  His
eyelids drooped shut, the smell of blood and
gunpowder filling his nose with acrid dread.

His friend jerked his wrist from Mulder's grip
and spoke in a soothing tone.  "She's in the
truck behind us, man.  Don't worry."

"Are you sure?" Mulder gritted out, forcing his
eyes to open again, trying to keep Frohike's
face before him.

Frohike loomed over him again, this time with a
vial of clear liquid in his other hand.  Some
sort of sedative or painkiller, Mulder thought
absently.  Hard on the heels of that thought was
another - he didn't answer me.

"Stop the truck.  I want to see her." Frohike
dissolved into an unfocused haze, courtesy of
Mulder's weakening vision.

"Can't, Mulder.  No stopping until we reach the
new bunker."

Anger made his chest tight; the son-of-a-bitch
was lying to him.  "Stop this fucking truck. 
Right now."  His hand flailed in the air and
grabbed hold of Frohike's vest.  Holding on, he
pulled himself to a sitting position, his
adrenaline on its last legs.

"Cool it, Mulder.  You're in no shape -"

Mulder pinned the little man with his gaze,
unblinking and feverish, stopping the excuses in
a frozen instant.  "Stop this truck or I'll
fucking kill you."  His right arm moved up with
some difficulty, and though it was numb, he
brought it up, his fingers curling around
Frohike's throat.  

He wasn't surprised at the threat coming from
his mouth.  He wasn't surprised at anything he
did anymore.  Just as he knew he'd carry through
if he didn't get his way; Scully was more
important to him than anything or anyone.

Frohike tensed under Mulder's hands, the syringe
and vial dropping to the floor as his hands
wrapped around Mulder's arm.  With his dwindling
breath he gasped, "Langly!"

They were lying to him, just as everyone else
had.  Only Scully ever told him the truth, and
she was gone.  But Mulder knew he had a chance
to catch up with her, if they'd only listen to
him.  She can't have gone far; she was in the
mountains somewhere, probably shivering from the
cold and scared out of her mind.

No, she wasn't scared.  Scully never got scared. 
Not like he did - not like he was now.

Frohike's face was beet red, but Mulder paid it
no mind, saying, "I'll kill you, Frohike.  Stop
this truck so I can go after her.  She needs
me."

Langly's pale face appeared in his peripheral
vision and he flinched at the sting, realizing
what they'd done.  "You - Damn it!"  Suddenly,
his leaden arms fell away and he slumped to the
floor once again, feeling the sedative course
through his veins.  "Scully needs me. Frohike,
she - needs -"

His friend's hoarse voice came to him a last
time before he succumbed to sleep.

"She doesn't need you.  She fucking *shot* you,
you fool."


Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 5, 2001
6:42 p.m.


Times were hard, but they were improving.  The
new government consisted of eight territories. 
Though the country was no longer unified in
government, it was understood that unification
was the ultimate goal.  Those left behind to
rebuild had seen the need for a more localized,
immediate way to serve the people - thus, the
territories, each with a governor.

People were encouraged to work, asked to
contribute any way they could.  And most did,
though there were bands of criminals scattered
throughout the land, bent on stealing and
killing to survive.  If one stayed close to a
populated area, then chances were good for
safety and survival.  But safety wasn't what
Gabriel had in mind; the only things he wanted
were a means to move and a method to search.

From the day he heard the announcement over the
grainy television channel, he knew that the
company presented him with the best opportunity
for both.  The call had gone out for able-bodied
men, willing to brave the frontiers of the new
territories in search of unlimited wealth.  It
had taken some time to make ready, and he'd
grown restless waiting for forged papers and
healed flesh.

Despite his friends' understandable worries,
they had joined in his quest, spread out
throughout the new territories, taking jobs with
the company just as he had in an effort to
search and obtain information.  The only contact
they all had with each other was the newsgroup,
and Gabriel sat down at the foreman's table to
check it once again.

There were several new messages on the
newsgroup, more than usual.  His heart leapt for
a second, then quickly quieted as he spied the
subject lines.  One from Byers, labeled 'just
checking in'.  A scan of that one detailed the
weather in upstate New York as 'lovely'. 
Gabriel grunted, wondering if Byers' hands were
as raw as his were right now.  Not likely.

Langly's message was a moaning complaint,
reminiscing about Taco Bell and cursing the
flat-footed 'doofuses' of the Upper Midwest. 
Not a sign of her, and he'd traveled through
several states, hitting the major cities in his
search for a decent hamburger.  Of course, that
wasn't his top priority, he assured them.  The
message fairly reeked with residual fear at the
prospect of an unsatisfied Gabriel.

The Colonel was the only one who told it like it
was, despite having felt that dissatisfaction
first hand.  His message, sent from the Arkansas
caves, was terse and to the point.  I'm doing
the best I can, he stated.  He'd even managed to
impress the company with his computing skills
and was bumped up to the foreman's assistant.  A
position with continuous access to the computer
and a direct line to points throughout the
territories, he had access to information the
others could only dream of.

Gabriel eagerly gobbled up the Colonel's
messages, but so far, there was nothing but
vague descriptions of women who would appear and
then disappear without a trace.  Slender, small,
women with reddish hair and blue eyes - most of
them frightened and alone, putting their
photographs on the network.  Looking for family
members or caretakers, they bartered themselves
for the meager possibility of a new life.

The Colonel knew these women weren't her, but he
forwarded the grainy pictures in a slim hope
that a face that was changed once could be
changed again.  But all it took was one look by
Gabriel and he knew the soul within wasn't hers. 
The Colonel didn't dare post her photograph out
there; if she was being held against her will,
it would be disastrous for it to be known there
was someone looking for her.  They'd find her. 
It would take time, but they would.

Today, there was no photograph.  Just a short,
weary message that stated that the Colonel had
exhausted all known resources.  He'd continue to
check daily for new information, but all that
were alive - which wasn't many - had been
accounted for, as far as the territorial
governors were concerned.  Now more than ever,
they urged the people to take the step forward
into the future.  Leave behind the old and
embrace the new.

With a frustrated sigh, Gabriel scrubbed at his
bristly face.  He wouldn't give up.  It wasn't
his nature to do so, despite the months living
under his father's thumb where he wanted nothing
more than to die.

She'd changed all that.  She'd made him remember
the man he was.  Though now, he was only half of
the whole.  Without her, life would never be the
same.  Hope was all he had left and he refused
to let it go, just as he held on to her with
both hands.

No matter what anyone said.  She was out there,
and he was going to find her.

To save her or kill her, he wasn't sure.


End Chapter One

Gabriel
Chapter Two

Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 15, 2001
8:13 a.m.


Sweat ran in hot rivulets down Gabriel's back,
and the sun beat upon his bare chest with
furious heat.  Despite the cool night before,
the temperature today approached ninety, he was
certain.  At times, he felt as though the pick
was glued to his calloused hands, the wood
melted onto his skin.  But he kept hitting at
the rocks brought up from the mine, breaking
them into smaller pieces for the trip to the
processor beyond the hill.

The first time he'd gone shirtless, he'd worried
about the scar that nearly divided his chest in
half.  Would someone question him about it?  He
didn't think anyone but a select few knew of its
existence; when he'd done his father's bidding
on national TV, only his face and neck were
visible, and that betraying part of his skin was
very well covered now.  Besides, he soon found
out that his scar was nothing compared to the
assortment of tattoos and puckered flesh his
fellow workers displayed.

Most had been injured and not so long ago, from
the looks of their skin.  Possibly in the
Invasion - but most probably in the aftermath,
at the hands of Guardsmen.  Gabriel's pitiful
reminders were put to shame by these battle-
scarred men who fought back.  None of what
distorted his flesh would be considered an
honor.  Especially the newest.

He paused for a moment and reached for his
canteen, guzzling the water while he stretched
his back.  With dirty fingernails, he scratched
at the newest memento of yet another betrayal,
wondering if this part of his chest would ever
not be numb.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
April 8, 2001
5:45 a.m.


He didn't want to hear any more.  If he could
raise his arms, he'd put his hands over his ears
and scream away Frohike's voice.  But he was
restrained - for his own safety, they said. 
Like they gave a rat's ass about his well-being. 
If they did, they wouldn't be filling his head
with all these lies.

"You said you remember waking up and Scully was
gone.  Do you remember being shot?"

Jerking his head back to the left, he faced the
ashen face of Byers.  "How many times do I have
to fucking say it?" Mulder growled.  "They came
and took her!  I was on my way after her when I
got shot!"

"Mulder, you were already wounded by the time we
got there.  We couldn't have gotten there more
than a half-minute after we heard the first
shot."

Mulder closed his eyes at Frohike's attempt at
logic, wanting to shake the little man until his
ears bled.

"The commandos didn't come into the bunker until
*after* you'd made it to the hallway.  I saw you
stagger out the door myself.  Bleeding like a
stuck pig, I might add."  His friend leaned
closer, finishing softly,  "Don't you see?"

"Don't I see what?" he shot back, piercing the
concerned face with a furious glare.  "That
you're trying to cover up your piss-poor excuse
for security?"

"Damn it, Mulder, she shot you once before!"

"For my own protection!"  Why couldn't they see
that Scully would never do this to him?  He
clenched his jaw, the futile attempt at opening
their eyes abandoned for now.  "Just do it, God
damn it."

All three hovered close now, their faces pale
with fear.  As Frohike turned to the table
beside him, he shook his head, though he said
nothing.  It was Byers who reiterated what
Mulder had already been told.  "You realize we
don't have enough morphine for the procedure. 
We have to use it sparingly - save it for after
we -" With a gulp, he looked away.

Mulder knew this bunker was not as well-equipped
as the one in West Virginia.  Krycek had slowly
fed off of its stores to support the growing
number of men he acquired for the assault. 
"Yeah," he whispered, shutting his eyes against
the agony to come.  "Just get it over with."

He felt as though he was back in D.C.,
slobbering with a numbed jaw as his dentist
prepared the drill.  Except this time, he didn't
have the luxury of a waiting room magazine, or
the press of the hygienist's breasts against his
arm, or the bitter taste of novocaine on his -

At the first probe of the forceps, he screamed.

"Hold his head, Byers."  Frohike's command was
stern.  "Langly, get something for him to bite
down on."

God, it was killing him.  Waves of scarlet fire
radiated from his shoulder and his arm twitched,
the nerves reacting with electric avoidance.  In
seconds, he felt cool fingers pulling at his
jaw.

"It's okay, Mulder," Frohike murmured.  "I've
stopped for now.  Open your mouth."

He'd stopped?  Mulder still felt the pierce of
the metal and he opened glazed eyes, letting his
lips go lax as some of the pain faded.  The
smell of leather filled his nostrils, but it
wasn't enough to dampen the stench of blood. 
Absently, he realized they'd put a belt in his
mouth.  He clamped down hard, giving them a nod.

Jesus!  Frohike hadn't given him any warning as
he dug into Mulder's flesh once again.  "I've
almost got it..."

Mulder whimpered, trying to keep a hold on his
bearings, not trusting them enough any more to
leave his body in blessed unconsciousness. 
After they were done, he told himself.  I can
put up with this for a minute longer.

Suddenly, the pain was gone.  "Got it!" 
Frohike's grim smile and the clang of metal
against metal made Mulder sag with relief.  His
whole body trembled and he didn't even feel the
first pierce of the suturing needle.

"How the hell did Scully ever do this?"

Scully... Mulder felt the belt slide from his
mouth as the first tear slipped free.

"She didn't, buttwad."  That was Langly's voice. 
"Her specialty was slicing and dicing,
remember?"

"Yeah," came the short response.  "Then she
graduated to shootin' and scootin'."

With a last hitching breath, Mulder let go.


Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 15, 2001
8:16 a.m.


Slam after slam, he worked with mindless
accuracy, neatly slicing the huge boulders into
quarters.  It was good that he didn't have to
think; sometimes his brain felt like it would
explode, he had so much energy to expend.  If he
couldn't put that energy to use where he really
wanted to, then this was the next best thing.

The repetitive work did his disability a world
of good, he had to admit.  Though he still had
trouble moving his fingers like he wanted, his
arm was strong again, able to flex and curl
almost normally.  It was a miracle he hadn't
lost the use of it altogether; the Colonel
wasn't exactly a top notch surgeon.

*She* would have done it right.  Slicing and
dicing, my ass, he thought.  Those morons had
never felt the gentle, healing touch of those
delicate fingers.  And they had been so ready to
buy into the 'shootin and scootin' scenario as
well.  To be honest, they'd almost convinced
him, too.

When he'd first started his search, his anger
had warred with his love for her.  Despite the
way the Gunmen had listed all the reasons for
her actions, he was torn between wanting to hug
her and strangle her, should he see her again. 
His father, curse his evil soul, had implied
that last night in the tower that the only
reason she'd come to him was to kill him.  Put
him down like the betraying, murderous scum he
was.

"My name is Julia."

Plain as day, muttered huskily in the bunker
before she'd departed.  It all made no sense to
him still.  The only thing he knew for sure was
that she had, indeed, fired the shot designed to
kill.  It was only because he'd feinted left at
the last second that he wasn't dead.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
April 10, 2001
12:15 p.m.


Mulder sat up on the cot and grimaced at the
pull of flesh.  He still couldn't feel too much
below his shoulder in his right arm, though the
healing wound itself was raw with piercing pain,
especially when he moved.  He couldn't blame the
Colonel; an inexperienced hand in removing a
bullet was bound to have caused some nerve
damage.  But he couldn't bring himself to give
thanks to his friend.

He couldn't bring himself to do much of anything
these days.  The bowl of soup on the table
beside him was hardly touched.  He slept only
when the pull of fatigue made him close his
eyes.  The boys melted into the other rooms of
the small bunker, making themselves scarce in
the face of his hostility.  Really, he couldn't
blame them.  A warm word from him now would
probably choke him.  Only one person could coax
him from his misery and she was gone.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Mulder started
at the intrusion.

"Got something for you to see," Frohike said,
flipping on the lamp next to the cot.  Byers and
Langly followed, between them a cart loaded with
a TV and videotape recorder.

Mulder squinted at the yellow glare, really not
in the mood for theatrics.  Spying the videotape
in Frohike's hand, he said wryly, "You found my
copy of 'Debbie Does Dallas'?  Really guys, this
is above and beyond the call of duty."  Settling
back against the concrete wall, he stretched his
legs out on the cot.

After rolling the cart to the side of his cot
and plugging the equipment into the wall socket,
Byers and Langly retreated to the far end of the
room, saying nothing.  Like frightened rabbits,
they kept well away from his sarcastic snare. 
He would have laughed at their fear if he felt
like showing teeth.  Maybe he'd snarl instead -
really give them something to talk about behind
his back.  Just like he knew they did on the
subject of Scully.

Yeah, that's right, he told them with a
narrowing of his gaze.  She tried to kill me and
I've gone fucking nuts.  Quite a pair, aren't
we?

The monitor flipped on under Frohike's touch;
Mulder tensed as he saw Frohike pop the tape in
before turning to face him.

"You know as part of the security in West
Virginia, we monitored several parts of the
bunker," he began tentatively.  "Though you've
got to realize we'd never spy on you."

Dread filled Mulder's chest, along with a
healthy dose of anger.  "Like hell you
wouldn't."  Nausea churned in his stomach; just
the thought of anyone watching or listening in,
especially after living with surveillance for
months in the tower, was enough to make him want
to scream.  There was one thing he *was* sure of
as far as that night was concerned - he could
still taste the fragrant silk of her skin on his
tongue.

Frohike pursed his lips, the affront making him
stretch to his full height.  "The cameras were
always on, Mulder - but they didn't record
unless triggered by movement.  The monitors in
the control room only received constant feed
from the obvious breach points.  Every exit, and
all the hallways in or out.  No one had access
to the other cameras except for us, and we would
never do that to you and Scully."

At the hurt-filled dressing down, Mulder lowered
his eyes, picking at the worn blanket beneath
him.  An apology hovered on his lips, but the
ice around his heart was thick and the most he
could manage was a husky, "Show me."


Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 15, 2001
8:27 a.m.


"Hey man, didn't see you at breakfast."  Jesse's
greeting was curious as he bent beside Gabriel
to hoist a few huge chunks of rock into his
cart.

"Overslept," Gabriel replied with a grunt,
hitting the rocks again.  The force of the
pick's penetration into the stone reverberated
up his arm.  He was tired today, and missing the
6:00 a.m. meal hadn't helped.  He'd used the
computer in the foreman's tent until lights out
at 10:00, then stumbled to his tent to toss and
turn with frustration.

No where left to look, the Colonel had said days
ago, only to repeat it again last night in
answer to Gabriel's constant queries.  The
solemn, unforgiving declaration haunted his
dreams, bringing him visions of her, calling out
his name with frightened pleas of help.  They
stayed with him still today, swimming before his
watering eyes like ghosts.

As the load filled the cart, Jesse kept talking. 
"Man, I gotta tell you about last night.  The
'Love Man' had the ladies buzzin', I tell you."

Jesse had frequented the whore houses every
chance he got since they'd been in this camp. 
He couldn't go every night, and Gabriel supposed
it was just as well... he was getting mighty
tired of hearing about Jesse's sexual exploits. 
Love Man, indeed.  Gabriel had gone into the
outskirts of Denver last Sunday just to look
around; he asked a few questions at every stop,
but didn't venture too far into the population. 
It was best to keep a low profile.

At Jesse's broken-record intrusion, Gabriel
almost hauled off and slugged him.  He wasn't in
the mood for anything but his own morose
thoughts.  "Later."  His arm had begun to hurt,
like it did when he was overdoing it.  Though he
kept on - if the foreman saw him favoring a
limb, he'd surely be sent to the doc.  And the
doc had ultimate say-so on work fitness;  you
couldn't work, you got canned.

Jesse grabbed the handles of his cart and paused
behind Gabriel, saying, "Got some real lookers
at the Silver Moon, man.  High class bitches,
not like those clap-ridden whores back in
Tucson."

Irritation threaded through Gabriel's reply.  "I
said later, Jesse.  Leave me alone."

"Okay," Jesse said, "but you're missin' out.  I
think you'd like Layla, or maybe even Jenny. 
That Miss Eliza, she got some -"

Gabriel's hand shot out, stilling Jesse's
departure.  His eyes narrowed on the black man's
face.  "*What* did you say?"

Jesse jerked away from Gabriel, his own eyes
becoming slits in the sunshine.  "I said you'd
like Layla," he said, with no small amount of
confusion at Gabriel's abrupt about-face.

"No, after that."  Come on, spill it again, he
screamed silently.  I wasn't paying attention
the first time.

"Jenny?  You like that name?"

"No, God damn it!"

His yell didn't go unnoticed by the foreman, and
Gabriel could have spit nails with anger at
himself for creating a scene.

"Hey!  You two get back to work!"  The foreman's
stare was leveled at them, his hand clutched
around his radio, ready to call in security.

Gabriel had seen how the foreman dealt with
disruptions of any kind.  Call it in to the
company, which immediately contacted the
territorial police. *If* there was anyone left
alive to be arrested, they would be.  The
foreman wasn't particularly keen on stepping
into the fray.  And he didn't distinguish
friendly conversation from unfriendly - loud
voices meant the work wasn't getting done.

"Jesse," Gabriel growled, his hand slipping
around the man's slick bicep, "don't go.  Talk
to me."

Jesse grimaced, wrenching his arm away.  "Don't
be gettin' me in trouble, man."  His eyes darted
to the approaching foreman before coming back to
Gabriel.  "I'll catch you at lunch, okay?"

"No you won't."  The foreman's voice drifted
over their shoulders.  "No lunch for either of
you."

"*What*?"  Jesse and Gabriel answered in unison,
incredulity making the question echo in the pit.

"You heard me.  This little conversation just
used up your lunch time.  Now, get back to
work."  He turned to leave, kicking up dust in
his wake.

Jesse took it in stride, shrugging his shoulders
at Gabriel before turning away.  The look on his
face said it all - it was no use arguing with
the man.  At least they still had jobs.

Gabriel, however, was incensed.  This was the
closest he'd come to any sort of lead in the
months since he'd set out and he'd had enough of
the company's strict rules.  With a growl, he
took a step toward the foreman, his knife coming
up with menace.

Only to be stopped short by a beefy arm around
his neck and a hot whisper in his ear.  "Cool
it, man!" Jesse hissed, easily snatching the
knife from Gabriel's shaky hand.  "You ain't got
a lick o'sense, do you?  I don't know why I
bother."  He gave Gabriel a squeeze to punctuate
his warning.  "Now, you gonna settle down?"

Jesus, what had he almost done?  Guaranteed
himself a trip to territorial prison, is what. 
With a deep breath, he asked, unwilling to let
Jesse go just yet, "Eliza?"

At that, Jesse released him, whirling him around
to say, "*That's* what this is all about?"

Gabriel didn't want to waste time.  Chest
heaving, he pursued the subject. "Dark hair,
dark eyes, voice like someone botched a nose
job?"

With a rueful smile, Jesse flipped the knife and
handed it back to Gabriel.  "You know, I'da
never figured you for the Elvira type - she's
one cold bitch."  Chuckling, he turned to his
cart and his muscles bulged as he lifted the
hundreds of pounds of rocks.  "Yeah.  Maybe
tomorrow night I'll take you up there - if you
can keep your God damned mouth shut 'til then."

As Jesse walked away, Gabriel slid the knife
back into his belt and went for his pick.  So it
wasn't the one he was looking for; it wasn't the
reason he traveled from one hellhole to another,
working his body from sunrise to sunset only to
work his mind as he laid awake each night.  It
wasn't her.

But it *was* someone he'd thought was dead.  A
link to the people he knew still lurked in the
shadows of the new government.  Maybe a link to
the answers, maybe not.  The best chance he'd
gotten so far - it would be foolish to pass it
up.

His sun-dried lips cracked open just a hair at
the first slam of it into the rock.  Then a
little wider, and a little wider, with every
successive hit.

The men who passed by looked at him like he'd
lost his mind.  Maybe he had - he couldn't stop
smiling.  It felt damned good.


End Chapter Two

Gabriel
Chapter Three

Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 15, 2001
6:30 p.m.


Were they ever going to sound the horn?  Gabriel
was exhausted, not having had anything to eat
since dinner the night before.  His whole body
seemed to quiver as his muscles screamed from
lack of nourishment.  The sun was setting and it
was getting cooler; he unknotted his shirt from
around his waist and slipped it on, wrinkling
his nose at his stench.  He knew he was going to
linger at the dinner table too long to be able
to avail himself of the meager hot water in the
showers - it was going to be a quick, cold
dousing tonight.  But food, something that
should be a priority, was not uppermost on his
to-do list this evening.

Information from Jesse was number one today. 
Everything else could wait.

At the blare of the horn, he dropped his pick
and practically ran to the mess tent.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
April 10, 2001
12:20 p.m.


The screen sprang to life, a sea of grainy black
and white fuzz.  But not for long, as it quickly
changed into a dark picture.  There wasn't much
light to aid the camera's functioning, but
Mulder could see what had triggered it.

Squirming.  On the left side of the makeshift
bed, under the covers.  Scully.

Several soft sighs of distress floated to his
ears; with a gasp, he knew he'd been right - she
was having a nightmare.  He slept on beside her,
oblivious to her fright.  He saw her arms flail
under the covers and his throat got tight.  He
should have woken up then.  But he'd gotten soft
since their escape, letting the simple joy of
freedom cloud his mind to possible danger.

He kept his eyes glued to the screen, ignoring
Frohike's study of his face.  They were wrong,
and the tape would prove it.  He expected the
commandos to break down the door at any moment
and drag her away; he didn't know if he could
bear to see it, but he kept watching anyway.

Suddenly, she rolled from the bed, her skin
ghostly on the tape.  For a moment she stood,
trembling as she scanned the floor.  Then,
dropping to all fours, she crawled frantically
on the concrete floor, soft, mewling sounds of
anxiety coming from her throat.  First she
donned her jeans, then her boots, then *his*
sweatshirt.  He could tell it was his by the way
it hung to mid-thigh.  God, he hoped she still
had it; it would keep her warm.

"Scully?"

At the sound of his own voice, Mulder held his
breath.  It was about time you woke up, you
fool, he told himself silently.  As if he could
change the outcome by wishing it different.

But she didn't stop moving, not even when he
turned on the lamp.  Again, he called out,
"Scully!"

Her eyes were wide and wild; yes, she was lost
in a nightmare, he could tell.

A sleep-slowed hand closed around her ankle;
watching her fall, he grimaced and looked away,
sure he must have hurt her.

"Keep watching," Frohike ordered.

Powerless to resist, Mulder raised his eyes once
again, biting his lip to keep from yelling out
her name in time with his video twin.  It came
out anyway through thin lips, his echoed, "Damn
it, stop!"  From the corner of his eye, he saw
Frohike's face become firm, his eyes skittering
away to give a confirming blink at his friends.

But Mulder didn't want to give up just yet. 
Leaning in closer, his hands fisted as he
watched Scully struggle against his hold.  Don't
let go, he pleaded with himself.  Stop her
before she leaves.

In a flash, she'd turned, gun in hand.

No.  It wasn't true.  It couldn't be.

"Whoa," he heard himself say, saw the blankets
fall away from his naked form as he knelt, hands
up.  "You're dreaming, Scully.  Drop the gun."

Mulder waited for the door to burst open.  For
the heavens to crash in... for the men he knew
had tried to steal her rush in and shoot him.

But it didn't happen.  As if in slow motion, he
saw her free hand reach for the door knob.  With
a last gasp, he saw himself lunge for her.  With
a pained heart, he saw her shoot him.  Blood
spurted immediately and he fell back, disbelief
echoing in his voice.

"Scully."

Her eyes were clear and unblinking as she
dropped the gun to her side.

"My name is Julia."

It was her voice, sounding like sandpaper, but
still it was hers.  Limp fingers let the gun
clatter to the floor and she walked away.

"Scully!"


Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 15, 2001
6:35 p.m.


"Jesse!" he hissed, coming up behind the man
seated at the rickety folding table.

Startled, Jesse flashed a pair of pissy eyes at
him, nearly choking on his mouthful of food.  He
shrugged off Gabriel's hand and took a swallow
of water.  "Go get you somethin' to eat, man,
before they let us back in line for seconds."

Though Gabriel's stomach rumbled with hunger, he
was too excited to wait.  "Jesse, I gotta talk
to you."

Jesse didn't pick his head up as he kept
shoveling the stew into his face.  "I ain't
talkin' to you until I'm full.  Fuck off."

Gabriel knew Jesse was bound to be still angry
at this morning's run-in with the foreman.  With
a purse of his lips, he decided to relent for a
few minutes, giving in to Jesse's temperament. 
A full belly was more cooperative than an angry,
empty one.

"Don't go anywhere," he warned, turning to
search out the end of the mess line.

"Go get your food.  I ain't goin' nowhere."

As Gabriel walked away, he heard a muffled,
"Fool."

Yes, he was a fool.  Ten times over.  But it was
too late to change now.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
April 10, 2001
12:25 p.m.


Mulder pressed pause, freezing the frame of his
bare ass halfway out the door.

"How do you know this is legit?"  He knew what
Frohike had shown him was damning for her, but
there was always a slim hope the tape had been
tampered with.  It wouldn't be the first time
he'd seen altered videotape.

Frohike grinned, a grim, humorless thing.  "You
know, she asked us the same thing once... when
we saw you shoot that girl at the airport.  The
only confirmation was that little piece of gold
you still have around your neck."

Lowering his eyes, Mulder's left hand strayed to
the cross and he closed his fingers around it. 
"Still doesn't mean this hasn't been tampered
with," he muttered, defiant to the end.

"Every fifteen minutes, the feed was downloaded
to the central network computer, then backed up
to the alternate site - right here."  Frohike
glanced at his buddies across the room before
turning back to Mulder.  "About half an hour
after we abandoned the bunker in West Virginia,
the feed abruptly ended.  We figure it's all
been destroyed by now."

"They still could have -"

"What?  Taken the time to mess with this tape? 
For God's sake, Mulder, why?"  Impatience edged
Frohike's voice and he ran a gloved hand across
his brow, stepping closer to murmur, "You don't
believe me?  Back up the tape."

Mulder's eyes shot up as fury consumed him. 
"You son-of-a-bitch.  Got your jollies, did
you?" he snarled, curling up from the cot.

As the other two men slipped from the room,
Frohike shoved against the uninjured side of his
chest, red-faced with his own anger.  "The
second we saw what it was, we indexed ahead to
the next click on," he pointed out.  "I might be
a pervert, but even I know when to stop, Mulder. 
I told you, I'd never do that to you.  Or to
her."  He stood and straightened his vest,
giving Mulder a dignified, cold glare.  "Watch
it.  If you think they somehow stole into your
room with a look-a-like, then now's the time to
found out, wouldn't you say?"

Mulder flinched at the slam of the door behind
Frohike.  How did he do that, anyway?  Once,
Mulder believed that the only one who could read
the way his mind worked was Scully.  Now it
seemed he was as transparent as a pane of glass.

There had to be an explanation, and this was the
only one that made sense.  Somehow, they'd
gotten in, replaced Scully with someone who
looked like her - an assassin who wouldn't
hesitate to shoot him.  Maybe the woman he'd
made love with just hours before the ambush
wasn't even her.  It was possible, he told
himself.

The remote laid on the cot beside him.  With his
left hand, he picked it up and pressed rewind,
taking a deep breath for courage.


Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 15, 2001
6:45 p.m.


By the time Gabriel made it back to the table,
Jesse was finishing up, standing to leave. 
Dropping the metal tray with a furious slam,
Gabriel leaned over the table.  "Where the hell
are you going?  You said you'd stay."

"Chill out, man," Jesse said with a small smile. 
"I'm goin' to get some more.  I'll be right
back."  He picked up his own empty tray and gave
Gabriel a once-over, crinkling his nose.  "You
better look like takin' a shower tonight.  I
ain't sleepin' in the same tent as you with you
smellin' like that."

Gabriel sighed, content for now that the other
man had softened a bit toward him enough to
enter into small talk.  He'd be back.  With
dirty hands, Gabriel picked up his bread and
stuffed it into his mouth.  "Like you smell like
roses," he muttered around the yeasty dough. 
That's it, he thought.  Just cool it.  Can't
afford to arouse too much suspicion.

"At least I still got somethin' on me you ain't
got," Jesse laughed.  "Somethin' you ain't had
in years, probably.  The smell of a woman."

As Jesse walked away, Gabriel bit back his
reply.  The scent of a woman was something he'd
never forget, something he enjoyed not so long
ago, in spite of Jesse's poking.  And not just
any woman, either.

This one had been special - light like spring
grass and dark like the heady burn of fine
brandy just before it touched your tongue. 
Scented in a hundred different places, with an
intoxicating warmth that would fill his head and
make him forget who he was in her arms.

Yes, he remembered.  Even now, with the spicy
steam wafting from his tray that lifted toward
his face, he isolated *her* - and shoved all
else from his mind.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
April 10, 2001
12:30 p.m.


At the first sight of her, his heart seized in
his chest.  Though forever preserved in the gray
tones of the video, his mind splashed color on
the screen to surround her in vivid life.  The
red-gold of her hair, the pale white of her
skin, the sky-blue of her eyes that were
remarkably warm against the dingy beige of the
pillowcase.

As the two figures on the screen moved together
as one, his body was drawn closer to the image,
as if pulled by an unseen magnet.  It should
have disgusted him, this intrusion into their
love.  Maybe it should even have aroused him,
like in years past, when he sought the solace of
porn in his solitary apartment.  It did neither. 
All it did was create an ache deep within; the
pain of loss blossoming with every frame that
slipped by.

If he'd only known it was to be the last time...
if he'd known to touch her lips with his in a
few more kisses, to hold himself within her for
a few seconds more, to keep his arms around her
in a chain that would have bound her to him...
if he'd only known.

Look at her, you fool, he silently admonished
his other self.  Tell her you love her, tell her
not to leave you.  Stop fucking her and get some
God damned rope to tie her wrist to yours.

But no - his phantom self thrust into her again
and again, smiling at the way her body wrapped
around him, confident that she could not be
free.

"Come on sweetheart.  Come for me, Scully," the
bastard said, commanding her to give it all to
him.  He grunted above her like a pig, and
Mulder could no longer stand to watch the
rutting, instead fastening his gaze on her
beautiful face.

He brought a finger to the screen, inching
closer until, with a slam of his knees on the
concrete, he knelt before the monitor.  She was
amazing to behold, her mouth lax, her eyes
slitted, yet still focused on the man moving
above her, her hands stealing down his back to
urge him on.

As if hit with a jolt of electricity, she
suddenly stiffened and her face dissolved into a
portrait of pleasure, her smile seeming to
shimmer in the dim light of the lamp.  Mulder
touched it, feeling the warmth tingle through
his fingertips as he gasped for breath.

"No," he whispered to her in a final plea, sure
she could hear him beg her not to let it end. 
His other self pressed her into the pallet and
groaned for them both, and Mulder knew then his
hopes were dashed to bits.

It was her.  There was no overwhelming physical
evidence to believe it was, but he did so with
all his mind and soul.  No one had ever looked
at him the way she did; even before she'd
revealed herself to him in the tower, she'd
graced him with attentive, sympathetic,
*desirous* looks.  As she did on the tape,
loving him with small kisses of satisfaction to
his face.  Letting him roll away into blissful
ignorance of what was to come; her love for him
plain to see on her face, damp with tears of
joy.

"No!" he whispered again with vehemence as the
man let his arms fall from her.  Fool - he was a
fool for not holding on.

But she *did*, curling into his side with a
touch of her lips to his chest.

"Promise me you'll do that again."

Idiot, Mulder screamed inwardly.  God damn it,
stop being so fucking complacent!

She nodded into his shoulder and let him doze.

Mulder's face was hot and his lungs gulped for
air as she lifted, the curve of her back
blocking the sight of his stupid face.  But he
could see her fingers curl into his hair and he
remembered it, the way they slid over his scalp. 
And he tossed it off, saying, "I need a haircut,
don't I?" though now he would give anything to
feel her hand.  Anything.

As if she felt him watching, her chin tilted
just a bit and her lips gave him a soundless,
<No.  I like it.>

The banter was lost to the ringing in his ears
and the thumping of his heart.  Silent,
wrenching sobs burst from him as she bestowed
her favor, the yellow ribbon sliding from her
fingers to his.  It twined about his knuckles
like a satin talisman and he remembered how it
remained all through their journey here, though
it was now dotted with blood.

The light went out but he could still see her as
she settled next to him, her fingers still
rubbing the strands of his hair in a silent
touch, as if unwilling to lose contact.

"Okay, maybe not for a couple of weeks." His
voice drifted out of the darkness.  "Then it's
*got* to go."

A glimpse of pearly white teeth made his hand
slide down to hit the pause button.  Then it was
back up, caressing the cool screen where she
laid in frozen happiness.  Salty tears touched
his lips and his shoulder began to throb as he
dropped his chin.

"Scully," he whispered brokenly.  "Why?"



Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 15, 2001
6:57 p.m.


"You gonna eat that?"

Gabriel was amazed at the amount of food Jesse
was able to eat.  With a short smile, he pushed
his tray of half-eaten food in Jesse's
direction.  "Be my guest."  Truth was, he was
getting very impatient.  Jesse had said he was
going to talk to him at the dinner table, but so
far, no go.  With a full belly, the man should
be amenable by now, Gabriel figured.  If not,
then he was due for a bad case of heartburn,
because Gabriel wasn't waiting a moment longer
to question him - whether or not it upset his
meal.

But how to approach the subject without making
Jesse suspicious, as Gabriel was sure he'd
almost done in the pit today.  A bit of interest
was called for, along with a bit of diversion. 
"You know of a good place in town to get
something better to eat than this?"

Jesse didn't look up as he shoveled Gabriel's
dinner into his mouth.  "Sure.  If you got the
money."  He reached for his water.  "Like I
said, the Silver Moon got it all, man.  Women,
drink, food.  All for a price."

"The Silver Moon, eh?"

Jesse let out a belch and wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand before lifting serious,
dark eyes to Gabriel.  "You ain't foolin' me,
you know."

Gabriel felt the blood drain from his face under
the scraggly beard; he *knew* he'd been too
pushy today.  He forced out a chuckle and
fidgeted with his fork, rapping out a drumbeat
on the wooden table.  "What do you mean?"

"You didn't want a God damned thing to do with
the Silver Moon until I told you about Miss
Eliza.  How do you know her, anyway?"

He schooled his features, the lie coming easily.
"I don't.  I just recognized the name, that's
all."  Think fast, he told himself.  A lie is
best told between two truths - he could hear the
voice from long ago still echo in his ears. 
"You say she's the mistress of the Silver Moon?"

"No, I didn't say that," Jesse murmured, his
eyes narrowing.  "You just assumed she was...
but yeah.  And don't be tellin' me you hadn't
heard that name before today, especially when
you asked me what she looked like.  You know
her, Gabe.  Admit it."

He forced himself to slump in his chair,
affecting a lazy pose.  "Yeah, I know her,
though it's not *her* I really want to know, if
you know what I mean?"  He shrugged and added,
"Back in St. Louis, before I signed on with the
company, I knew her.  She was just getting her
girls together back then and taking them west. 
One of them was pretty special to me - I've been
looking for her ever since."

Jesse perked up at the pseudo-admission, leaning
over the table.  "What's her name?  Maybe she's
still with Miss Eliza?"

Gabriel mirrored Jesse's pose, looking from side
to side before whispering, "Does she have a girl
named Karen with her?"

"Karen?"  Jesse paused, wrinkling his cheek with
a grimace.  "Nah, don't think so."  After a
moment, his eyes widened slightly.  "You think
Miss Eliza changed Karen's name?"

Gabriel pretended to give it some thought. 
"Mmm... maybe.  All I know is - I've never found
anyone who could satisfy me like Karen, you know
what I mean?"

"I bet it's Jenny," Jesse stated.  "Pretty
little thing - blond hair, blue eyes, shaped
like a Barbie doll - that her?"

"Yes!"  Gabriel nudged Jesse's arm.  "You gotta
take me there with you tomorrow night, okay?"

Jesse laughed and pushed away from the table. 
As he leaned over, he shoved Gabriel's tray back
to him, whispering, "Jenny got brown hair and
green eyes, man."

Gabriel swallowed and looked at his empty tray
as he felt the flush of capture stain his
cheeks.  "I'll go without you."

"And step right into some shit, I bet."

He raised burning eyes to Jesse and bit out, "I
don't need your help.  This is between me and
her."

"Hey - you started this, remember?"

Pushing away from the table, he picked up his
tray.  "And I'm gonna finish it - just forget I
even asked about her, okay?"

Jesse's huge hand curled around his arm.  "I
ain't gonna ask no more questions.  I figure you
got business with her and it ain't my concern. 
As long as you don't get us into trouble, I'll
watch your back.  If I don't, who will?"  He
smiled and released Gabriel to pick up his own
tray, turning to leave.

Gabriel watched with open-mouthed fascination,
then quickly clamped it shut as Jesse whirled to
make a final statement.  "But we ain't goin' if
you don't clean yourself up.  And if you don't
wanna get rid of that shit on your face, at
least take the scissors to it, okay?  You enough
to make any woman scream and run away, and just
being with the Love Man won't be enough to get
you in, you get my drift?"  Laughing, he threw
his tray into the pile at the tent exit and
walked away, rubbing his stomach.

Gabriel couldn't help but laugh as well, though
with more relief than humor.  One more day.  One
more day until he finally had something -
rather, someone - to start him on his way.

Eliza had made it out alive.  And if he knew her
like he thought he did, she still had
connections.  The way she made her living these
days was proof positive; someone had to have set
her up, if the establishment was as high-class
as Jesse claimed.  A cat always fell on its
feet.

Besides, there was the little matter of a
gunshot wound to one very special, very
*womanly-scented* back....


End Chapter Three

Gabriel
Chapter Four


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


The Silver Moon
Denver, Colorado
September 16, 2001
6:17 p.m.


"Quit bein' so fidgety," Jesse murmured across
the table, digging into his steak with relish. 
"Eat your steak.  She'll show up in a little
while.  Business is just startin' to pick up."

Gabriel's right hand shook as he pierced the
charred meat with the knife.  He supposed he
*should* try to eat some; this steak had cost
him a week's pay.  God only knew how much the
tricks went for - and he'd bet his bottom dollar
there wasn't an hourly rate.  This place charged
by the minute.  But he had to admit, it was far
above any other similar places he'd seen in his
travels.

It was like they'd stepped back in time to the
Old West.  A long teak bar, from which flowed
liquor pushed by several bartenders, took up the
far wall, the patrons who filtered in starting
to take up its many stools.  Beyond the double
doors to its right, the kitchen spit out steak
after steak.  There was no menu; what good would
it be, anyway?  The men who came in here didn't
want soup and salad - they wanted burnt beef,
sharp whiskey and a good lay.

Country music that had to be at least ten years
old blared from unseen speakers in the wall.  He
and Jesse sat at a small table in the corner of
the big room, well away from the growing crowd. 
Just to the left of the bar was another room,
this one smaller but no less ostentatious, with
tasseled red velvet curtains hanging from the
entryway.  Gambling was the featured pleasure in
that room; he wondered just how much money
streamed in and out of this town.  There was
more going on here than mining.  His mind raced
as he ate, noticing the men that moved in and
out were not just miners.  Some looked like
businessmen, dressed in silk suits, some looked
like territorial officers, their guns strapped
to their belts like Colt 45's.

If he wasn't there for another reason entirely,
Gabriel knew he'd probably enjoy himself in this
palace of sin.  Despite the fall of the
Administration, the men of this new country
still ruled.  He'd always been of an open mind
toward women and their abilities, especially one
woman in particular, whom he'd set up against
any man, any day.  But he couldn't deny that a
place like this made the testosterone surge in
his body - it was one big playpen, filled with
toys for rich men.

As he surveyed the room with a hooded gaze, his
eyes kept straying to the last room at the far
end, this one with a pair of saloon-style
swinging doors flanked by a pair of goons with
guns.  Every now and then, he could see a swirl
of silk beneath the doors in the pink-tinged
smoky air; if he tried hard enough, he could
almost smell the perfume that mingled with the
cigar smoke and the dark yeast of spilled beer.

Eliza was in there, he knew it.  And if she
wasn't, she soon would be, Jesse having
explained to him that the upstairs rooms were
accessed from a staircase in that room.  There
were only a handful, and he'd visited them all
with the exception of one at the end of the
hall.  Miss Eliza's room, Jesse was told in a
hushed whisper by one of the girls last week. 
She oversaw most transactions downstairs, at
times delegating the negotiations to her right-
hand man.  But at sunrise she retired to her
room with the barked command to the girls to
call it a day; they didn't come out again until
early evening.  She didn't want them overworked;
made the men hungrier, the girl had told Jesse. 
And hungry men paid more for the feel of a
woman.

Gabriel shifted in his chair with restlessness,
shoving the plate away.  He'd waited almost
twenty-four hours for this opportunity, milling
about the camp on his day off without even
checking the newsgroup, too excited to sit
still.  Jesse had slept most of the day and had
warned him to do the same - the night was going
to be a long one, even though they had to work
tomorrow.  One didn't waste a penny at the
Silver Moon, staying until dawn.  Or until your
money ran out, whichever came first.  The big
man had puffed up with pride, bragging that the
girls were lingering with him on the sly, giving
him twice as much time as other paying
customers.  Miss Eliza hadn't caught on yet, too
busy keeping an eye on all aspects of her
business to notice.

"You wait a bit, get some, then try your luck at
the tables," he'd winked.  "You win, you go back
for more."  And so far, Jesse was lucky in cards
as well as lust, it seemed.

Gabriel pasted a smirk on his face, though he
didn't feel like joining in on Jesse's
playfulness, keeping his eyes on the room across
the way.  It was only when Jesse changed the
subject that he faced him again.  "What?"  He
wasn't sure he'd heard right, what with Jesse's
mouth full of food.

"Overheard the foreman talking to some o'the men
today.  Said we're shippin' out tomorrow."

No, they couldn't leave.  He was so close, he
could feel it.  "Why?  We haven't even been here
for two weeks yet."

Jesse shrugged.  "Story is they've found a big
one - out in Idaho.  The company's sending half
their crews out there.  They wanna get it up
fast."

A ship, Gabriel reasoned.  Had to be; the mother
lode, as far as the company was concerned.  But
he could care less, though he asked, "Are you
sure we're leaving tomorrow?"

"Yep.  Probably not until we pack up the
equipment - maybe by noon.  You goin' with us?" 
The last was said with some worry.

Gabriel clenched his jaw, unable to lie to Jesse
- the man would see through him, anyway..  "I
don't know."

Jesse leaned closer and hissed, "Don't you be
gettin' any ideas, Gabe.  If you ain't back by
the time we leave, they'll send the territorial
police after you."

A flash of black hair above the swinging doors
caught Gabriel's attention and he stood,
ignoring Jesse's warning.  "Time to go in," he
muttered.

Jesse grabbed his arm.  "You listen to what I'm
sayin', man.  This ain't worth it." 

Gabriel looked down at him and said with
conviction, "It is to me."

Sighing, Jesse released him and reached for
Gabriel's plate.  "Then try to at least not get
into any trouble, okay?  They got guns all over
this place, most of 'em unfriendly."

Gabriel nodded, pulling the edges of his coat
closer together in an effort to hide his knife. 
Though most of the men in here carried some form
of protection, it was best not to flaunt it. 
The territorial police understood the need for a
knife, mostly looking the other way, but not if
one flashed it around like a red flag to a bull.

Elbowing his way through the crowd, he kept his
eyes on the doors ahead and his hands close to
his coat.  Everything he'd gathered over the
months was hidden in the inner pockets - money,
packs of jerky, matches and a small flask of
water.  He didn't expect to go back to camp
tonight, if all went well.  The most important
thing he owned was folded in his shirt pocket,
laying next to his heart.  Her picture...
waiting to be replaced by the real deal.

Like Jesse had ordered, he'd cleaned up a bit,
trimming his beard to where it laid neatly on
his cheeks.  The dirt was gone from his hands
and face, scrubbed away after an hour's standing
under the shower this afternoon.  His hair was
pulled back with the ribbon; it smelled of plain
Ivory soap, the only kind supplied by the
company.  He'd even brushed his teeth, something
he'd fallen out of the habit of - he really
should take better care of his teeth, the gums
had bled a little at the friction of the
toothbrush.

But things like personal hygiene weren't
important in this wild, unforgiving land. 
Especially when there was no one to appreciate
the fresh breath of a kiss or the touch of a
clean hand.  Hopefully, that was all about to
change.

The two burly men at the swinging doors hardly
gave him a glance as he pushed his way in.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
April 10, 2001
7:30 p.m.


The guys looked up from their dinner as he
approached.  "Mulder, you okay?" Byers asked,
standing to offer a hand.

Mulder ignored it with a crease of his brow,
stopping just short of the table's edge.  "I - I
need to apologize," he began, working for the
words through a throat sore with residual grief.

All three stood, murmuring individual brush-offs
of his words with embarrassment.

He stood firm, gripping the back of a chair for
strength.  "No."  Letting his eyes drift over
them, he sought to make amends, the sorrowful
hours spent in his room that afternoon leading
to an inevitable conclusion.  "You guys saved my
life - once again.  And I've been an ass."

"Dude, it's okay, we understand."  Langly fell
back, clearing his throat and nudging up his
glasses before crossing his arms.  "We miss her,
too," he finished softly, red color creeping up
his cheeks.

"Shut up, doofus," Frohike hissed, then walked
around the table to pull out a chair.  "Sit
down, Mulder - before you fall down."

Mulder felt as though his world had tilted on
its axis, and it wasn't just from the bullet
wound.  The afternoon's misery had drained him,
left him almost unable to function.  It was by
sheer will alone that he'd made the trek to the
kitchen, feeling the need to make things right
with his friends.  He slumped shivering into the
chair, his bare chest and feet icy with cold.

"Get a blanket," Frohike ordered above his head. 

In moments, he felt warmth envelop him; relief
followed close behind, lapping at his brain. 
Though he nearly lost his bearings when a plate
of hot stew was set before him.  "Guys, I can't
eat."

"Eat."  Mulder almost laughed at the way Frohike
had grown accustomed to throwing his weight
around.  He picked up his head and grinned,
intending to deny he was hungry, but Frohike
continued, "You hungry for more than food?"

His grin faded and he swallowed hard, tears
threatening to spew forth again.  Lowering his
eyes, he nodded.

"Then food comes first, Mulder.  You can't find
what you're looking for if you don't have the
strength to take the first step."

The first step... Mulder's left hand trembled as
he picked up the fork.  He almost gagged on the
carrot, but he kept it down.  Then another bite,
and another... all the while wondering how many
steps he'd have to take to find her.


The Silver Moon
Denver, Colorado
September 16, 2001
6:57 p.m.


One step, then two into the dim room, and he
paused, putting his hands into his coat pockets
with a deep breath.  Relax, he told himself,
though his palms were sweaty as his fingers
curled into them.

Light from several silk-covered lamps gave the
room an eerie glow.  It wasn't as crowded in
this room, not like it was in the bar.  Several
men sat on ornate tapestry couches spread about
the room, some puffing on cigars, some nursing
glasses of liquor.  Still others circled the
scantily-clad women like vultures, looking the
merchandise up and down with greedy, hot eyes.

Gabriel dismissed the blond who sidled up to him
with a purse of his lips, quickly scanning the
women for a sign of red hair, though he didn't
really expect to find the right shade.  The
assortment was varied, and he caught his breath
at a glimpse of a small redhead.  Shrugging off
the blond's clingy hands, he walked the few feet
to her side with shaky legs.  Her shoulders were
bare under the fall of hair, and she wore a
flimsy teddy that revealed more than it
concealed.  With a whispered, "Scully?" he
placed a hand on her arm.

She turned and gave him a smile.  "Hi, handsome. 
See anything you like?"

It wasn't her.  His face fell and he backed
away, stopping short at the voice that came from
the landing of the stairwell.

"Gentlemen, welcome to the Silver Moon."

Strong, arrogant, nasally - he'd know that cat
scratch anywhere.  Turning, he wondered how he'd
missed her when he'd come in; despite her role
as madam, she outshone the whores in makeup and
clothes, her sequined gown almost blinding in
the dim light.  Clenching his jaw, he let
himself dissolve into the corner shadows.  It
wasn't time yet.  Besides, it was goon central
in there, the huge men standing ready to step in
if the customers' negotiations became heated. 
It was okay to look and touch a bit, but one had
to wait his turn.  Highest bidders got first
crack at the ladies, according to Jesse.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" Eliza
continued, gesturing the whores to stand before
her.  "Your choice, gentlemen... we start at
five hundred dollars."

Gabriel gulped.  Five hundred dollars?  He was
lucky if he had a hundred in his pocket.  Not
that he was looking to get laid, but he *was*
looking to get upstairs and into Eliza's office. 
Better yet, into Eliza's face.

Five minutes passed, then ten, the bidding
topping out at two thousand dollars.  A balding,
slim man in a black suit stepped forward to
claim his prize - a girl of no more than twenty,
with black, curly hair that hung to her waist
and liquid brown eyes that beckoned him
upstairs.  Every girl followed in succession,
most going for at least a thousand dollars.

"Guess I shoulda told you it was kinda
expensive."

The murmur in his ear made him jump.  Gabriel
gave Jesse a disbelieving glare and hissed, "Two
thousand dollars?  Are they lined with gold?"

Jesse chuckled, leaning against the wall as the
crowd thinned.  "They say Miss Eliza got a
healer tucked away up there somewhere."

"A healer?"  Gabriel's chest tightened with the
realization that Jesse was most likely speaking
of a hybrid, a Jeremiah-like shapeshifter.

"You know, some kind of medicine man - can heal
with just a touch.  Back in Mississippi, they
used to call'em healers."

It wasn't common knowledge that some hybrids
could heal with just a touch; Gabriel had only
known one in his life, and chances were, he was
dead.  Of course, there were bound to be other
shapeshifters roaming the country.  Offering
their services to people like Eliza in exchange
for protection.

"Makes them girls tight as virgins during the
day.  The first men gotta pay more if that's
what they're lookin' for.  Prices go way down as
the night wears on."  A short smile accompanied
the folding of his arms across his massive
chest.  "Me?  Never did care for splittin' a
woman in two.  Wait a few hours and I can slide
in like a hot knife into butter."

Swallowing hard, Gabriel closed his eyes and
said a quick prayer of thanks to whatever deity
was listening it these days... he didn't know
what he would have done if she'd been in that
group of enslaved women.  But what if she was? 
What if she just wasn't here right now?  Despite
the warning bells going off in his head, he had
to know.  Reaching into his pocket, he lifted
fearful eyes to Jesse.  "Have you - have you
ever seen her here?"

Jesse took the photograph from him and whistled. 
"Man, she's somethin'."

Gabriel ignored the open admiration and bit out,
"Have you?"

Jesse folded the picture and passed it back to
him, his grin fading to a serious stare.  "Nah,
man.  I'd remember someone like her."

Sagging, Gabriel's fingers shook as he put the
picture back into his pocket and looked away.

"She your woman, Gabe?" came the soft question. 
"Is that who you lookin' for?"

Why lie anymore?  He was so tired and so close,
he could feel it in the air of this booming
city.  Something told him Jesse could be
trusted, though he didn't want to give away any
information that could possibly get him into
trouble.

"Yeah," he murmured, feeling Jesse's eyes scan
his profile.  "That's who I'm looking for."

A slow sigh drifted from Jesse.  "Aw, man... you
oughta know better than that.  It's one in a
million you'll find her."

"She's alive.  I know she is."  He turned to
Jesse, feeling the emotions he's kept in check
all these months shine from his eyes.  "Don't
try to stop me, Jesse.  If things get bad...
just pretend you don't know me, okay?"  Lowering
his eyes, he figured Jesse wouldn't want to know
him anyway, if he knew what Gabriel had done in
his other life - if he knew that Gabriel most
likely had sent his family to his death on the
ships.

Gabriel flinched at the touch of Jesse's hand on
his shoulder.  "Like I said, just don't give me
a reason *not* to know you, okay?"


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
April 15, 2001
10:45 a.m.


"So... what do we know?"  Mulder hovered in the
control room of the new bunker, pacing as the
guys worked their magic.

"We know she can speak, when she couldn't
before," Byers said, turning from his computer
terminal to face Mulder.  "And we know she
didn't recognize you, nor stop when you asked
her to.  And she disappeared onto what sounded
like a helicopter from where we were in the
bunker."

Frohike gave Byers a pinched look, silently
admonishing him for turning away from his work. 
With a cough, Byers turned back around to his
terminal.  Mulder was still amazed at the way
Frohike had essentially become the leader of
their band; more amazing was the way the other
two deferred to him.  They didn't grovel, just
looked to him for guidance.  He couldn't really
blame them - lots of lost souls these days
didn't have the luxury of someone willing to
look after them.

"We know she shot you," Frohike pointed out,
then quickly added, "though we all agree she
can't have been in her right mind."  The boys
had been swayed to Mulder's insistence that she
didn't shoot him deliberately; it was an act of
a mind being told to flee at all costs.

"And we all agree it was most probably the chip
Krycek gave her that was directing her outside,
telling her to go somewhere - making her believe
she was Julia."  Mulder dared them with his eyes
to disagree; though they believed she hadn't
shot him deliberately, there had been some talk
of her having had a mental breakdown of sorts,
her mind bringing Julia back to replace Scully. 
It was a possibility Mulder had dismissed
instantly.  Why would she suddenly succumb to
that kind of psychosis?  The stress of the past
year hadn't been enough to force it upon her -
it was ridiculous to think that it would happen
when she was finally safe and happy.  No - it
was the chip.

"Even if you could find her, Mulder," Frohike
continued, "you can't take the risk of pulling
that chip out.  It didn't take long for her
cancer to come back when she took out the
original."

Mulder pierced the little man with his gaze. 
"It wouldn't come back that fast - it was at
least a year before she developed the tumor the
first time."

All three glanced at him, then Langly and Byers
turned back to their work, leaving it to Frohike
to say, "We saw it, Mulder.  On tape.  We just
didn't tell her anything.  Saw her take out the
chip, saw the nosebleeds begin almost right away
- saw Krycek give her the new chip and ddemand
that she use it or she wouldn't be the one to go
after you."  He paused, standing to add, "If you
take it out, you'll be signing her death
warrant."

It wasn't fair.  Mulder turned, hiding his
anguish from his friends, rubbing at the back of
his neck with his good hand.  "But if it's
controlling her, she wouldn't want it in her." 
That he knew for certain, just as he knew he had
no chance of getting her back if she was being
brainwashed.  She'd kill him before she'd let
him touch her.

"Would you rather watch her die?"

Frohike's whisper stabbed at his back.  He knew
the answer to that question.  With her death,
his world would end.  But he didn't know if he
could stand to know she was alive and imprisoned
- her mind trapped in Julia, never to bee
released again.

There were considerations, yes.  But none of
this stopped him from going after her.  He'd
decide when he found her - something he swore to
himself he was going to do.


The Silver Moon
Denver, Colorado
September 17, 2001
3:25 a.m.


"Now," Jesse said, nodding.

Gabriel raised his hand, keeping his face in the
shadows as he bid on the girl.  A hundred
dollars, then one-fifty, then two; he felt beads
of sweat break out on his forehead.

"Keep goin'," Jesse whispered.  "I got five
hundred in my pocket.  We going' in together."

Gabriel flashed him a surprised look, keeping
one eye on the bidding.

Jesse smiled and drawled, "I ain't got a thing
for you, Gabe, so get that scared rabbit look
off your face."  He crossed his arms, making
himself a menacing sight as he added softly,
"I'll keep her busy while you look around."

Luckily, the man they were bidding against
caught the eye of another girl who'd sashayed
down the stairs during this round.  She smiled
at Gabriel, too, but he ignored her, tired of
waiting for the opportunity.  The girl they had
in mind slumped with fatigue; a coaxing word or
two
and she'd fall right in with the suggestion to 
just lie back and enjoy it.

Eliza pinched the girl, making her stand
straighter.  "We have two hundred fifty dollars. 
Going once... twice..."  She nodded at Gabriel. 
"Yours, sir.  Or should I say *sirs*?"  Jesse
smiled and nodded, and Eliza finished, "You have
half an hour."  As he stepped forward, her eyes
narrowed, but she said nothing, her attention
grabbed by the other girl who was ready for
another customer.

Gabriel kept well away from Eliza, slipping past
her when the girl beckoned him with a wave and a
yawn.  As he crept up the stairs behind her, he
heard Eliza begin again.

"Now here's a lively one, gents... shall we
start at two hundred?"

"Get up there, man.  Quit wastin' time."  That
was Jesse's voice behind him.  Gabriel grinned,
amazed at the man's attachment to his cause, at
the risk he was taking by following him
upstairs.  Then again, maybe Jesse just wanted
to enjoy a bit of female company - he'd become
mighty impatient himself at the long wait.

The girl opened the first door on the right, and
Gabriel gave the door at the end of the hall a
good stare before walking in behind her.  A
double bed, night stand equipped with wash basin
and all types of sexual aids, a chair and a
single lamp which burned with muted light - the
only furnishings in an otherwise empty room. 
Jesse made himself at home, flopping onto the
bed with a groan and a smile.

"What'll it be, gents?" he heard behind him.  He
turned and flushed at the sight of her naked,
skinny body.  Geez, she was fast.  "Guess I can
figure it out, huh?" she continued, hanging her
robe on one of the hooks on the wall.  "Just
don't suffocate me, okay?  And ya gotta wear the
rubber - that's the rules."

"Get up here," Jesse ordered.  She complied,
dragging her feet.

"Like this?"  She laid flat on the mussed
sheets, still as a department-store mannequin. 
And about as appealing, Gabriel thought.

In moments, Jesse had reached for a scarf on the
night stand, giving Gabriel a sly look.  The
girl just watched with bored eyes, as if it
wasn't anything to be alarmed about.  "He's
gonna watch or what?" she asked Jesse.  At their
silence, she rolled her eyes.  "Fine by me. 
Less work."  She looked like she'd gladly let
him silently watch her while he satisfied
himself.  Money was money, and it didn't matter
if he never said a word to her or laid a finger
on her.

"We only have a half hour, you know," she
sighed, flashing Jesse a thoroughly
disinterested look before her eyes were hidden
by the scarf.

"You just lie back and relax, baby," Jesse
murmured, then gave Gabriel a sharp nod toward
the door.

"Sure thing, honey," she purred.  "Whatever
floats your boat."

Her awful bleached hair, her sallow looks, her
infuriating voice - he shook his head with
disgust as he watched Jesse move in.  Not
wanting to waste another moment, he headed for
the door, letting Jesse do his stuff.

It was time to get down to business.  After a
quick scan of the hall, he made for Eliza's
office, silently squeezing the door shut behind
him.


End Chapter Four

Gabriel
Chapter Five


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


The Silver Moon
Denver, Colorado
September 17, 2001
3:35 a.m.


He cracked open the door and scanned the hall
before slipping out.  Behind every door he
passed, he could hear muffled moans and
movement; he almost grinned at the distinct
sound of Jesse's voice that drifted through the
sounds of sex. *Almost* grinned - right now, he
had more pressing matters to attend to.

Pressing his ear to the last door, he waited for
a moment or two, listening to see if Eliza had
made it back upstairs.  He heard nothing, not
even the rustle of clothing, so he gently turned
the knob and stole inside, using both hands to
softly close it behind him.  Of course, just
minutes ago she'd still been downstairs in
negotiations.  He figured he had five minutes at
the most before she'd return to her quarters;
all the girls with the exception of the one
remaining downstairs were now engaged with
customers.  Eliza would have a few minutes to
spare, so he had to move quickly.

The room was furnished in the same garish tones
as the parlor below, and compared to the other
bedrooms, this one was not made for business.  A
huge bed graced the far wall, but it was
immaculate - looked like it hadn't been slept
in.  Did she have nothing but money on her mind? 
Shrugging off the obvious conclusion, he turned
and spied a desk on the opposite wall, the
single lamp beside it illuminating the papers
strewn on its surface.

Good place to begin, he thought, rapidly
scanning them with shaking fingers.

He wasn't keen on getting caught, and the slight
fear made him fumble a bit.  With any luck, he'd
be out of there before Eliza came up and
screamed bloody murder.  By tomorrow morning,
the crew would be gone, and Gabriel with them. 
Or not - maybe he'd find what he was looking for
in this place.  In either case, he wasn't
worried.  He was anxious; anticipating the end
of a long, hard journey.

But there was nothing; not even a sort of
bookkeeping system.  Most of the pages were full
of scribbles and that puzzled him - almost like
they'd been arranged as ornaments, without worry
as to significance.  Several logbooks sat on the
blotter, but they were filled with the same
sloppy marks.  With a snort of frustration, he
eyed the cigar box on the corner of the desk,
its lid propped open with the overflow of money. 
This made no sense; Eliza, looking thoroughly in
character as a seller of other women's flesh. 
Gobbling up the money downstairs with greedy
fingers and satisfied smiles, she would not be
so lax with it once in hand.

Even the God damned door hadn't been locked.

The realization sent a new spurt of fright
through him and he backed away, sensing that all
was not what it seemed.  But he didn't get far -
just beyond the door, he heard Eliza's bark at
one of the girls.  Catching sight of the closet
nestled in the corner, he ducked in just as the
hall door opened.

With a crack of the door, he watched her move
about the room.  A broad sigh and a jerky roll
of her neck on her shoulders accompanied her
toss of the most recent transaction's net into
the cigar box.

Then she stood still and her voice came to him,
though she didn't turn around.  "I know you're
there," she said, eerily calm.  "You may as well
come out, Agent Mulder."

Agent Mulder?  What was this shit?  The only way
she knew him was as the Minister of Justice -
what the hell was she trying to pull?  Whatever
it was, it ratcheted up his uneasiness to
monumental proportions and he flung open the
door, reaching for his knife.  So what if she
knew who he was and that he was here... he
wanted answers and he wanted them now.  She
could set the hounds of hell after him when all
was said and done - he'd be long gone.

Wrapping an arm about Eliza's waist, he held the
knife to her throat.  "Where is she?"  It was
all he needed to ask, and he knew it.  This
woman had made it out alive and was doing very
well for herself; the mystery that surrounded
her enveloped a lot more than this whore house.

"Who, Agent Mulder?"  It was an innocent
question and she didn't move a hair when he
pressed the knife closer into her skin.

"You know damn well who I'm talking about," he
hissed.  "Now tell me what the hell you're doing
here and if you have her."  His arm tightened
and he added, "Don't underestimate me, you
bitch.  You know I would love nothing better
than to just slit your fucking throat right
here.  Tell me, God damn it!"  Bloodlust began
to consume him; with the way she was jerking him
around, he knew his temper wouldn't hold for
long.

"Tell you what, Agent Mulder?"

Her body began to move - it almost seemed to
melt in his hold.  Speechless, he realized too
late who - or what - he was dealing with, as he
tried to step away.

But the creature whirled on him in an instant,
his huge hand coming up to encircle Gabriel's
neck.  The plastic curves of Eliza's face
transformed into hard, chiseled cheeks and
almost lifeless eyes.  Its face came closer and
the low menace of its voice sent a familiar
shiver up Gabriel's spine as he began to gasp
for breath.

"We've done this before, haven't we, Agent
Mulder?"

That the bounty hunter still wore the ridiculous
evening gown shot through Gabriel's mind, but
laughter wasn't an option.  His right hand came
up to grasp at the arm that pinned him, but its
feeble strength was no match for the alien's
power.

The bounty hunter launched Gabriel across the
room with a seemingly effortless flick of his
wrist.  As his head hit the opposite wall next
to the door, he saw stars, but he didn't lose
his grip on the knife.  Little good it would do
him, though - unless he could sink it into the
alien's one vulnerable spot, the back of its
neck.

It moved forward slowly, still speaking. 
"Except this time it's not your sister you seek,
is it?"  The creature bent over and grabbed him
by his jacket before murmuring, "The answer is
the same, Agent Mulder... she's alive."

Gabriel knew in that moment that the alien knew
where she was; he could see it in the unholy
smirk, feel it in the burn of its eyes.  "Where
is she?" he croaked one last time.

The bounty hunter picked him up with one hand
and had his other hand poised to strike. 
"You'll see her soon enough, Agent Mulder.  I've
been waiting for you."

Waiting for him?  That was his last thought
before the hand hit his face, knocking him into
unconsciousness.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
May 15, 2001
3:16 p.m.


"I'm going after her."

Mulder's statement brooked no argument.  He
didn't expect any from his friends, really. 
They knew he'd follow her to the ends of the
earth; literally, he'd done that already years
ago.  In his mind, this was no different.  More
difficult, yes, what with no shadow informant to
give him a head start.

He wasn't fully healed and he doubted he ever
would be, given the muscle and nerve damage he'd
suffered from the bullet wound and Frohike's
subsequent removal of it.  However, he could
still use his right arm - he just had to
concentrate.  As he stood up from the table, his
left hand wrapped around his right wrist,
holding it steady.  Though the guys knew of his
new disability, he was loathe to show any
weakness before them.  He knew they'd try to
talk him out of it, or at the least, delay his
departure.

And it came almost instantly, as Frohike raised
disbelieving eyes to Mulder's stern face.  "No
way."

"Who's gonna stop me?  You?"  The itch to pursue
her was about to eat him alive, the thousand
little fingers moving on his skin shoving him
along mercilessly.

Frohike stood, palms on the table.  "Yeah," he
drawled, his confidence puffing out his chest. 
"Look at you, Mulder.  You couldn't chase after
a snail on a hot day."

Mulder felt his face get hot and he crossed over
to the bank of computers where Byers and Langly
sat in frightened silence.  Ignoring Frohike's
slam, he bent to Langly.  "Just give me a place
to start."

The blond fidgeted for a moment, but kept his
eyes on the screen as he replied, "Umm... I
really don't have anything for you, Mulder." 
Jerking his head up, he added quickly, "Not yet,
anyway."

"And just how the hell are you supposed to move
around out there, Mulder?"  Frohike faced
him, his voice harsh with the attempt at reason. 
"You set one foot out of this place and the
territorial police will be all over you like
stink on shit."

Feeling himself falter, he grabbed the edge of
Langly's chair and spun to face Frohike.  "I'll
think of something."

Frohike crossed his arms and gave Mulder an
open, honest stare.  "Okay.  Let's say you walk
out of here tomorrow.  By some chance, you
manage to travel, keeping low - though I don't
know how the hell you're going to do that. 
Where you gonna start?"

"There's gotta be some money around here... I'll
- I'll get to the nearest town and catchh a bus,
or a train."

"To where?  You know where you wanna go?"

Mulder swallowed and looked away, his hand
shaking as he raked it through his long hair. 
"No," he admitted, then raised feverish eyes to
Frohike.  "But I can't just sit here anymore.  I
*have* to do something."

"Then sit down, Mulder.  I have an idea."

At the soft command, Mulder sagged, knowing his
friend was right on this one.  Much as he wanted
to break free and find her, this operation was
going to take some planning.  And Frohike had
proven a master strategist - he'd gotten them
all this far, hadn't he?

Sitting at the table once again, Mulder exhaled
in a sigh.  "Okay.  Lay it on me."

Frohike sat as well and began, "The mining
company - those looking for krycekite.  Perfect
way to travel these days.  We can *all* join
up."  He ignored the startled stares of Langly
and Byers and continued, "If Scully was taken by
the same men we've dealt with in the past, then
they've still got some power and probably have
her well-hidden.  No way we're gonna find her by
staring at the computers all day.  We need to
have transport - free, easy means of searching."

Mulder liked the idea so far.  "I'm listening."

His friend half-smiled.  "First of all, you've
got to lose the pretty boy looks."

"Pretty boy looks?" Mulder snorted.  "Have you
taken a good look at me lately?"

"Personally, I never saw the appeal, Mulder." 
Frohike's wry statement was delivered with an
undertone of jealousy.  "Though some did."

Dropping his eyes, Mulder replied in a murmur,
"Stop it, you're making me swell-headed."  He
had no desire to talk about his relationship
with Scully; their lives were not subject to
discussion.  Only one topic allowed that
included her, and he quickly resumed that tack. 
"So what - we don't exactly have the services of
a plastic surgeon at hand, you know."

"Don't need one," Frohike pointed out.  "Just a
little facial hair should do it.  And let your
hair keep growing - the longer, the better."

"But that could take a month or more!"

"You could use the time to recuperate."  Frohike
stood.  "And we could use the time to set things
up."

"Set things up?"

"Do a bit of poking around the Internet, set us
up some new identities, change *our* looks."

Byers and Langly both piped up at that, breaking
in with, "Our looks?"

Mulder stood as well, shaking his head.  "Sorry
guys, but this one's mine alone."

"No it isn't," Frohike said, his words serious
and his manner unflappable.  "This one's
important - and we're not staying behind this
time."

The other two men got up from their chairs and
faced Mulder, standing behind Frohike with arms
crossed.  Their nods were short, but adamant.

It was *very* important to Mulder.  After a
moment or two of vacillation, he realized that
they loved Scully as much as he did.  He'd
always known she was the better of them both.

Seemed everyone knew that before he did - before
he let her slip away from him.


Outside Denver, Colorado
September 17, 2001
10:08 a.m.


The bed of the truck was hard beneath his back
and he groaned as he drifted up through the
black pain of oblivion.  Piecemeal scenes of his
last waking moments slammed into him, just like
the bounty hunter's fist had done...

God, it all made sense.  A weird, still wacky
sense, but some of it fell open before him like
an instructional manual of extraterrestrial
life.  Jesse's comment that Eliza had a right-
hand man; the supposition that she had a healer
hidden upstairs.  The *healer* was the alien,
just as he was the assistant - and Eliza.  His
total disregard for the money, though it
probably went somewhere.  Like to whoever he was
working for.  Whoever he was taking Gabriel to
meet.

"I've been waiting for you," he'd said.  What
the hell did that mean?

Waiting for him - for what?  The aliens wanted
him alive now.  His mind raced as he strove to
put the puzzle together.  It can't be his
father... he was dead, or on a stairway to
heaven, so to speak.  The ships had retreated
back into the unknown.  For now, anyway.  Why
would this monster want him?

Unless it was as some sort of bargaining tool. 
The alien's shapeshifting ability was an asset
and he could very well stay hidden forever in
the scant population.  Especially in this
wilderness where no one cared who you were or
where you were going.  But there was always the
chance of discovery and people these days would
love nothing better than to torch any hybrid,
good or bad.

Maybe he'd been left behind and was willing to
trade Gabriel for passage home.  Memories of his
time aboard the alien vessel made him cold with
fear; yes, his father had let them experiment on
him, mostly for the cure for the old bastard's
illness.  But the torture was real, though he
couldn't remember anything really but the pain. 
The aliens had known he was a threat to them and
had entrusted his father to keep him under
control.

Is that where he was going?  To another ship? 
No, he wouldn't.  Though the alien had implied
that Gabriel would see her when he got to
wherever they were going, he did not want it to
be in these circumstances.  Now that he knew she
was alive and close, he knew only one other
thing - he had to escape and find her.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
July 15, 2001
8:16 a.m.


Two months of waiting and he was damned tired of
it.  The Gunmen, hampered by the lack of
equipment and goods, had worked at a snail's
pace getting their needs together.  The bunker
was a woeful step down from the one in West
Virginia; really, just a repository for
emergency supplies.

It hadn't taken long for Mulder to figure out
that there had been no truck behind them, as
Frohike had said that first day on the run. 
He'd been lying to him, keeping up the ruse for
several weeks, explaining that others had made
it out, too - they were just in other bunkers
scattered throughout the mountains.  There
*were* no others besides them.  No connections,
no relief, no tangible place to hide and
communicate like they had before.

His friends were not wanted by the territorial
police, not like he was.  But they only ventured
out into the nearby villages - ghettos, really -
in search of food.  And then, they didn't dare
linger long, didn't take the chance on asking
questions or making their presence known.  Their
disguises were inventive and they just gathered
what they needed once or twice a month, then
returned to watch Mulder stew with restless
energy.

They bargained with leftover guns and
ammunition; Frohike had been uneasy about
depleting their protective resources, but
survival came first.  It wasn't like they could
eat lead - not that way, anyway.  Mulder had
once told them all to leave him, to begin again
with their lives.  They were free to do what
they wished now, without fear of reprisal.

"And let you go off and get yourself killed?"
Frohike had snorted.  "How many times do I have
to tell you - we're in this together.  Besides,
I don't have a yen to be put on the rack for
your sorry ass."

He'd been half-teasing, but Mulder knew it to be
true.  There were men still alive that knew of
his association with the trio and they would
dearly love to get their hands on a link to
Mulder's whereabouts.  Would they simply ask
politely?  Hell, no.  The Administration had
been replaced by men bent on revenge, striving
to erase all who'd betrayed the human race - who
might still rise to assist the Colonists in a
return engagement.

And they would come back, Mulder knew.  Maybe
not for years, but they would.  If he wasn't
such an ungrateful fuck, he'd stand up and
applaud their paranoia to anyone who cared to
listen.  I was right all along, he wanted to
scream to the skies.  And now you think I'm one
of them - fuck you all.

Times like those were few and far between,
however.  His pride laid in tatters around his
morose existence; the pride of self-righteous
indignation that had once made him unstoppable
had also cost him the dearest thing in his life.

Scully.  Taken from him while he slept in the
stupid dreams of a man who thought he had it all
- vindication, hope for the future, his  friends
around him in safety, and the one woman who
would stand by him always.  That she'd done all
she did to save him still amazed him.  Sure,
he'd done things for her.  Going against
seemingly insurmountable odds to rescue her from
peril many times.

But he'd never changed for her.  She'd never
asked him to - and she never would.  She'd
changed her face, that classic, beautiful
structure of skin and bone that declared her to
be Maggie Scully's daughter.  Removed her
father's legacy of pride and dignity to bow
before men as a vessel of lust.

It sickened him even now, thinking how he'd
given in to that lust.  Though she'd told him
she loved him and had done what she did just for
him, he still couldn't help but feel that his
response was just another act in Fox Mulder's
tendency to use her and then retreat behind his
staunch beliefs.

Had he ever told her he loved her?  After they'd
reached the safety of the bunker, he'd enjoyed
her body, lived in her love - but had he ever
given her the affirmation that she needed?  On
his frequent sleepless nights, he tried to think
back, sure he had said the words.

"They'll love you, as I do."

No, that wasn't good enough.

"I love watching you."

Still not right.  The pain in his chest on those
nights refused to abate and he'd let silent
tears wet his dingy pillow.  No, he'd never
actually said, "I love you, Scully."

It was what he regretted most.

"Got it."

Frohike's blustery entrance snapped Mulder from
his slump at the table.  "Got what?"

Frohike reached into his pocket and tossed
Mulder a folded piece of paper.  As he opened
it, he noticed to unmistakable smear of blood in
its top right corner.

But he went for the obvious first.  "Territorial
papers," he breathed, looking up from the
official stamp at the bottom with a gleam of
hope.  "How the hell did you get these?"

Every citizen carried around papers from the
territorial government; it was required to move
around freely and to hold down a job.  They'd
not been able to get their hands on a bonafide
ID until now, and they were not confident in
their ability to leave the bunker without them.

Frohike cleared his throat and sat down.  "Let's
just say this guy won't be needing them
anymore."

Mulder swallowed and read the man's name.  Well,
just one name, really.  Johnston.  Employed by
the company, now apparently dead.

"Frohike, you didn't..."  The words stuck in his
throat; surely his friend wouldn't have -?

Coloring, Frohike leaned back.  "Of course not. 
I may be one of the best commandos around these
days, but I never had a taste for murder."  At
Mulder's sheepish grin, he continued, "Found the
guy strung up about a mile from here.  Best I
can figure, he tried to skip out on the
company."

Mulder nodded, knowing that the company had
exclusive rights to you once you signed that
contract.  They didn't take kindly to deserters. 
It made him uneasy to think of signing up with
such a group, but it was the only option they
had at this point.

"I know this is a stupid question," he began,
lifting humorous eyes to Frohike, "but can you
duplicate this - believably?"

Frohike puffed up.  "Is Langly a virgin?"

Mulder gave him a grim smile.  "You tell me."

Chuckling, Frohike stood.  "All I need is a
name, Mulder."

Mulder handed the precious piece of paper back
to his friend.  "Gabriel."

"Just Gabriel?"

The territorial police didn't care if you had
one name or twenty, neither did they care where
you came from or what you did before.  No need
for social security numbers, or a driver's
license, or tax withholdings.  All one needed
was that little piece of gold that Frohike held
in his hand.

"Yeah, just Gabriel."  At Frohike's perplexed
look, he stood as well and headed for the door,
fingering his heavy beard.  "Long story."


Outside Denver, Colorado
September 17, 2001
10:10 a.m.


Sunlight bled through the flaps in the canvas
covering of the truck bed and he knew the sun
had risen.  It had more than risen - from the
heat in the back of the truck, he figured it was
approaching mid-day.  But they couldn't have
gotten far to their destination; the truck was
moving at a snail's pace, picking its way
through the destruction on the outskirts of the
city.  Gabriel had seen for himself as he'd come
from the camp yesterday that there was really
only one cleared road in and out, and that one
was patrolled by the territorial police.  The
bounty hunter would not want to cause suspicion
and therefore would stay away from the better
path.

The ride was bumpy and slow and Gabriel winced
as he sat up, trying to wriggle his hands from
the rope-bound trap.  His ankles were tied as
well and his knife was long gone.  He considered
a leap from the back of the truck for just a
moment, then quickly discarded the idea.  What
good what it do if he was hog-tied?

But he couldn't wait until they stopped. 
Anything show of force against the alien was
ineffective and he knew it.  The being could
simply pick him up like a sack of potatoes and
deposit him at anyone's feet without breaking a
sweat.  He had to think of something, and fast.

He spied a crowbar in the corner of the bed and
an idea began to form.  Creeping to it, he
picked it up with both hands and got to his
knees behind the cab, peeking through the glass
with stealth, careful not to let the creature
see him.

With all his strength - and fighting the
leftover dizziness from the blow to the head -
he pulled back and rammed the straight end of
the crowbar through the glass.  He knew what was
coming, and he rolled back instantly, just as
the bounty hunter slumped forward.  The truck
began to careen wildly and the acrid fumes of
its blood flooded the dark cavern in the tarp.

Gabriel tried to hold his breath as he rolled to
the wooden tailgate, but the truck dipped and
swayed and he gasped as he realized they were
tipping over.  Jesus, they were on a mountain
pass, he thought.  No wonder the ride had been
so rocky.

The truck slid to the left, and Gabriel could no
longer hold his breath.  He gasped and
immediately grimaced at the burn that attacked
his eyes and nose.  But he kept going, vaulting
himself over the edge of the truck, his lungs
fighting for clear air.  With a blow to his
chest, he hit the ground and rolled, coming to a
halt as the truck slid into a steep, rocky fall.

Grimacing, he fell to his back, blinking a few
times to clear his head.  Other than the sounds
of nature that surrounded him, he heard nothing. 
A quick check for broken bones and injury, then
he shook off the beginnings of a headache and
crawled to his knees.  He brought his hands to
his eyes and winced at the puffy feel of them;
but they weren't as badly burned as the first
time he'd encountered such a creature.  Though
they were slitted and hurt like hell, he could
still see.

He looked around and spotted the truck on its
side below him, the two wheels facing up slowing
to a stop.  What it still alive?  Damn, he
didn't feel like checking, but he knew he had to
get these ropes off somehow.  Surely there was
something in the truck, some piece of twisted
metal he could use.

As he began to creep toward the truck, he heard
a shout from above.

"Gabe!"

Gabriel raised his head and squinted in the
sunlight.  The hulking figure at the top of the
incline was in shadow and he whispered, "Jesse?"
before pain made him close his eyes.



End Chapter Five

Gabriel
Chapter Six


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Outside Denver, Colorado
September 17, 2001
10:14 a.m.


He couldn't have been dazed for more than a
few moments, as he heard the rustle of leaves
come closer.  The sun blared into Gabriel's
swollen eyes and he gasped, lowering his head
against the bright pain.

"Easy, man," came the murmur beside him, as the
huge arms sat him upright.  "Hold on - lemme cut
you out o' these."

As soon as his hands were free, Gabriel reached
up to tenderly examine his itchy face, asking
Jesse in a rush, "Is it dead?"

Jesse cut the rope around Gabriel's ankles in
one neat slice and looked up from his crouch,
puzzlement clouding his face.  "Is what dead?"

Gabriel didn't have time to explain; he got up
and swayed in place, adrenaline waning in a
heartbeat.  "Shit."

"Yo, man, take it easy," Jesse said, holding him
up with both hands.  "I don't see no one around
but you, Gabe.  What the hell you doin' tied up
in the back of that truck, anyway?"

"Better question is - what the hell are you
doing following us?"  Though thankful Jesse had
freed him, Gabriel was pissed at the way his
friend had put himself in danger by coming after
him.  Jesse was still in danger, as was Gabriel. 
He grabbed the knife from Jesse's hand and moved
toward the overturned vehicle, giving his
rescuer a stern warning.  "Stay back."

Against Jesse's muttered curse of protest,
Gabriel staggered to the truck, knife held out.

"God damn it, Gabe -"

"Stay back!" he hissed, waving Jesse away.  To
his relief, the man didn't follow him, though
Jesse's salty language trailed after him,
echoing in the close confines of the forest.

He crept up to the broken driver's side window
and peeked in.  Nothing but some torn clothes,
half-melted by the now harmless green blood. 
Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes for a moment. 
Yes, it was dead.  But it took its destination
and *her* whereabouts with it to hell.

Shit.  He hadn't meant to kill it, only
incapacitate it temporarily until he could slip
from the truck.  Sure, it would have followed
him - but at least he would have had time to
come up with a plan of action.  Now he was once
again without direction.

A thought suddenly came to him - no, he wasn't. 
The road they'd been on winded up into the
mountains; the *only* road, as far as he could
see.  He scrambled up the incline, hearing Jesse
behind him.

Only to be greeted by the skittish whinny of a
huge horse, its chestnut coat gleaming in the
sunshine with beads of sweat.  "Whoa," he
murmured, holding up his hands.

His ticket out of here, he knew.

"Fuck, man," Jesse growled beside him.  "Don't
go scaring off our ride back.  I don't feel like
walkin'."

Gabriel slid the knife into his belt and reached
for the reins of the animal, soothing murmurs
interspersed between his question to Jesse.
"Where the hell did you get the horse?"

"I stole it from outside the Silver Moon." 
Jesse's teeth flashed in a satisfied smile. 
"When you didn't come back to the room after ten
minutes, I left Layla with a big smile on her
face and snuck into the hall.  Just in time to
see this big, ugly sucker draggin' your ass down
the back stairs."  A rare shine of embarrassment
made him chuckle.  "Fuckin' thing threw me three
times.  Took me forever to catch up with you."

"You didn't have to come after me," Gabriel
muttered.

"Sure I did," the man answered, as if Gabriel
were nuts for thinking otherwise.  "We gotta get
back to the camp, Gabe.  Train's leavin' at noon
and we gotta be on it."

Hating what he was about to do to Jesse, his
gaze skirted the woods around him and he said,
"I'm not going back."  The road before him
beckoned and he stared at the way it disappeared
around the next bend.

"You're not going back?"  Jesse was incredulous. 
"Man, what the fuck you talkin' about?  You
comin' back with me."  He took a step forward.

Gabriel brought the knife up and slowly drew the
horse away.  "Back off," he warned, giving Jesse
a narrowed stare.  Though his eyes still felt
like shit, he could see well enough to defend
himself, if necessary.  Not that he wanted it to
come down to that, but he was determined to
continue.  "I'm going up that road and you're
not going to stop me."

"Aw, man - don't do this.  They're gonna come
after you," Jesse pleaded, hands raised as
Gabriel kept moving away with the horse.  "Is
she worth all this trouble?"

Clenching his jaw, he ignored the question as he
lifted himself onto the horse's back.  It danced
a bit in the rocky dirt, but didn't bolt. 
Gabriel wasn't a horseman by any means, but he
silently thanked his long-gone mother for
forcing him to hobnob with the rich and at least
learn how to handle a country club horse his
fourteenth summer back on the Vineyard.  Like
riding a bike, he knew, taking firm hold of the
reins as he turned back to Jesse, who stood some
yards away, sputtering with frustration.

"Gabe, you can't -"

"Sorry to make you walk back, Jesse," he said,
with a snap of his wrist tossing the knife into
the dirt at Jesse's feet.  The horse turned at
the press of his knee and he rode away, flinging
over his shoulder, "You should be able to make
the noon train if you start now.  So long."

Jesse's voice followed him up the trail.  "You
motherfucker!  Don't you leave me like this!"

Gabriel felt awful for Jesse's long walk back to
town, but he wasn't about to stop, the horse
picking up speed at his urging.  He took one
last look over his shoulder as he rounded the
curve in the road.  Jesse was still muttering,
though he'd turned in the opposite direction.
Good.  He was going back.

That off his mind, Gabriel surged forward, not
knowing where the road would end... but damned
determined to find out.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
July 20, 2001
1:57 p.m.


The room was alive with activity and Mulder
could feel their energy bounce off the walls. 
So close now... just a couple more days, then
he'd be out and on his way.  The guys were
looking over the papers with a fine-toothed comb
as Mulder paced, his hair swinging out behind
him like an avenging angel.

"Quit wearing a hole in the floor, Mulder,"
Frohike murmured, not looking up from his
magnifying glass.  "Sit down before you run into
something."

"What the hell would I run into?" he asked, his
jaw clenched as he kept making a circle around
the table.

"Oh, you'd find something," Frohike answered
with a wry huff.  "I've never seen a man more
susceptible to injury.  Not that you're clumsy,
just... face it, you attract trouble."

That was the understatement of the year.  Mulder
finally gave in to the bit of truth in Frohike's
words and sat at the table, though his fingers
drummed against it like sharp taps of a hammer.

"So - think we can all set out tomorrow?"  He
was understandably anxious and it wasn't like
him to bow to another's decision-making,
especially Frohike's.  But the little man had
grown into a leader and Mulder had let him take
over the role, at first too worn out physically
to protest.  Then, as time went by, he found
that lifting the burden of command from his
shoulders was a good thing for him mentally as
well.  It freed him to concentrate, to make his
mind ready for what was bound to be a difficult
journey.

What if they never found her?  Could he stand to
give up one day?  No.  As long as he had breath
and the wits to survive, he'd never stop
looking.

"Yeah," Frohike said, shoving the paper to
Langly, who waited patiently to peruse it a
second time.  "Maybe late tomorrow, but I figure
we each have a good two days or so of walking
and hitching to get to a company depot."

They were all setting out in different
directions; according to the company bulletins
posted on the Internet, there were sign-up
depots scattered in the major metropolitan
areas.  Men who wanted to work were asked to
show up at the train depot each morning.  You
got picked, you got on a train.

Mulder had picked St. Louis - the Gateway to the
West.  He'd didn't quite know why at the time,
though something was telling him deep inside to
follow the sun.  Good a place as any to start,
he figured.

"Remember... try to stay off the main roads.  If
you can get a safe ride, do it, but don't put
yourself in danger, understand?" Frohike warned,
looking straight at Mulder.

Byers and Langly grunted their agreement and
Mulder nodded, though he knew he'd take any
chance at all to plunge ahead.

"Looks like we have papers, gentlemen," Byers
broke in with a smile, looking up from the last
of them.

Mulder still couldn't get used to Byers without
a beard.  And that long hair?  God, did he
himself look that ridiculous?  It was like
straw, sticking out in all directions, the
strands waving at each other.

Frohike had shaved his head to a fine, stiff
crewcut that matched the gray stubble on his
face.  His vitality now was something to behold; 
gone were the loose jowls of fat and dull, mousy
eyes behind thick glasses.  He'd gone out about
a month ago and stayed gone for a week while
they wondered and worried.  Then he'd simply
walked in one sunny day, sans glasses.  He'd
found a traveling doctor, he'd said.  One who'd
fitted him with a pair of contact lenses from
his wagon of medical goods.  Traded his glasses
for them, he smiled.  Along with the only issue
of Celebrity Skin he had left in his possession; 
Mulder had laughed, knowing Frohike guarded that
with his life, carrying it around everywhere.

Frohike, despite his newfound confidence, was
still a geek at heart.  Willing to try anything
to charm the ladies, though he did so on the
pretense of ridding himself of an identifying
piece of goods.

That wasn't fair, Mulder told himself.  Frohike
was doing the best he could - hell, they were
*all* doing their best.  For her.  For the one
constant in their miserable little lives, the
one ray of sunshine left in a decimated,
desolate world.

"A few final touches," Frohike drawled, "then
we're all set."  He looked pointedly at Langly.

As they all did, waiting for the argument to
come.  Which wasn't but a second's pause away.

"C'mon, guys - I can tuck it under a cap." 
Gulping, he sat up straighter in his chair and
shoved his glasses up his nose.  "It's not that
distinctive, really."

Mulder could have laughed out loud at the panic
on Langly's face.  Instead, he threw a glance at
Frohike, urging him on with a knit of his brow
as if to say, put your foot down.

"You know the plan, Ringo.  Short becomes long
and long becomes short."  Frohike's voice was
adamant but soothing, as he stood.  He mirrored
Mulder's look, arching a brow for help.

Mulder rose as well; so did Byers, who sauntered
over to the cabinet on the far wall with a
whistle.  Langly sputtered, though he was
obviously too scared to move.  "I can dye it! 
Black - we gotta have something around here -"

His protest was cut short as Frohike grabbed his
arms, pinning him to the chair as he pulled
Langly's wrists behind him.  "It'll be over
before you know it," he whispered.

Mulder crouched before Langly, grabbing hold of
his flailing legs.  "Look at it this way,
Ringo," he said with a rueful smile, "if I could
trade places with you, I would."  He hated his
long hair and hoped for the day it would all be
cut off.

Preferably by a pair of slim, white hands.

At the first snip of the scissors in Byers'
hands, Langly wailed, "My manhood..."

"Shut up, you wuss," Frohike growled.

Mulder's eyes met Frohike's over Langly's
crestfallen face.  Frohike smiled and gave
Mulder a wink.  "You wanna find Scully, don't
you?" he directed at Langly.  Frohike was
enjoying this way too much, Mulder could see.

A sniffle and then, "Yeah."

Frohike gave his arms a shake.  "Then be a man. 
You don't see Mulder complaining about all that
hair, do you?"

The golden locks kept falling into Langly's lap
and he raised teary eyes to Mulder, though he
answered Frohike.  "That's because she doesn't
give a shit how *he* looks.  I have a reputation
to uphold with the chicks."

They were all silent for a moment or two as that
statement echoed in the room.  Then Frohike
chuckled and Byers joined in, followed by
Mulder.  Before long, laughter filled the air
around them, including Langly's.  Suddenly
struck by how ridiculous they all looked, how
*unfamiliar*, it occurred to them all that this
plan just might work.

As Langly sobered, he lifted his head and nodded
for Byers to continue, leveling Mulder with a
fierce stare, his voice snide, but brave.  "You
better hold on to her this time, doofus...
'cause this is the *last* time this hair's
coming off, got it?"

Mulder smiled.  "I'll do my best... Samson."

The name looked fine on Langly's new papers.


The Rocky Mountains
September 17, 2001
6:45 p.m.


Gabriel was exhausted and he knew the horse was
just about pushed to its limits.  Sunset had not
crept up on him - it had roared in a few minutes
ago, as darkness slammed onto the road.  The
narrow trail had gotten increasingly more
treacherous and overgrown, with the forest
growing dense and wild on both sides. 

Hours had passed and by his estimate, he'd gone
maybe twenty miles deeper into the mountains. 
It was slow-going and frustration gnawed at his
gut; slight panic enveloped him as he realized
he may not find what he was looking for after
all.  Not tonight, anyway.  The unforgiving line
of trees to either side of him seemed to press
on him, mocking his purpose.  But he shook it
off and sighed in the midst of the rising buzz
of insects.  The horse hung his head and Gabriel
decided it was time for a rest, or the animal
would simply die under him.  He heard a trickle
of water nearby and as the moon rose, he could
see a spring to the left.

He slowly dropped himself to the ground and led
the animal to the water, where he fell to his
knees beside it.  It tasted good, clear and cold
as it soothed his parched throat.  A few
splashes to his still swollen eyes felt even
better, almost refreshing.  Again, he lowered
his head to drink greedily then sat back as the
horse kept nuzzling the water a few feet
downstream.

With a small groan, he laid back against the
undergrowth and listened to the night sounds
float on the breeze.  He drew his jacket closer,
shivering against the cool ground beneath him. 
But he welcomed the soft, natural mattress of
leaves and closed his eyes.  A few minutes sleep
was all he needed, then he'd start again.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
July 21, 2001
8:57 p.m.


"Traveling at night should be safer and easier,"
Frohike said, as they checked themselves one
last time.  "Try to keep out of the populated
areas, but don't stray too far off the beaten
path - lots of hungry people out there."

Mulder nodded, knowing the world was more
dangerous now than any concrete jungle had ever
been.  As he folded his forged papers and put
them in his pocket, he took one last look at his
friends.

Byers - Fitzgerald now, at his insistence he
keep some part of himself intact - fidgeted with
his worn coveralls as if it was a painful cloak
of horsehair.  Somehow, he didn't look lost in
the unfamiliar clothes; to Mulder, Byers looked
as he always had when faced with a challenge...
frightened, but unwilling to let it show.

Admiration welled up in Mulder for them all as
he watched them transform from wannabes to
warriors.  From Langly's unconscious rubbing of
his shorn scalp to Frohike's donning of his
fingerless gloves, the little nuances of their
personalities meshed into a cohesive show of
force.

It gave Mulder pause and he wondered if they
could possibly survive without each other. 
They'd been together for so long, just like he
and Scully... and he knew what life was like
without her.  The guys worked best as a unit,
that was plain to see.  Was he doing the wrong
thing by letting them separate for his cause? 
Sure, it was because of Frohike's orders, but
Mulder knew he could have walked out of here a
month ago and they'd have been unable to stop
him.  Of course, they'd have followed anyway. 
So maybe it was best they'd planned it this way
- they'd had time to strengthen their cccombined
resolve.

"I'm reporting to the company office in Arkansas
right away," Frohike said, reiterating the
location of their home base, so to speak.  A
week before, he'd gone to the nearest depot and
offered his services to the company as a master
of computers and technology, hoping for just
such an assignment.  Mulder could have hit him
when he found out where Frohike had gone,
thinking his friend was sure to get into
trouble.

But Frohike returned with a big smile and a job
in Little Rock - he'd convinced the company's
recruiters he had business to settle before he
could join up.  To their surprise, the company
had agreed, letting him report a week later -
they were desperate for men with intelligence...
and self-confidence, Frohike had laughed.

Yeah, Frohike had that in spades, Mulder
thought, as he listened to the guy's bark.  "As
soon as you get settled, find a computer.  Check
into the newsgroup at least once a week.  When
we have a solid lead, we'll meet, okay?  And I
mean a *solid* lead, Mulder - got that?"

"What if I get lonesome?"  He winked at Frohike
and was rewarded with a huff.

"You still got your right hand, don't you?"  As
soon as the words left his mouth, Frohike paled. 
"I'm sorry, man - I didn't mean to -"

Mulder brought his right hand up and flexed the
trembling fingers.  "Don't sweat it, Melvin." 
He didn't want Frohike to feel guilty for a slip
of the tongue, but neither did he feel like
pursuing the subject.  Instead, he brought his
head up with a small smile, extending his hand
in a effort to hold it steady.  "Well guys, this
is it.  See ya around."

With murmurs of goodbye, Langly and Byers shook
his hand and disappeared out the door.  They
were traveling together as far as Cincinnati,
where they would take off into opposite
directions.

Frohike motioned for Mulder to go as well and he
did, following the long tunnel cut into the rock
to the surface.  He heard the slam of the steel
door behind him and as he stepped into the clear
night air, he paused, waiting for Frohike to
come up behind him.

In a few seconds, Frohike had joined him.  They
were also traveling together the first leg of
their journey, but that was only to the depot
where Frohike had signed up.  Mulder thought it
best he continue to St. Louis before putting his
papers to the test and Frohike had agreed.

"Help me out with this, Mulder," Frohike said,
pulling on the camouflage netting after he shut
the wooden door to the tunnel.

Mulder complied and, after they'd draped the
blanket of leaves and brush over the doorway,
they picked up the wooden slat that barred the
door and slipped it into place.  "Condemned"
reflected back at them in the pale moonlight. 
The bunker now had all the characteristics of a
mine long abandoned; it was rather sad to be
leaving it behind and Mulder knew that the guys
were more disturbed by it than he was.  It was
comfortable to them - a hole filled with all the
necessities... computers, food, and computers.  

But there was no way they could ever come back
here once they'd found Scully.  Rendevous, if
and when it came, was already set in a place far
from here.  Where friends awaited and life was
good, they understood.  In the wilds of Canada
with Walter Skinner, where they could all live
out their lives in peace.  

The archived data from the computers had been
transferred yesterday, including Scully's notes
on the vaccine.  Sent through a secure satellite
connection to Skinner - all they needed now was
Scully.  Her notes had been very precise and
useful, but the lack of qualified personnel
hampered the vaccine's perfection.  With the
vaccine, they'd never have to worry about
invasion again.  With her, they'd find a
qualified savior.

That wasn't why Mulder wanted her back, though. 
And everyone knew it.  Vaccine be damned - he
wanted to put his arms around her and let
himself dissolve into the safety of her embrace.

"Come on, let's go," he murmured, turning toward
the future.

Frohike didn't follow and Mulder halted after a
few steps, the question on his face as he turned
back.

"Uh... I didn't want to give you this in front
of the other two, Mulder."  He reached into the
zippered pocket of his jacket.

"What?"  Mulder was impatient.  "Everything's in
order, right?"

"Yeah, this is just a little present from me to
you."  Frohike handed the paper to him.

As Mulder unfolded the paper, the moon emerged
from behind the high clouds and he caught his
breath at the face in his hands.

It was her.  Scully.  Julia.  Whoever - it was
her.  "Where did you get this?"

"Found it in the data dump yesterday - must've
picked it up from the Administration's network. 
Figured you'd want it."  Frohike shrugged, a
sheepish grin fading.  "Or not.  I'll take it
back -"

"No."  Mulder knew he looked like he'd had the
wind kicked out of him; did Frohike think he
wouldn't want a photo of her?  Even if she
didn't look the same?  He didn't give a shit
what she looked like.  Raising hot eyes to
Frohike he whispered, "Thanks."

Frohike stepped forward, lowering his voice to
firmness of steel.  "No matter what she's done,
she's still Scully.  You understand that, don't
you?"

Mulder bit his lip and nodded, unable to speak.

"And if you *ever* hurt her, in any way, ever
again... you'll answer to me.  Got it?"  A sharp
poke at Mulder's chest punctuated the warning.

Mulder fell into step beside him, gently folding
the paper and putting in the pocket of his
shirt.  "Frohike?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd never hurt her.  Not intentionally.  You
know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, buddy," he sighed.  "But sometimes it
doesn't work out that way.  Sometimes nothing
works out the way you want it to."


The Rocky Mountains
September 17, 2001
7:45 p.m.


Gabriel awoke with a start and sat up, leaves
scattering at his abrupt movement.  His horse
stood nearby, picking at the grass with lazy
nudges.  Other than the horse's shuffling, there
was only the sound of the wind in the trees. 
But a nagging uneasiness made him move and he
stood, shushing the horse with a hand to its
neck.

He fumbled for the photo in his pocket, as if he
half expected it to be missing.  But no, it was
there, and he pulled it out, fisting it as if
seeking strength from the smooth, calm face. 
The partial moon cast the colors in gray, just
like the night.  Just like the feeling he had
that the gray was hiding the red approach of
danger.

He had to get moving.  Something wasn't right,
but you couldn't tell it from the stillness...

"Shit," he muttered, finally figuring out what
the animals of the forest had already. 
Something - or someone - was out there lurking. 
Quickly but quietly, he got on the horse and
started up the road again, scanning the trees
for danger.  He went slowly at first, then gave
the horse a nudge.  Before long, he was at a
nice gallop, leaving the bad feeling far behind.

There was nothing to be afraid of; he was just
nervous.  Why shouldn't he be?  He set his
sights on the next rise and surged forward.  As
he made it to the top of the hill, the horse
suddenly shied, almost throwing him.

"Whoa," he said, as a smattering of bats came
out of the trees.  They were gone as quickly as
they'd come, frightening the horse more than
him, though his heart thudded in his chest.

It became even more frantic at the glow in the
distance.  It didn't frighten him, though...
he'd gotten to the point where a light in the
sky was rather ho-hum.  No, this wasn't a
tractor beam, or a star ship... not even a
little piece of metal that had blossomed into a
bright, traveling sun.  This was better than any
of those... on a par with the old 'hoaxster with
a garbage can lid and a flashlight'.

Why?  Because it was very much of this world. 
Faint, but there - at the summit of the incline,
he supposed.  Probably a couple of miles further
up the road, nestled into the mountainside like
a beacon.

A dwelling, a building of some sort.  Definitely
big, as he adjusted his sight to take in the
pinpricks of other lights scattered here and
there, like candles in windows.

He'd found it.  He looked at the photo again and
smiled.

Suddenly, he was flat on his back, his horse
scampering away into the night.  The piece of
paper flew from his fingers and he tried to
catch it, but it was gone.  "Son of a -"

"Shut up."  Harsh, black hands grabbed him from
the ground as another's pinned his arms behind
his back.  Hot, coffee-dark breath bled through
the knit-covered face before him.  "Private
property, asshole."

The slam to the side of his head made him see
stars, but he managed to focus again in a second
or two.  His first thought - the company had
sent the territorial police after him.  But that
couldn't be; he was only a few hours gone and
they didn't mobilize that fast.  He figured he'd
have at least a day's head start on them, if
they even bothered in this wilderness.

No, these were commandos of some sort.  Dressed
from head to toe in black, their faces and heads
covered until only their eyes shone in the night
with feral menace.  There were two he could see
- the one in front of him and the one hee knew
was holding him from behind.  There was at least
one more, as the one in front nodded to the side
and said, "Go after the horse.  Take it up to
the Ranch - *quietly*."

The Ranch.  Now Gabriel knew that *was* a
fortress he'd seen in the distance.  Guarded by
some pretty fancy firepower, as he noted the
automatic weapons each man clutched.  "Hey guys,
I'm a bit lost -"

His words were cut off by the gun butt to his
stomach.  "Shut the fuck up."  The gun came up
again, this time barrel first, pressing against
his temple.

"No, man," came the hiss from behind Gabriel. 
"No gunfire, remember?"  His voice became
sarcastic.  "Can't disturb the princess."

What?  Gabriel's ears were roaring from the
pain.  What had the goon said?

"I got a better idea.  We could make like he
deserted the company - save the territorial
police some trouble, eh?"

"Yeah, but make it quick.  Damn, what's the use
of carrying these guns if we can't use 'em?"

In moments, Gabriel was being dragged into the
woods.  As they went deeper into the darkness,
he regained some of his strength and began to
fight the hold, elbowing the man behind him.

"You motherfucker!" he heard in his ear,
followed by the sickening *pop* of something
tearing in his left shoulder.

Gabriel screamed, a low, hoarse bellow of pain
that echoed in the trees.  With his right arm at
half-strength and his left now useless, he
sagged against the ground, his body giving up
the fight for a dizzying moment.

Next thing he knew, he was hanging from a tree,
the rope around his neck slowly cutting off his
air.  He groped with his right hand at the vise
and heard laughter above his wheezing.

"No use fighting it, man.  Say bye-bye."

Their laughter faded into the woods as he
struggled.  God, he couldn't breathe; the rope
hadn't broken his neck, not yet.  But it was
only a matter of moments before it would choke
him to death.

All else went from his mind except for one
thought: he was going to fail.  He was never
going to see her again.

He went limp as he fell into unconsciousness.


The Rocky Mountains
September 17, 2001
8:00 p.m.


"Easy."

The whisper penetrated his ears as he gasped for
breath.

"Gently, Matthew, gently."  Fingers pulled at
the rope around Gabriel's neck.  "Breathe...
breathe... it's okay."

Gabriel sucked in a ragged, painful breath, and
his throat felt like it was on fire.  Strong
arms cradled him and he tried to open his eyes,
but found the effort was too much.

"Miss?"  Another voice, this one rumbling under
his back.  Deeper, louder, but not by much.  "We
need to get out of here."

With that, Gabriel felt himself begin to move. 
He was being carried, that much he knew.
Screaming pain radiated from his shoulder and he
jerked against the hold.  Movement ceased for a
moment and he felt his legs settle against the
ground.  Rough fingers clamped around his
shoulder and he spasmed again, trying to avoid
the pain.

"I don't think it's dislocated, Miss.  But it's
been injured - he doesn't want me touching it."

His whole body seemed to be one big mass of pain
and he struggled to get his eyes open.  When he
did, he knew he shouldn't have, as the trees
spun around him.

"Oh, no," came the mutter above him.  "Miss,
he's puking."

The voice that answered was muffled, but close. 
"Put him on his side, quickly."

Gabriel felt what little was in his stomach come
right up as the soothing voice continued. 
"Don't worry.  You're okay."

God, he thought.  He must be in heaven, because
that voice sounded so familiar, so beloved.  It
was impossible, though - what the hell would she
be doing out here?  Yeah, he knew she was close,
but he couldn't be *that* lucky.

"Okay, let's go."

Gabriel knew they were on the move again and he
decided that it wasn't her - he was beginning to
become feverish with pain, that was all.  He
could feel his body light up with painful fire
as his skin burned.  But whoever it was, they
weren't going to hurt him.  That much he knew. 
He let himself go again, this time knowing he'd
be back.


The Rocky Mountains
September 17, 2001
8:45 p.m.


Murmurs drifted into his ears and he fought the
waves that dragged him down, slowly turning his
head to the warmth at his right.  He licked his
parched lips and slowly cracked open his eyes,
trying to focus on the figures that danced
before the fire light.  One tall and obviously
tense, its stance hovering over the smaller,
cloaked wraith at his side.

"We've got the shoulder set, Miss," the man was
saying.  "I don't think it's a good idea for you
to spend the night here tonight.  Whoever did
this to him could still be in the woods.  It'd
be safer if we spent the night at the Ranch."

The Ranch?  Gabriel jerked at that, struggling
against his confinement.  In the next instant,
he realized he wasn't confined.  In fact, he was
naked.  Stretched out upon a bed so soft he
seemed to melt into the mattress.  His left arm
was bound to his body; immobilized by strips of
material.  Several blankets weighed him down,
but they felt so good, as he shivered with
fever.  He opened his mouth to ask for water,
but found he couldn't speak.

"He needs someone to look after him, Matthew,"
the little one said.  "At least until his fever
breaks."

"I'm taking you home, Miss - no arguments.  Then
I'll come back and stay with him for a while,
okay?  You can come back in the morning."

Water, he needed water.  God damn it, why
weren't they looking at him?  He dragged his
right hand out from under the covers and tried
to get their attention.  All he succeeded in
doing was knocking down the water pitcher on the
night stand.

The two figures stopped their arguing and turned
to stare at him, their faces shadowed.

Yeah, it's me, he wanted to shout.  Get me some
fucking water!

The little one whispered something to the one
called Matthew, who moved forward to get the
pitcher.  He slipped out of sight and Gabriel
hoped he was going for water.

"Are you thirsty?"  The voice came from beneath
the hood of the cloak, the mouth speaking hidden
by its black folds.

Gabriel nodded and he closed his eyes as the
glass came closer.  The bed sagged by his side
and he drank, coughing at the slide of the water
down his damaged throat.

"Slowly."

He couldn't drink anymore; he let his head fall
back as his eyes opened.

The rumble of joy started from deep within
him... his chest heaved, his eyes burned, his
hand shook as it brushed the soft velvet at his
hip.

"Okay?"

Her smile was gentle, her profile lit with gold
from the fire light, and her eyes - he caught
his meager breath at the startling blue he'd
only seen in his dreams these many months.

And he was helpless to stop it.

Her brow creased as her smile faded.  "Shh...
don't cry..."  Her hand - her cool, soft fingers
- brushed his forehead and temple.  "Youu're
okay, you're going to be all right."

God, it was her.  Jesus, Joseph and all the
angels... he'd found her.  She'd found *him*.

Leaning closer, she searched his face, her
whisper meant for his ears alone.  "Are you the
one?"

The one?  What was she talking about?  God, yes,
he was the one... anything, anyone she wanted
him to be.  A fresh onslaught of tears blurred
his vision.

She pressed forward, desperation lighting her
eyes.  "Are you?"

"Miss?"

She turned from him and he latched on to her
wrist.  No, damn it.  She couldn't leave - she
might never come back.  Or worse... maybe he was
delirious and she wasn't really there at all. 
All this talk of being the 'one', wavering
pictures of black cloaks and huge hands...
maybe it was just a dream.

Giving a tug, he forced her to look back, his
tears clouding his vision.  Stay, he wanted to
cry out.  Scully!

"Sleep now," she was saying over the panicked
thump of his heart.  "I'll come back tomorrow."

But he refused to let her go, using his last
remaining bit of strength to hold on.  He
struggled to sit up and she sucked in a breath,
fright erasing her concern.

"Matthew..."

"God damn it, Scully - it's me!"  His lips
moved, but no sound came out.  The words were
stuck somewhere in his chest and it was too
painful to force them through his vocal cords. 
He began to hyperventilate, though his grip
remained strong.

"Matthew!"  She stood, yanking at his hold, fear
making tears come to her eyes.

No, no... it's me, Scully... no...

"Let go," came the growl above him.  A hand
wrapped around his arm and another pushed at his
chest.  "I don't want to hurt you."

But Gabriel didn't care - she was leaving him
again.  God, after all this time, she was only
there for a minute.  It was cruel.  It was God
punishing him for all he'd done - a God he
hadn't believed in until now.  A vengeful God
who laughed at him, letting him see her one last
time only to take her away.

Sobs made him gasp for air and he felt her
slender arm slip from his fingers as he fell
back, the lack of oxygen finally catching up
with him as his eyes rolled back in his head.


End Chapter Six

Gabriel
Chapter Seven


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


The Rocky Mountains
September 18, 2001
7:08 a.m.


A groan rumbled from his chest as he shifted in
the bed.  God, he hurt *everywhere* - even his
feet.  Slowly, he moved his legs and his arms,
and he was assaulted by a short-lived wave of
panic at the realization that he couldn't move
his left arm.  Sliding his right hand under the
covers, he felt the bindings and knew he'd been
injured... *again*.  Frohike was right - he was
an accident waiting to happen.  Not that he was
going to admit that when he saw Frohike at
breakfast...

Breakfast.  Something smelled damn good; not at
all like the Gunmen's cooking.  Not enough of
the vinegary odor of Tabasco...

His eyes went wide; he wasn't in the bunker.  It
all came back to him in a rush - she was here. 
Here, wherever here was.  He struggled to raise
his head from the pillow, then dropped it as a
man stepped forth from the shadows, his slender
form looming over the bed.

Shit!  Gabriel felt the blood drain from his
face with shock, then just as quickly return as
he drew a relieved, shallow breath.  It wasn't a
man - it was just a boy.  A *big* boy, to be
sure, but young nonetheless.  A shock of light
brown hair fell over curious eyes as the boy
colored, embarrassed to be caught lurking. 
Gabriel figured him to be seventeen or eighteen,
no more than that, despite his over six foot
frame.

"Easy," he said, hanging his head for a moment
against Gabriel's scrutiny.  His voice was
cultured, with just a hint of the King's English
softening the tones.  "I'm not going to hurt
you.  Gabriel, isn't it?"

How the hell did he know that?

The boy nodded at the pile of clothes in the
corner - Gabriel's clothes, torn and muddy. 
"Your papers.  You work for the company, don't
you?"

His papers... Jesus, the photograph... no, he'd
lost that, hadn't he?  With a twinge of sadness,
he remembered it slipping from his hand as he
was attacked.  He tried to speak, but nothing
came out but a painful wheeze of air.

"Your vocal cords must have been damaged by the
rope," the boy explained, moving closer, though
he still kept a safe distance, his hands hidden
in the pockets of well-worn jeans.  "My name is
Matthew, by the way.  Matthew Spencer."

Definitely not US born and raised, Gabriel
realized; either that, or the boy was schooled
abroad.  He nodded, bringing his hand up to rub
at his throat, feeling the sticky stuff under
his fingers.

"Don't do that!" One hand came out of Matthew's
pocket to punctuate the warning as he stepped
forward.  "I just put some salve on the rope
burns.  We thought about bringing you up to the
Ranch, but decided you probably didn't need to
attract the wrong kind of attention, if you know
what I mean."

We?  God, he was talking about... was it true? 
Had he really seen her?  Touched her?

Once again, Gabriel struggled to sit up; he had
to find out if it was really her and if she was
here with this man.  Matthew took another step
and Gabriel hesitated, not wanting to take the
chance on another rebuke, though he raised
hopeful eyes to his keeper.

"Got yourself into a fine mess, didn't you?"
Matthew asked, reaching for the water pitcher. 
"Here, I know you've got to be thirsty."

He was, but for more than water.  Answers, he
needed answers.  But he remembered his panic of
the last time he'd seen those big hands and he
didn't relish the idea of being pinned to the
bed again.  He took the glass of water and
sipped slowly, wincing with each swallow.

"Guess I'm going to have to fetch the bedpan,
too, eh?"

God, yes, Gabriel thought, giving Matthew a sigh
as he passed the glass back to him.  Matthew
didn't go far, just to a small room off the main
room where Gabriel could see a sink and toilet
through the door.  He returned with a white
porcelain pail and set it on the floor next to
the bed.  "Think you can stand?  Or am I
*really* going to have to help you?"  He threw
back the covers and stood, hands on hips,
shuffling his feet with an avoiding cough.

With a grimace, Gabriel swung his legs over the
side of the bed and Matthew pulled on his
outstretched hand.  He wasn't *that*
incapacitated.  Though he swayed a bit when he
stood, he managed to relieve himself as Matthew
chuckled and looked the other way.

"Never feel bad enough not to do that for
yourself, huh?"

Gabriel's face was dry and cracked, and it felt
even worse when the grin at Matthew's
observation blossomed.  It quickly died, though,
as he concentrated on remaining upright.  Which
was quite a feat; funny how all those times in
the hospital it had seemed humiliating to be
burdened with a catheter.  Now he knew why the
doctors insisted on those instruments of
torture... because a simple thing like taking a
leak became a monumental task when you felt like
you'd been run over by a truck.

After he was done, he sank back down to the
mattress with a gulp and watched Matthew take
the pail into the bathroom.  The toilet flushed
and over the din of running water, he heard the
boy comment, "No blood.  That's good."

Yeah, that was the only saving grace in a body
that was thoroughly worn out.  Gabriel took the
opportunity to inspect his wrapped arm, picking
at the white material.  It looked like it was
made from a torn up sheet; crossing tightly
around his chest and back, holding his elbow
close to his body.  At least he could move his
hand, though not more than an inch or two away
from his abdomen.  Despite its Civil War era
appearance, it was a professional job of
immobilizing his arm.  More proof, he hoped.

"Don't fool with that," Matthew said as he came
back into the room and headed for the small
kitchen to wash his hands.  "I don't think
you've got much to worry about - maybe just some
ligament damage.  But we figure you have to keep
it immobile for a few days, a week at the most."

We.  There it was again.  The plural when
Gabriel only counted one other in the room
besides himself.  He waved a hand at Matthew to
get his attention. <We?> he mouthed.

Matthew motioned for Gabriel to sit back against
the pillows as he came back with a tray.  "Me
and the Miss," he said, as if Gabriel's question
was ridiculous.  "Don't you remember?"

Remember?  Those precious few moments were
burned onto his brain forever.  But was the
'Miss' who he hoped it was?

Matthew balanced the tray with one hand while he
threw the covers over Gabriel's lap.  "We found
you hanging from a tree last night.  Just a few
more seconds and you'd have been dead.  What'd
you do?  Skip out on the company?"

Something like that, Gabriel nodded, though he
was pretty sure the men who'd accosted him last
night were not company workers or territorial
police.  They were outfitted for stealth and
terminal action, put in these woods to protect
something.  Or someone.

"That's the reason we didn't bring you to the
Ranch - the doctor would have notified the
territorial police.  I assume you wouldn't have
liked that, right?"

Gabriel shook his head with a rueful smile and
let Matthew place the tray on his lap.  The
plate of eggs and biscuits looked and smelled
delicious, but Gabriel's stomach turned.  He
knew he had to eat something, though, but first
he wanted one tiny bit of information.  Bringing
his right hand up, he signaled Matthew for a
pencil and paper.

"Umm... don't see any around here," Matthew
murmured.  "I'll bring some back later, okay?"

That wasn't good enough.  Gabriel ignored the
possible consequences and grabbed Matthew's hand
amidst the boy's surprised, "Hey!"  He flattened
out the palm on the tray, where he forced his
shaking fingers to write out the word, his dirty
nail scratching out a red line on the skin.

M - I - S - S?

To Gabriel's relief, the boy didn't fight back,
though he did retreat with a step back.  An
imaginary wall of protectiveness sprang up
between them, Matthew's friendly manner
shortened with a cautious, "The Miss - she lives
up at the Ranch.  So do I.  The Ranch, this
cabin... just about everything on this mountain
- it all belongs to my grandfather."

If 'The Miss' was her, then what the hell was
she doing up here?  And how did she get here?

"The Ranch is about three quarters of a mile up
the trail to the north.  You're in the cabin the
Miss uses as a studio."

Her studio?  Gabriel's brows drew together -
since when had Scully been an artist of *any*
kind?  Unless it wasn't her.  His heart sank;
maybe it had been a dream after all.

Matthew perked up at Gabriel's hesitation,
gesturing to the alcove nestled in the front of
the cabin as he walked toward the bay windows. 
"We have running water and iffy electricity, but
the Miss likes to paint up here because the
natural light is much better."  Throwing back
the curtains, Matthew smiled at the burst of
sunlight.  "The Ranch faces the afternoon sun -
the Miss, she likes morning sun.  And the peace
and quiet."

Gabriel squinted at the onset of light, then let
his eyes widen at the array of canvas and paint
scattered about the alcove.  He didn't have an
eye for art by any means - and this selection
wasn't exactly on a par with the masters - but
even from his seat on the bed, he could see the
emotion that rioted across every half-finished
picture.  Vivid colors on some, the stark black
of charcoal on others, they spoke of a tormented
mind.  In search of something indefinable, but
refusing to give up.

The tray was shoved to the side as he slowly
stood, grabbing the bedpost at the end of the
huge bed for support.  He had to see - he had to
know.

"You scared the Miss yesterday, Gabriel,"
Matthew continued, but Gabriel was only half-
listening as he moved closer to the one canvas
that seemed to be complete.  "Not that she'd
ever admit that to me.  But I could tell."

Just a few more steps, and the writing at the
bottom would come into focus...

"She sent me to see how you were and bring you
some food.  I told her if you promised me you
wouldn't scare her again, I'd take her back up
here.  She doesn't go anywhere without me."  His
chest puffed up with pride.

Damn it, the boy needed to shut up, Gabriel
thought, his legs becoming more unstable.  With
a last step, he made it to the cushioned chaise
by the window and ran his fingers over the dried
paint.

It was a representation of two women, back-to-
back, almost mirror images of each other.  Their
faces were blank in profile, though their tears
spoke of anguish.

"I have to go now," Matthew said.  "You need me
to help you back to the bed?"

No, he shook his head, giving Matthew a small
smile.

"You promise me you won't try to hurt the Miss? 
Because if you hurt her, I'll have to kill you." 
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stood
tall, looking down his nose at Gabriel.

It was false bravado, delivered in a trembling
voice.  Matthew was tall but skinny, not having
matured quite yet.  But he had enough of the
typical sass of the teenager in him to throw his
weight around.  Gabriel knew he could easily
take him on a good day; but that day was far
off.  For now, he pandered to the boy's take
charge attitude and gave him what he needed to
hear.

<I promise I won't hurt her.> He mouthed the
words with a sincere nod and Matthew seemed to
be satisfied.  He let out an exhale and relaxed
a bit, moving to the other side of the room.

"I'll be back about mid-afternoon with more
food, Gabriel.  And a change of clothes, if I
can find any to fit you.  You might have to wear
mine."  He picked up Gabriel's pile of clothes
and tucked them under his arm.  "I'm going to
leave these in the woods for the bears - along
with a nice trail of hamburger blood."

For the men who might still be looking for him. 
Gabriel was amazed at the lengths to which
Matthew was willing to protect him and he let it
show on his face.

"The Miss isn't too fond of the company - she
says they're no better than slavemongers."

Gabriel nodded in agreement, remembering the
harsh taskmasters with little regret at having
skipped out.  As he saw Matthew move away,
though, he started.  His papers were in those
clothes and he'd probably need them again one
day soon.  Verifiable identity was a good thing
to have, even if you were now a wanted man for
skipping out.

Matthew was a step ahead of him, reaching into
his pocket.  "Your papers."  Handing them to
Gabriel, he added, "And this was caught in your
hair - you want it?"

The ribbon; it was a wonder it hadn't been lost
forever, he thought.  Gabriel took it from
Matthew and brought it close, nodding his
thanks.  Matthew's lips turned up in a lopsided
grin and he walked to the door.  "Try to eat and
get some rest." With that statement, he flung
open the wooden door and departed, shutting it
firmly behind him.

Strength had returned with a vengeance.  He
watched Matthew leave, saw him through the
window as the young man lumbered down the trail
into the woods beyond the clearing.

All was silent as he looked again at the
painting, blinking once and swallowing before
daring to hope the name wasn't a figment of his
imagination.

It wasn't.  He smiled, tracing the bold slash of
black with his finger.

Julia.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
July 22, 2001
5:54 a.m.


Sometimes nothing works out the way you want it
to.

Frohike's words had echoed through the forest
and Mulder had ignored them - well, tried to,
anyway.  But they wouldn't leave him alone; and
though he thought he knew what Frohike had meant
by them, he had to make sure.

They stopped at the edge of a blacktop road and
watched the sunrise paint the mountains in an
orange glow.  This was it - the parting of ways.

Frohike turned to him and extended a hand. 
"Well, Mulder... good luck."

Mulder took the offered hand.  "Hope to see you
soon."  If was a remark tossed into the damp
dawn like an afterthought, but they both knew if
they ever saw one another again, it would be
under better circumstances.  No face-to-face
contact allowed otherwise.

Frohike nodded and averted his eyes with a shrug
before turning to head up the road.

"Frohike?"

His friend stopped and turned.  "Yeah?"

"If it's the chip - if she can never be who she
was again..." He left the sentence unfinished,
knowing Frohike would understand where his mind
was going.

"Your decision, man," Frohike answered.  "But if
you take it out, it'll kill her. *I'm* not going
to make that decision.  If I find her first,
it's staying in until you get there."

"Thanks a lot," Mulder muttered dryly.

"Hey - that's the price you pay for her favor,
dude.  Speaking of..."  Frohike reached into his
jacket pocket and Mulder saw his fingers pull
something out; it slipped from the gloved hand
to travel on the breeze.  It fluttered over to
Mulder and he picked it from the air.

Her ribbon - the yellow piece of satin she'd
given him that last night - wrapped around his
fingers.  He raised narrowed eyes to Frohike. 
"Did you steal this from me?"

"Found it on the floor of the control room as we
were leaving.  Jesus, Mulder... you need to take
better care of your things, you know?"  With a
smile, he turned and walked away.

Mulder fell silent, the heavy burden of life and
death dragging his steps as he, too, turned.


The Rocky Mountains
September 18, 2001
1:48 p.m.


It had taken him probably a half hour to get up
from his seat at the window and wrap a blanket
around himself.  He smelled and his hair was
stiff with crusted mud, but at least he wasn't
naked anymore.  The bed had looked awfully
inviting after that drain of his strength, but
he didn't want to succumb to the temptation of
sleep.  Not until he knew for sure.

Matthew had said she wasn't coming today.  He
couldn't really blame her; to have some hairy,
grimy thing clutch at you like a madman was
enough to frighten the bravest of souls.  Just
in case, though, he'd tried to wash some of the
dirt from his skin and had rubbed the washcloth
he'd found over his teeth.  The soap, despite
its feminine smell, had tasted awful and he'd
almost lost what little breakfast he'd eaten. 
But at least his face above the beard was fairly
clean, teeth and all.

He sat in the huge cushion-covered rocker by the
fire place and shivered, his gaze not wavering
from the door.  He'd drawn the drapes after
Matthew had left as a cautionary measure.  Who
knew if the men who'd almost killed him were
still out there?  And he'd not wanted to stoke
the fire for fear someone would see the smoke. 
Hopefully Matthew's diversion would make it
appear he'd been an overnight feast for the
wolves; only time would tell.

The wait was killing him.  He shifted his weary
body in the rocking chair and jerked his head up
when he found himself nodding off.  The rumble
of his empty stomach should have been enough to
keep him awake, but it wasn't.  He'd tried to
eat more of his breakfast after it had gotten
cold and his queasiness had settled.  But that
was hours ago... damn it, where was Matthew?

Where was *she*?

In the silence of the cabin, he could hear the
crackle of leaves outside.  Someone was
coming... Gabriel grabbed the arm of the rocker
with his good - his *best*, at the moment - hand
and tried to make his weak legs cooperate. 
Grimacing, he cursed the way his body seemed to
hurt more now than it had this morning - and
damn his knees for refusing to lock.

"Whoa."

Gabriel looked up to find Matthew at his side,
the door open to let in the sunlight.  For a
lanky fellow, he moved fast, Gabriel thought. 
Matthew grabbed his arm and helped him to stand. 
Gabriel knew he had anticipation plastered all
over his face, and Matthew's next words
reflected that.

"It's just me," he smiled.  Damn, Gabriel
thought - the kid must be at least an inch
taller than he was.  Would have been a hell of a
basketball player.  "Brought you some early
dinner and some clothes.  You can roll up the
pants legs."  Laughing, he guided Gabriel to the
small table in the kitchen and helped him to
sit.

Gabriel looked at the open door wistfully and
hung his head when he realized she wasn't
coming.  Not today, anyway.

"You sure can look like a lost puppy when you
want to, can't you?"  Matthew turned from the
table and opened the bag on the counter.  "Here
you go - just a few sandwiches.  But I brought
some more eggs and bread, and some coffee I
snuck out of the kitchen at the Ranch.  There's
canned goods over there."  He nodded at the
cabinet by the sink.  "We don't keep perishables
here, but I'll try to sneak out some meat every
day.  You can cook, can't you?"

Gabriel nodded, not really interested in the
conversation.  Shit.  He wanted to see her so
badly, it gnawed at his gut.

Matthew walked to the bathroom and came back
with an armful of supplies.  "Gotta check you
out - the Miss said that's number one on the
list.  After giving you the food, of course."

Crouching before Gabriel, the young man began to
clean the greasy goo off of Gabriel's neck with
a wet washcloth.  At Gabriel's wince, he gentled
his touch, saying, "I see you cleaned up a bit. 
Good.  You should be able to do this for
yourself tomorrow."

Gabriel's eyes shot up.  They were going to
leave him alone from now on?

"Relax, Gabriel," Matthew chuckled, his
attention focused on his task.  "You're just
gonna have to start doing some things for
yourself, that's all.  Me and the Miss - we'll
be by now and then.  When you're better, we'll
help you get out of here and away from the
company."

But here is where I belong, he wanted to scream. 
Instead, he sighed, his sadness at her absence
weighing him down with every minute that passed. 

"Eat, Gabriel," Matthew urged, finishing up by
applying a light coat of the salve.  His voice
lowered to a murmur.  "I know how you feel, you
know.  It happened to me, too."

At that, Gabriel raised a brow.  Had this boy
been attacked and left for dead, too?

"I'm talking about the Miss," Matthew explained,
as if there was no other subject as dear.  "I
wasn't near as bad off as you. I'd been living
here for a long time when they brought her here. 
Took one look at her and I knew she was
something special.  And that she was *way* too
old for me - I told my Grandpa that next time he
felt like being charitable, he needed to find me
a sixteen-year-old."

Grandpa?  Gabriel paused in the act of reaching
for the unappetizing sandwich and lifted a brow,
hoping Matthew caught his question.

"My Grandpa owns this Ranch," Matthew explained
with pride, then sobered a bit to add, "My
parents were killed in the invasion, though I
don't remember it.  Don't remember much of
anything, really.  Grandpa says it's okay not to
remember; the trauma must have been too much for
me.  I was pretty banged up, so he says.  The
break in my leg must have been wicked, because
it aches still when it gets cold.  I'm *not*
looking forward to winter."  He smiled and
squinted at his handiwork, smearing a last bit
of what Gabriel supposed was antibiotic ointment
on the rope burns.

This was interesting.  He picked up the sandwich
as Matthew stood, taking a bite, then another,
urging Matthew to continue with his nod.  The
boy moved to the sink and kept talking while he
washed his hands.

"Grandpa brought me here from Virginia right
after the invasion began... though like I said,
I can't remember much of it.  It was like the
trauma erased my past, you know?"  Matthew dried
his hands and turned.  "Want some water?"

Gabriel quickly swallowed, ignoring the pull of
bruised flesh, and nodded.  After Matthew sat
and handed him the glass, Gabriel gulped the
water down and mouthed, <Virginia?> The boy's
origins were *very* interesting, indeed.

"Yeah.  Dunno where exactly.  But we used to
have a ranch there, too, I think.  I remember
horses.  We even salvaged some photographs of
the place; got a really neat one of Grandpa atop
this huge stallion."  Matthew's voice became
sarcastic just a bit, and he added, "Of course,
he's got the ever-present smoke in hand.  I keep
telling him those things will kill him one day. 
He keeps saying he's trying to quit...."

Gabriel stilled, a shiver up his spine the only
electrical impulse in a body gone rigid with
fear.  The boy couldn't be speaking of - damn
it, he was dead!  Wasn't he?

"He comes and goes on business a lot.  One day,
he showed up with Miss Julia.  She was in pretty
bad shape." Matthew rambled on, oblivious to
Gabriel's sudden inaction.  "She was awake, but
not, you know?  Took her weeks to snap out of
it.  Some kind of waking coma, the doctor said."

Gabriel was listening to every word.  At the
'waking coma', he dropped the sandwich from his
nerveless fingers and reached for Matthew's arm,
alarm widening his eyes.

"She's okay," Matthew said, slowly pulling
Gabriel's hand away.  "She's just not happy
here, I can tell.  My grandpa told me all about
my life before, which helped.  But she doesn't
have anyone to tell her about hers.  Grandpa
said he'd found her wandering about the streets
of Denver; she was half-starved, like someone
had just left her to die."

His sandwich forgotten, Gabriel signaled to
Matthew for something to write with.  This time,
the teen obliged, pulling a small notepad and
pencil from his pocket, lowering his voice to a
whisper.

"Just so you know, Gabriel... the Miss, she
still has problems.  Bad nightmares, trouble
remembering.  I don't want you to upset her,
okay?"

Gabriel scribbled a few words on the paper,
trying hard to keep his writing neat.  It was
very difficult though, and it ended up a jumble
of letters he hoped Matthew could decipher.  He
had to know; but he also had to step lightly.

<Grandpa name?>

The boy's eyes narrowed, but he offered,
"Spencer.  Charles Spencer.  I thought I told
you my last name already?"

Oh, shit.  Spencer... Spender.  Couldn't be the
same man, could it?  Gabriel ground his teeth as
his mind raced.  No.  Just an eerie coincidence. 
The old man was dead; damn it, Gabriel himself
had put the bullet through the old bastard's icy
heart.  No way could he have gotten out of the
building - the wound had been mortal, he was
sure of it.

Stop this, he told himself.  Just because
'Grandpa' smokes and has a similar last name, it
doesn't mean he's the devil reborn yet again. 
Besides, there was the matter of the boy
himself; could Jeffrey Spender have had a
teenage son?  No way.  As for Gabriel, he was
pretty damn sure he'd never had any children. 
Though not from lack of trying on his father's
part, the fucker.  He shrugged off all the old
fears and hatred and looked at Matthew.

The boy was becoming suspicious of Gabriel's
line of questioning.  He could see it in the
murky blue depths of his narrowed eyes and the
way the boy backed away from their conversation,
his arms crossing as he slumped in his chair. 
Trying to allay Matthew's blossoming distrust,
he scribbled a few words on the pad, passing it
to the boy with an open, calm face.

Matthew took the paper from him and slowly read,
"'Why trust me?'"

Gabriel nodded.  Yes, why was Matthew trusting
him?  He could very well have been one of the
scum that combed the countryside these days,
just looking to kill for the hell of it.

Matthew laughed, his mood lightening as Gabriel
heaved an imaginary sigh of relief.  "Well, it's
not like you can do much of anything, now is it? 
Besides, you're just a stray... we know you
didn't get close enough to the Ranch to do us
any harm.  The Guards would've picked you up and
taken you back to town, like they do anyone who
gets close."

Take him back to town?  Yeah, right.  At the end
of a rope.  Who was fooling who here?  Matthew's
grandfather may have been a charitable sort, but
only when he felt like it.  And the boy didn't
know what the guards really did to intruders; of
course, he *was* just a lad.  It wasn't like he
needed to know just how dangerous the outside
world was.  If one had money - and it looked
like his grandfather had loads, from the size of
the fortress he'd seen last night - then it was
possible to isolate yourself and your loved ones
from the horrors of the past months.  The Rocky
Mountains were the perfect place.

"And face it, Gabriel - you look like you've had
it rough, all covered with scars.  I figure the
Miss, she felt sorry for you.  It's nice to have
some company for a change.  The people at the
Ranch - well, they're not the most friendly
sort, you know?"

People?  Gabriel scratched out on the pad,
pouncing on Matthew's opening.

"The workers.  They keep the place up for
Grandpa.  But they keep their distance.  Can't
really blame them, I guess.  Times have
changed."  He hung his head as a slight sadness
shadowed his eyes.  Clearing his throat, he
stood.  "Uh... I think I better go now, Gabriel. 
Gotta get back to the Ranch.  I won't come
tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

Gabriel tried to stand as well, but it was slow
going.

"Don't worry about the lights and the fire,
Gabriel.  It doesn't matter who sees them - we
keep a light on pretty much all the time,
because we sometimes spend the night here.  No
one's going to bother you."  Matthew was already
at the door.  "I'll come back tomorrow."  With a
nod and a smile, he was gone, closing the door
behind him.

Gabriel finally had his feet under him and
through the kitchen window he caught sight of
Matthew slipping off the small porch.  She
hadn't come; she wasn't coming today.  The ache
at her absence grew and he hung his head in
defeat.  He tried to tell himself to stop being
so impatient - it was only going to get him in
trouble.  He'd have to tread lightly with the
boy.  Yes, he was in no shape to be a threat. 
Not yet.  But Matthew knew it was just a matter
of time before Gabriel was well again.  Best to
earn his trust completely before then.

As he turned to make his way back to the bed,
his ear caught a murmur, then another.

Shit... she was out there.  Fumbling, he held on
to the table and moved as quickly as he could to
the door.  But the voices were fading; with a
heave, he flung open the door, leaning against
its frame as pain shot up his arm.

Disappearing into the trees were a giant of a
boy... and a black-garbed figure that seemed
dwarfed by him.  Its hands were moving
impatiently and for a moment, Gabriel saw a
flash of bright hair slip out from under the
hood.

Jesus, she'd been there all the time.  Lurking
beyond the porch, but he'd been too stupid to
even get up and look.  He was slipping.

Sighing, he straightened.  It was okay; he'd
damn well be ready tomorrow.



End Chapter Seven

Gabriel
Chapter Eight


The Rocky Mountains
September 19, 2001
6:45 a.m.


He felt better when he rose from the bed that
morning.  Still sore, but at least he was able
to walk without feeling like he was going to
fall down at any moment.  He slipped on the
pants Matthew had brought him and found he
didn't have the energy to roll up the pants
legs.  So they dragged the floor; they covered
him, that was all that mattered.  He'd tried to
don the socks and shoes, but found he couldn't
bend far enough to get them on.  So he stayed
barefoot.

A mouse scurried through his legs as he picked
up a small log to throw on the dying fire.  He
was cold and needed warmth.  Short of going back
to bed, he'd have to make do with the small
fire.  Matthew had said the Guards paid no
attention to the cabin; he wondered if it was
because they'd been ordered to stay away by
whoever it was running this place.

There were lots of questions he wanted answers
for and he'd get them, eventually.  Right now,
all he wanted was to see her again.

He made a pot of bitter, strong coffee and
opened a can of peaches.  The syrup slid down
his sore throat and he chewed the fruit into a
mash that just as easy to swallow.  The rush of
sugar and caffeine invigorated him and he wasted
no time splashing the sleep from his eyes with
icy water from the sink.  Pulling the rocker to
a position facing the door, he sat in front of
the fire to wait.

His mind began to work as he watched the sunrise
lighten the room.  Number one: it was her. 
Though he hadn't yet faced her with all his
faculties, he had no doubt of that fact.  Well,
maybe just a little; all the times he'd believed
without proof paled in comparison to this.  One
good look, that's all he needed.  She'd get such
a kick out of his skepticism.

Number two: she wasn't being held here against
her will.  At least, not within the walls of the
Ranch.  It appeared as if she could move about
freely, though something told him she didn't go
far without Matthew trailing along.

Number three: she still thought she was Julia. 
Or she had been *told* she was Julia.  The
paintings he'd scoured last night were all
mirrors of the one he'd first noticed; she knew
she was Julia, but she also knew there was
something missing in her psyche.  Fair enough. 
Even when the chip had called her to Ruskin Dam,
she hadn't been totally out of it, from what her
session with Dr. Verber had told him.  She'd
recognized Cassandra and had known enough about
what was happening to get herself away from the
danger.

He could work around that.  Okay, so maybe he
couldn't come right out and tell her she was
Scully - not right now, anyway.  There was the
little matter of his bruised voice, which made
expression of such a grave matter very
difficult.  And she probably wouldn't believe
him, anyway, even with the doubts she had as
represented by the paintings.  First, he had to
earn her trust.

Number four: Just how the hell was he going to
do that?  He'd scared her the other night,
despite Matthew's insistence that she was going
to help him.  This was a biggie.  He was no good
at ingratiating himself to anyone.

Number five: Another biggie.  The bounty hunter
and his purpose for kidnaping him from the
brothel.  Had he been working alone?  More
likely, he'd been bringing Gabriel to someone
else.  The alien could have killed him in an
instant, but he hadn't.  Alive and delivered to
an unknown person - he'd probably never know who
now.  Unless it was the mysterious 'Grandpa'.
Although, maybe the bounty hunter had been on
his way to kidnap Julia as well.  Knowing that
Gabriel would eventually find her, he waited,
disguised as Eliza.  Wait for Gabriel to show
up, then nab them both.

On to number six: Just who the hell was that
grandfather of Matthew's, anyway?  Some
benevolent soul who took pity on her and kept
her safe... again, not likely.  Though if the
bounty hunter had been working to kidnap them
both, then 'Grandpa' was unlikely to be the
recipient of the alien's efforts.  Why kidnap
Julia when he had her already?

All this thinking was giving Gabriel a headache. 

There was one conclusion to be made, however he
looked at it - she *was* being watched over.  In
a loose net, to be sure, but under watch still. 
Even if what Matthew said was true, it still
didn't explain how she ended up in Denver or why
she'd been taken from the bunker in the first
place.  That was something that still pierced at
his gut with agonizing pain - why take her?

He sighed, knowing he may not ever understand
that question.  All he knew was that he needed
her with him, as Julia or Scully, it didn't
matter.  If he could make her see that, then he
could take her away from here and make damn sure
nobody got to her next time.  Even if he had to
chain her to him... even if he had to take the
chip out...

Number seven:

"Don't move."

Gabriel's breath hitched at the husky command
and he lifted his chin against the slight prick
of the knife at his throat.  God, she smelled
good.  Like cool Colorado air and leaves of red-
gold ...  His lips turned up in a grin; damn
him, he really *was* slipping.  And despite her
not realizing who she was, she still had enough
of the real her within her to get the jump on
him.  She was good.

Number seven: the cabin had a back door.

"Matthew is right outside, but I wanted to come
in alone first."  Her words tickled his temple
and he clenched his fingers around the arm of
the rocker, sheer joy at her presence
threatening to make his heart jump out of his
chest.  Concentrate, he told himself.  This is
your test.  You'd better pass it or you'll find
yourself out on your ass in a flash.

"Are you the one?"

Number eight: you should have seen that one
coming again.  Fool! he scribbled on the yellow
notepad in his mind.

"Are you?  Yes or no?"

Now that was a rather difficult question to
answer, especially with a knife held to one's
throat, he thought.  Yes, I'm the one, he sees
himself saying - right before she slits his neck
because she's been told someone's coming to kill
her.  Great.

Or no, I'm not the one - the one you've been
told to wait for, to keep yourself safe for, the
one they've told you will eventually return for
you, even though it's probably not true.  Then
she really washes her hands of you.

Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

Instead, he feigned a gasp and lowered his head,
as if seized with pain.  She relented almost
immediately, her hand lowering just a fraction; 
it was enough for him to wrench the knife from
her.  She sucked in a surprised breath, then
nothing.  By the time he raised his head, she
was gone from behind him.

Frantically, he looked around the room, trying
to adjust his eyes from the light streaming
through the kitchen window to the shadows at his
left.  He struggled to stand, adrenaline making
his legs weak.

"All it would take," came from the dark alcove,
"is one scream of Matthew's name."

He conceded to her logic with a slow nod of his
head, straightening his spine.  But he had a
point to make as well.  With a snap of his
wrist, he sent the knife flying, burying it in
the doorframe.

That's all it would take from me, he told her
silently, leveling her with a stare.  If that's
what I wanted.

His eyes were rapidly picking her up in the
darkness; she still had that same black cloak
on, but he saw the pale outline of her face
framed in the hood, its square jaw loosening
into a grin.

"Point taken," she said.  "Gabriel.  I take it
you don't want to answer my question."

No, what he wanted to do was step forward and
take her into his arms, but that wasn't an
option.  He stood still, his chest heaving with
excitement.

"Then I won't ask it again, okay?"

Jesus, that wasn't what he meant at all...

"Miss Julia?"

Matthew opened the door wide, letting his eyes
roam about the room before spying the knife at
his shoulder.  He dropped the duffel bag and
flat case he held and pulled the knife from the
wood. "Everything okay in here?"  Giving Gabriel
a wary look, he fisted the knife handle.

"We're fine, Matthew," she answered, stepping
into the light as she lowered the hood of her
cloak.  "Put the bag on the table, please - and
you know where my case goes."

Oh, God, oh Jesus... yeah, it was her all right. 
All beautiful and small and so *pink* with good
health he thought he might faint from the
brilliance of her smile.

Matthew lifted the duffel to the table with a
grunt and turned for the flat case, bringing it
almost reverently to the alcove before moving
back to her side.  She gave him a smile of
thanks.

"Would you go back to the Ranch and get my
glasses?  I seem to have forgotten them on my
bedside table."  She took the knife from
Matthew's hand and slipped it into her pocket.

God, he couldn't take his eyes from her. 
Drinking in her face and voice... yes, her
voice.  The voice he hadn't heard truly for
months; the words she'd spoken as she left the
bunker faded, just as the memory of what she'd
done to him left for good.  So what if she'd
just held him at knife point?  He didn't care,
because he had her back with him.

"Miss, I don't think I should leave you alone."

"Nonsense," she huffed.  "And how many times
have I told you to stop calling me 'Miss' - it's
just Julia."

"Grandpa says it's impolite."

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, but -"

"Then stop it.  You're making me feel old."  She
gave Matthew a pat on the arm and continued,
"Now, go along.  We're doing just fine, aren't
we, Gabriel?"

Oh, yeah, they were doing just great.  Fabulous,
spectacular... get the hell out already,
Matthew.  His smile was shaky and he felt like
the biggest goof that ever walked on two feet,
but he felt wonderful.

"Now, go.  I'm just going to unpack what we've
brought.  I'll be fine."  She ushered Matthew
out the door, leaving it open for the light.  As
she turned back, she whispered, "He's only
sixteen, you know.  I have this horrible feeling
I'm old enough to be his mother, but I refuse to
let him treat me like I am."

Sixteen?  God, in the old world, he'd have had a
*great* future in the NBA, Gabriel thought.  And
yes, with a little stretch, she could possibly
be old enough to have given birth to the boy. 
But she certainly didn't look like it, not to
his eyes, anyway.

Her hair was pulled away from her face into a
braid that snaked down the back of her neck.  It
had gotten so long and little tendrils of gold
escaped to caress her brow and cheeks, making
her look like she was much younger than her
years.  Her hands went into her pockets.

"It's cold in here, Gabriel," she stated, moving
in a circle around him to the fire.  He turned
with her, unable to tear his gaze from her even
for a moment.  She easily lifted a few more logs
into the fireplace.  "Matthew told you that you
didn't have to worry about the smoke - we're
here a lot, even at night."

So she *had* listened in on their one-sided
conversation yesterday.  Shivering from more
than the cold, he stood in place, waiting for
her to continue.  Still smiling softly, he let
his eyes roam over her face.

She saw his stare and flushed a bit, smiling
herself.  "Sorry about the way I greeted you. 
Think of it as a test.  Matthew said he thought
we could trust you.  But I had to be sure." 
Once again, she moved silently across the floor,
hissing at the cold wind that blew in before she
slammed the door shut.  "Besides, you couldn't
hurt a flea - not in the shape you're in.  But
just in case... the knife stays right here." 
She patted her pocket and began to empty the
contents of the duffel on the table.

Gabriel didn't know where to start or what to do
- he knew what he *felt* like doing.  Buut
somehow, he didn't think she'd take too kindly
to his tongue down her throat.  Instead, he
moved gingerly to the table, picking his way
through the semi-dark room.  Just a she felt his
legs would give out from sheer relief at seeing
her, he reached the chair and flopped into it,
fastening his gaze on the beauty before him.

She pulled the string over the table and the
light bulb flickered for a moment, then blared. 
He blinked at the sudden light, feeling his eyes
narrow painfully.  They were still red from
exposure to the alien blood, but they were much
better than even the night before.

"Too much?" she asked, reaching for the string
again.

No, he shook his head firmly.  He wanted to look
at her - God, he'd never get enough of looking
at her, never again.  He reached for the pad and
pencil he'd left on the table last night and,
with painstaking determination, scrawled a
heavy, <Beautiful,> onto the white sheet, giving
in to the urge to at least compliment her.

She shrank back at that, her eyes narrowing as
she paused, a can of chili hovering in mid-air. 
"Umm... Gabriel -"

Shit, that was just a bit too forward.  Some
effort at gaining her trust.  God, he felt like
he was Matthew's age again, trying to get the
most popular girl in school to give him the time
of day.  He was no good at it then, and now,
looking like a hobo, he really had no hope at
all.  Think of something quick, he told himself.

Gabriel looked over at the array of paintings in
the alcove and pointed, hoping his explanation
was enough to satisfy her.  She may not know who
she really was, but she still had a sharp mind -
one that was wary of flattery.

Sighing, Julia turned to put the can into the
cabinet.  "I'm not much of an artist, I'm
afraid.  Too much unknown."  She paused and
lowered her chin, as if debating whether or not
she should continue.  But she did, giving him a
glance.  "It was why I asked you if you were the
one... he's supposed to come for me one day."

<Who?> Gabriel wrote, then raised his head for
her answer.

"The one I dream about, but cannot see.  The one
I know is coming for me one day."

God, he was thoroughly confused.  She expected
someone to come for her?  How could she when she
didn't even know who she really was?  Julia had
no history, no family.  If their roles were
reversed, he'd be clamoring for answers, trying
to get out of here with his every waking breath.

She laughed shortly as she continued to put away
the supplies.  "Guess I should explain myself,
huh?"

He nodded, anxious to hear what she had to say.

"I've only been here a few months, Gabriel.  I
know what Matthew told you - that his
grandfather found me in Denver.  That's true, I
suppose.  But unfortunately, I can't remember
anything prior to waking up at the Ranch.  Of
course, I've been told about the invasion.  But
I've lost everything from my old life.  And
there isn't anyone here who knows me from
before.  All I knew was my name."  Her eyes
misted over as she took a pan from the cabinet. 
"Then the dreams started.  I see someone who
knows me, who knows what happened to me, why I'm
-" she broke off, biting her lip before
continuing.  "The doctor tells me I'm seeing
someone from my past.  Chances are, he's dead. 
They told me my memory would return eventually,
not to rush it - the stress wasn't good for me. 
I just thought maybe you'd know me...."  She
trailed off, turning to the stove.  "Ridiculous,
isn't it?  I'm not psychic."

And he'd missed his chance.  No way in hell
she'd believe him now if he said he was the one. 
Too convenient - hell, *he'd* be mighty
suspicious at the sudden turnaround, if he was
her.  He clenched his teeth against the agony of
the easy way out slipping through his fingers.

All right, so that explained the 'one' thing -
and why she seemed content to wait around this
place.  Was her mental health that fragile?  Was
she hurt some other way, something he couldn't
see?

Another, more important fact - whoever had her
was taking very good care of her.  She had a
definite glow of good health; so did Matthew,
for that matter.  Maybe his grandfather was just
paranoid - and he obviously had the money to
take care of anyone who got too close.

"Would you like some eggs for breakfast?"  She
turned, eggs in hand over the heating pan.

He bent over the pad again.  What to say? 
Should he go for broke and write her name?  No -
best not to risk Matthew seeing it, in case he
was not the innocent he appeared to be.  And the
fire place was too far away to quickly dispose
of the paper, should the boy walk in. 
Inspiration struck, and he scrawled the word.

Look at it, he silently pleaded.  Don't you
recognize the name?  The name I *wanted* to take
instead?

Shaking her head, she raised confused eyes to
his.  "Jibril?  I don't understand - is that
even a word?  Are you sure you're okay,
Gabriel?"

Frustration gathered in his chest. This doing
without a voice was a bitch, he decided, then
realized he had a backup - sign language.  If
her knowledge of it hadn't been erased with her
memory, that is.

Picking his right hand up, he told himself to
concentrate... start slowly.  One letter at a
time, something she would not mistake, but would
awaken her to the possibility of more.  Small
beads of sweat broke out on his forehead; damn
the misfiring nerves in his arm.

E - G - G - S.  Y - E - S.

Her eyes widened and she let the eggs drop from
her fingers to the pan, where they shattered. 
"I understand you.  God, Gabriel, do it again."

He blinked with brief relief, then exhaled,
keeping his gaze on her wondrous face as he
picked his way carefully to her sleeping mind.
<Name.>

"Yes, Julia.  You knew that already.  Say
something else, please."  Excitement made her
smile and she turned from the stove to stand
beside him, touching his fingers with hers. 
"How do I know what you're saying?  Do you know
what this means?"

He nodded, fully understanding her happiness at
the memory of such language.  It took her by
surprise, but it also told her something about
herself that hadn't been filtered through
another person - she could read sign language. 
A bit of history that she embraced, much in the
same way her fingers wrapped around his.

Gabriel swallowed, his eyes drifting to the
sight of her fingers cradling his.  Touching -
she was touching him.  The warmth of her hands
radiated up his arm and he found he couldn't
look away.  She kept speaking, apparently not
noticing his sudden, tense silence.

"It means my mind remembered.  It's not much,
but it was *me*."  Like holding a precious
flower, she let her hands peel away from around
his.  "Say something again, Gabriel.  Anything,"
she breathed, her blue eyes misting over.

God, what could he say?  Her real name?  His
real name?  Matthew would be back at any moment;
though Gabriel suspected the boy was an
innocent, one thing he knew for sure - he also
had a big mouth.  The things Gabriel had learned
from him in the short time since he'd been here
was proof of that.  Best not to give Matthew a
word he could pass along that would set off
alarms.  Searching his mind for something that
could possibly give her another piece of memory,
he settled on a simple sentence.

<I am the bringer of truth.>

All was still for a moment and he held his
breath as she processed the words, blinking
twice as she backed away.  "It *is* you, isn't
it?" she breathed.

Before he could answer, she'd run to the alcove. 
He saw her fumble with her case and he slowly
stood, his stiff muscles protesting just a bit
in his effort to follow.  But he needn't have
bothered, because she was back in a heartbeat,
her eyes flashing with anguish as she held a
drawing before him with trembling hands.  "Is
this you?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

Is was agony to tear his eyes from the face that
was so close, when all he wanted was to touch it
with his lips.  But he did, lowering his chin to
look at what she'd adamantly shoved at him.

It was a sketch, flowing black lines upon cream-
colored parchment.  A vague representation of a
man, the shadows of his face hidden behind a
fall of long, curly hair as he laid in naked
splendor upon a makeshift bed of blankets.

Gabriel caught his breath - is that who she saw
in her dreams?  He tensed at the sight of a very
familiar adornment in the otherwise stark
picture - the cross.  Lying on the bare chest
just below the averted, sleeping face... his
hand crept up his bare skin looking for it,
eager to confirm her suspicions.

But it was gone.  He looked at her once again,
this time with tears in his eyes.  The one link
to her - the *proof* he so desperately needed -
was missing.  With all the rough handling he'd
received from the bounty hunter and those men,
it must have gotten torn off.

"Is it?"

The smell of burning eggs reached his nose.  She
didn't even notice it, never once wavering from
her search for the truth.  "This is you."

As he debated his approach of the conclusion he
saw already dawning in her eyes, she suddenly
gasped, the parchment crumbling as her fingers
fisted around it.  He stilled, his eyes going
wide as he saw her head snap back.

Oh, shit, he thought, reaching his good arm
around her.  He staggered as she began to jerk
in his hold, her eyes rolling back in her head. 
God, it was some kind of seizure - visions of
Max Fenig from years ago assaulted him and he
knew he had to do something or she'd injure
herself.

Letting his legs bend, his fell to his knees
with her cradled in his arm, wincing as he hit
the floor.  Her arms were flailing and he used
his chest as confinement, bringing her close to
try to trap those hands against his body.  But
he couldn't bring her close enough, not with the
bulk of his bandaged arm between them.  He
didn't know what else to do and he settled for
just curling his arm beneath her neck.

He waited for long, agonizing moments as her
body slowly stopped, his panicked tears dropping
upon her ashen cheeks.  When the last of the
tremors died, he brought one knee up and used
the vee of his legs to hold her as he brushed
her cheek with his fingers.  She was still
breathing, though out of it totally.  But she
was okay - he hoped.  Only time would tell.

As her breaths became even and deep, he gathered
her close to him, savoring the chance to hold
her in his embrace.  Then he went perfectly
still, his face buried in her warm neck. 
Something wasn't right.  The hand that was
almost confined by the immovable sling trembled
as its knuckles brushed against her torso.

Pulling back, he realized the bulk of his arm
wasn't the only impediment to the touch of his
body to hers.  The cloak was flat against her
body and his eyes widened at the sight.  Huge,
silent sobs broke from his throat as he lowered
his head, closing his eyes to brush a kiss to
her cold cheek.

And he understood everything.  Why she'd been
taken from him.  That she hadn't been found
wandering the streets of Denver after all.  That
'Charles Spencer' was not the good-as-gold
'Grandpa' that Matthew thought him to be.

Because 'Grandpa' had gotten what he wanted. 
Had probably stationed the bounty hunter in
Denver to prevent Gabriel from getting too
close.  And had ordered his guards to kill
anyone who approached the fortress.

Julia - the one he'd let slip away from him...
the one who didn't even realize just how
important she was... was pregnant.



End Chapter Eight

Gabriel
Chapter Nine


The Rocky Mountains
September 19, 2001
7:25 a.m.


Emotion made him tremble, the combination of
shock and sadness drawing the breath from his
lungs in a burst of fire.  It couldn't be true,
it just couldn't.  He rubbed his hot cheek
against her cold, soft skin and willed her to
open her eyes.  Wake up and tell him it was his
baby.  Tell him that when they'd made love that
one last time, they'd created a miracle.

But he knew that was impossible.  She couldn't
conceive, not by natural means.  The chip his
father had assumed was still in her had been
replaced by another - totally different, or so
Krycek claimed.  That left only one possibility
and it slammed into him again, this time with
the force of a fist to his gut.

It all made sense.  Horrifying, anguished sense.

"What did you do to her?"

The yell took Gabriel by surprise, as did the
hands that yanked Julia away from his hold.  He
fell back, curling up as raw pain shot into his
shoulder.  Nothing, he wanted to scream - I
didn't do a God damned thing.  Not now and
certainly not then.

The pain slowly subsided, only to be replaced by
a dull ache in his arms and chest; he wanted to
howl at their sudden emptiness.  He rolled to a
sitting position, gasping and frantically
looking about the room.  Matthew was leaning
over the bed, crooning to the listless form.

"It's okay, Miss Julia," he was saying, his
voice trembling with fright.  His big fingers
fumbled with the buttons of her cloak, as if he
thought she was suffocating.  "I'm here now. 
Come on, wake up."

Gabriel slowly made his way to his feet,
grabbing one of the kitchen chairs for leverage
and ultimately, support.  The pregnancy took a
back seat to concern for her and he shuffled
forward, only to be stopped by Matthew's hissed, 
"Stay back."

At the moment, it was best to comply.  His
senses still reeling from the revelations of the
last few minutes, he sank into the rocker and
hung his head.  What the hell had just happened? 
Just when it seemed they were making progress,
she'd been felled by some sort of seizure,
almost epileptic in nature.  Had she been
injured before they'd found her?  Or was it a
result of their conversation?  God, he hoped the
child was okay, no matter what its origin.

Matthew whipped his head in Gabriel's direction.
"She asked you, didn't she?"

Nodding, Gabriel began to stand, then stopped at
Matthew's growl.

"She knows better than that - it happens every
time."  He turned back to Julia, taking her hand
in his.  "The doctor warned her against trying
to remember too soon.  She gets these... fits. 
Used to be really bad and she'd stop breathing."

A surge of anxiety pierced Gabriel.  She hadn't
stopped breathing, he was sure of it.  But it
had been very frightening just the same.  It
also wasn't symptomatic of amnesia; he'd had
experience with amnesiacs - he couldn't ever
recall one reacting with such physical trauma
when they tried to regain memories.

Of course, Julia's wasn't a normal case of
amnesia, he'd bet his life on it.  The last few
minutes flashed through his mind; her pressuring
him for an answer, his almost-concession, her
seizure - his comparison of her to Max... her -
God, he couldn't even *think* it.  Like a tape
recorder, he backed up his thoughts and fixated
on one glaring detail.

Shit.  Max said he hadn't developed epilepsy
until after his first abduction experience. 
Another case came to mind immediately - Peggy
O'Dell and her sudden fit as they confronted her
beside Billy Miles' bed so long ago in Oregon. 
He recalled others here and there, all abduction
victims, all burdened with implants.  Was it
possible?  Was the implant programmed to trigger
a seizure if too many memories threatened to
surface?  That had to be it.

But Krycek had said the implant couldn't be used
against her.  Not for calling her, anyway.  But
what if it's basic purpose was still there; a
monitoring device with the capability to
suppress memory?  Or worse - what if Cancerman
had tampered with it while she was in the Tower?

Charles Spencer.  Grandpa.

Jesus.  Gabriel's riotous thoughts began to gel,
the conclusion he'd made moments ago now
inescapable.  If his father *had* done something
to it, then it was highly likely she'd been
summoned from the bunker via the chip.  Very
possible that it wiped her memory.

Even his father's claim of restoring her
fertility was not outside the realm of
possibility.  His breathing quickened at the
thought... maybe it was his baby after all.  He
allowed himself a moment of hope, then squashed
it with logic.  No.  It was foolish to think
that their one last time together had produced a
baby.

"It's not good for her, the doctor said so.  And
you've got to promise me you won't let her get
like this again, Gabriel... or I'm going to have
to take you away," Matthew went on, though
Gabriel listened with half an ear.

"You'll do no such thing."

*That* he heard.

Matthew turned back to Julia and Gabriel melted
into the rocker at the sound of her beloved
voice, unsure if he should let himself be seen
by her again.  He didn't even know if he could
look at her without losing control.

Someone had done this to her.  Matthew's
grandfather, Charles Spencer - whatever the hell
his name was, he was still the same evil man. 
Stolen her mind, given her a child of dubious
origin, and worst of all - rendered her unable
to grasp at her memories.  He wanted to break
something; to shatter furniture to match his
splintered heart.

"Miss?  Thank goodness you're okay."  Matthew's
voice held a broad smile.  "Can I get you
something?  Some water?"

"Yes, please," came the weary answer, followed
by a small sigh.  "Something's burning,
Matthew."

"Oh, no."  He rushed to the stove and removed
the pan of eggs, stifling the smoke under the
faucet.

Gabriel sat still and kept his eyes averted from
the bed as the boy cleaned up.  He could feel
her stare, but he refused to look her way,
unwilling to take the chance of sending her into
oblivion once again.

As Matthew busied himself at the sink, Gabriel's
mind rushed to think of a plan of action. 
Should he leave?  Try to hide out in the forest
until Frohike and the others arrived - *if*
Jesse had even contacted them.  No.  Now that
he'd seen her, *touched* her, he couldn't walk
away.  They'd have to drag him, kicking and
screaming.

Telling her who he really was - who she was to
him - was out of the question.  Well, maybe not. 
Not if he could figure out a way to negate the
effects of the chip.  Hypnosis?  Medication,
smuggled to him through Matthew?  She'd spoken
of a doctor; with the isolation of the Ranch, it
sounded like he was in attendance, or able to be
rushed in at a moment's notice.  Maybe after a
few days, he could sneak up there and have a
look.  Get Matthew to take him in so he could do
a bit of snooping around, maybe find some
medication.  Suppress the seizures and then
reveal the truth... but would the drugs hurt her
child?  Damn, he wished he knew more about the
physiological sometimes.  But that was always
*her* forte, not his.

He was just going to have to think of something
and fast.  No way was he going to take the
chance of another seizure; even if it meant he'd
have to wait for reinforcements in the cold,
dark forest.  Avoid her, that was the only
recourse he had at the moment.  Keep himself
from her, though being apart from her would be
ten times worse now than it had been months ago. 
Especially if Charles Spencer was who Gabriel
suspected he was.

He shouldn't have broached the subject of 'the
truth' at the table; it had set her off.  Too
much, too soon.  He wanted to kick himself  
he'd always charged ahead like a bull in a china
shop.  Thank goodness she was okay, or he'd
never forgive himself this time.

"It's not your fault."

Her soft voice broke into his stream of thought
and he sighed, hanging his head.

"It just happens when I push too hard.  It
hasn't happened in a couple of months, though. 
I thought maybe they'd gone... maybe I was ready
to remember."

Gabriel clutched the arm of the rocker, sitting
rigid and immovable, even by the small plea for
understanding in her voice.

"I can see it upset you and I'm sorry.  I won't
do it again, I promise."

"Miss, I'm going to the Ranch for the ATV, so I
can take you home," Matthew said, coming back to
the bed to hand her the glass of water.

"I can walk back, Matthew."

"No, you can't," he ordered, then flustered at
what Gabriel figured was a scathing stare.  "Or
you shouldn't, anyway.  Won't take me but ten
minutes to run there and a few more to drive
back."

"I'm not seeing the doctor."  She was adamant
and Gabriel could picture the steel blue of her
eyes in his mind.  It almost made him smile. 
Almost.

"You don't have to," he pleaded.  "I won't tell
anyone about this - I know better than that." 
He flashed Gabriel a look, as if he blamed the
whole incident on him still.  Turning back to
her, he said, "You just leave him alone while
I'm gone.  If it happens again, I *am* telling
the doctor."  He stalked out, muttering to
himself all the way to the edge of the porch,
where he took off in a run.

Gabriel still didn't trust himself to look at
her.  She said nothing for a few moments, but he
could hear her shift in the bed - was she trying
to stand?  He wasn't in the best shape himself
and the tumble he'd taken with her had seriously
drained his strength.  But that was nothing
compared to the emotional wallop her pregnancy
brought on.  Despite his feeling as though the
simple act of breathing was a trial, alarm swept
over him and he snapped his head in her
direction, ready to call upon his last burst of
energy if need be.  No way could he sit still
and let her fall again.

She smiled as she completed the roll to her
side, her cheek flattening against the pillow. 
"Made you look."

If he wasn't still so angry at himself, he would
grin in return; she knew exactly how he'd react
to her mock attempt to rise from the bed.  She
faced him, her cloak billowing out around her,
one nail caught between her teeth in dubious
apology.  A memory of her, naked and flushed as
she'd lain beside him in their bed, assaulted
him and he gulped, willing his eyes to look
away.  But they wouldn't obey and he drank in
the sight like the finest hot chocolate.  It
warmed him and he tamped his grin down at the
last second.

"I saw that," she murmured.  "You can't fool me,
Gabriel.  You like me."

Rolling his eyes, he sighed. *That* was the
understatement of the year.  It was his 'like'
for her that had contributed to the mess this
morning.  He'd have to learn to control that
pesky feeling - or at least not give her any
more seizure-inducing ideas.

"Not in *that* way," she continued, her face
pinkening with embarrassment at her mistaken
implication.  "I just... I'm glad you're here. 
I miss having someone to talk to."

His brow creased; did she not have any friends
at the Ranch?  She had Matthew; though he could
see that the relationship there was distant,
probably due to the big age difference.  The boy
didn't completely understand all that was going
on with her and, instead of trying to figure it
out, he withdrew into protector mode, his raging
hormones having him convinced only he qualified
for the job.

"Matthew is more of my cohort in amnesia than my
friend," she said.  "He doesn't remember and
he's perfectly happy not doing so.  That I
insist on knowing about my past scares him - I
think *I* scare him."  

Hell, she'd always scared *him*.  The one person
in the world who made him succeed in spite of
his own low expectations.  It was scary how this
one bundle of logic and love had wormed her way
under his skin and proven herself to be the
ultimate goal, no matter what they used to throw
in his path as temptation.

Diana, the suspicious clone of his sister, the
answers to every question he'd ever asked - none
of it was enough to sway him from her side.  And
they'd done it again, tried to tear him from her
forever.  But once again, he'd managed to resume
his orbit around her brilliance.  Okay, so it
was more of a 'her gravity had pulled him in'
kind of thing.  No wonder she scared him
sometimes; not even Diana had exercised such a
hold on him before.

Scary?  Yes.  Did he care?  No.  Hell, she'd
shot him - *again* - and here he was, back for
more.

"Do I scare you, Gabriel?"

And she thought she wasn't psychic.

He shook his head, though he knew it was a
pitiful lie.

"I scare the people at the Ranch, you know. 
They avoid me all the time.  Only the doctor has
anything to do with me, and then it's only to
give me checkups."  She yawned and added, "Maybe
it's because of the seizures - people are always
scared of what they don't understand."

He watched as her lids drooped to half-mast. 
The seizure had made her sleepy.  He knew he
really shouldn't press her, but he had to know
one more thing.  Now, as her body relaxed, he
thought maybe it was ready for a simple
question.  Too tired to seize again, he hoped.

<Seizures - medication?>

"It's not epilepsy.  I just have to control
myself," she murmured, her eyes closing as she
settled deeper into the bed.  "Besides, it's not
an option.  Bad for the baby, so the doctor
tells me."

His heart literally stopped for a moment as the
pregnancy once again came to the fore.  Much as
he wanted to dismiss it like a bad dream, it was
there between them.  Even if he could help her
regain who she once was, it would *still* be
there.  Growing every day, rounding her figure
and mocking him with evidence that she could be
gotten to at any time, by anyone.

On shaky legs, he forced himself to stand.  He
let his gaze run over her, but the voluminous
cloak was effective in hiding her body from his
greedy scan of her form.  She laid on her side
still, one hand tucked under her pillow, the
other limp as it peeked out from the folds of
black velvet at her hip.

He had to see, had to touch, to explore, before
Matthew returned.  It might be the last chance
he'd ever have to touch her.  Slowly, he crept
forward, stopping to crouch beside the bed with
a sigh of pain at his stretching muscles.  She
slept on, oblivious to his hand undoing the
remaining buttons of her cloak.  When he'd
gotten the last one free, he gently lifted her
hand from her hip, wincing at the sight of the
bruises around her wrist.  He'd put them there
night before last, as he remembered grabbing her
in an effort to make her stay.  He brought her
wrist to his lips before laying her arm along
the curve of her body.

He held his breath as he parted the cloak; it
was heavy and all it wanted to do was fall over
her again.  But he finally succeeded in pushing
enough of the material away; his eyes took in
the beige linen that was embroidered with vines
and flowers leading from the bodice to the
unmistakable swell of her belly.

God, it was true; no use thinking it was all a
bad dream.  Maybe four or five months along; he
gently laid his hand on the crisp material,
careful not to wake her.  A slight flutter
beneath his palm made him exhale in an amazed
huff.

It all made sense - the doctors not wanting to
medicate her, their insistence she take it easy
and not force her memory to return.  The
seizures can't have been good for the baby; the
chance of fetal hypoxia during such an event was
a grim reality.

Damn, she wasn't even supposed to be able to
conceive!  Despite his father's machinations,
Gabriel knew she wasn't pregnant when she left
the bunker for the last time.  And they'd only
made love that one time since her last period. 
Was it his?  Not likely.  In fact, it was highly
likely that even she didn't know who the father
was.  If there was even a father to this child. 
She'd been experimented on again - there was the
possibility the child she carried was not even
hers.  Not even human.

Tears welled up at the cruelty of it all.  He
brushed the roundness of her stomach and for
once, was glad she couldn't remember.  He was
certain this wasn't a normal conception, and he
wanted to keep that fact from her for as long as
possible.

It occurred to him that this meant he'd have to
keep everything from her.  Their past, his
identity, her identity - the memories were
bringing on the seizures.  Medication was out of
the question, and even more so, the removal of
the chip.  No way was he putting her or her baby
in jeopardy, not for his selfish desire to have
her back with him.

But neither was he leaving her alone in this
place.  Frohike and the others would come for
him, even if he had to find a way to a computer
himself to let them know he'd found her.  And
when they came?  As content as she looked living
in the wilds of Colorado, something about her
spoke of restlessness; he knew if he got her to
trust him enough, she'd go with him, no matter
who he was.  The desire to live without
constraints was still within her - he just had
to make her comfortable enough with him to put
herself in his hands.

A mechanical rumble from outside made him pull
his hand away from her and stand.  He didn't
want Matthew to see him so close to her, not
right now, anyway.  It would take the boy a
while to get over this morning's scare.  As he
got to his feet, he leaned over and put his lips
to her cheek.  She sighed but didn't awaken,
rolling over just a bit to her back.

Gabriel backed away, staring at her burgeoning
waistline.  He'd find his answers - just not at
her expense.  Never at her expense.

He walked back to the kitchen table; the crunch
of paper beneath his feet made him pause. 
Slowly, he bent to retrieve the crumpled sketch
just before Matthew walked in, tucking it into
his sling.  The young man flashed him a wary
look and moved to her side, laying his hand atop
hers to give it a small shake.  "Miss?  I'm back
- are you ready?"

"Mmm... sleepy.  Leave me alone," she mumbled.

"It's okay, Miss.  You can sleep.  Just let me
get you home."  Gently, he slid his arms under
her and lifted with no effort at all.  She said
nothing, just sighed in her sleep as her head
lolled against Matthew's shoulder.

Gabriel clenched his hand into a fist and
lowered his head.  Helpless, that's what he was. 
It should be him doing all this for her; him who
was responsible for her protection.

"You can stay a few more days, then I think it's
best you go," Matthew hissed. "I don't care
where, just leave."

With a purse of his lips, he shouldered his way
through the door and down the steps.  Without
missing a beat, he climbed onto the four-wheel
vehicle with her in his arms.  Cradling her in
one arm, he steered them away from the cabin,
only looking back to give Gabriel a stern look.

Do what I say, that look said.  Go away.

Gabriel stepped out onto the porch and watched
until they disappeared into the trees.  He
pulled the sketch from its hiding place and took
a deep breath, looking at its stark lines of
pain, love and loss, his decision made.

Too bad, Matthew, he thought.  I'm not going
anywhere.  Not without her.



End Chapter Nine


Gabriel
Chapter Ten


The Rocky Mountains
September 20, 2001
8:45 a.m.


Would she come back today?  Gabriel eyed the
gray morning outside the kitchen window.  He had
the fire roaring now; it was warm in the cabin. 
Good thing too, because he knew it wouldn't be
very long before the mild sunshine would give
way to snow.  He could feel the cold
approaching, most especially in his battered
bones.

In spite of the cold, he felt better.  He'd
tried using his voice after downing a cup of hot
coffee and found he could say a few words before
it gave out again.  Not that he knew what he'd
say to her if she came; he was wary of bringing
on another seizure.  But he had to find a way to
notify the others of his discovery and to summon
help.  She probably wouldn't show up anyway -
chances were, Matthew would be around sometime
today to urge him along.  Gabriel knew he'd
blown his chance with the boy, even though the
events of yesterday morning were not something
he had any control over.

He paced his small quarters, stretching his legs
in an effort to quell his frightened thoughts. 
What if Matthew told his grandfather about the
new resident in the cabin?  If the boy's
grandfather was who he suspected, he'd waste no
time in putting Gabriel under his thumb.  And it
was no use trying to escape; he was defenseless
at this point, unable to put up much of a fight
against anyone or anything.  He had to hope the
boy would keep silent.

Gabriel stopped before the fire, bending to toss
another log onto the flames.  Standing so close,
it was really warm, and he brushed a bead of
sweat from his brow, though he knew it wasn't
only the fire making his skin bleed fear.  He
fully expected the guards to come at any moment,
and he wasn't surprised to hear the cabin door
open behind him.  He had to hand it to Matthew -
the boy was persistent.

Hell on non-resistance, he thought.  "I'm not
leaving," he rasped, fisting his hand at his
side as he straightened.

"Of course you aren't," came the soft reply.

He whirled, his heart tripping at the feminine
tones that were so dear.  In a voice that had
all the coarseness of sandpaper and the strength
of tissue, he whispered, "Julia?"

Silhouetted by the wintry light from the open
door, her cloaked form shivered.  "Can I come
in?  I promise I won't harass you."  Her smile
was slight and nervous and, true to her word,
she didn't overstep the boundary of the door
without his consent.

Yes, yes, he wanted to scream.  The cabin is
yours... *I'm* yours, though you don't realize
it.  But fear gripped him suddenly; he was
scared of what his presence could do to her. 
The harm he could bring to her and to her baby
was very real and dangerous, should she press
him again.  He didn't know if he could keep her
from seeing the truth - the truth that could
kill her - in his eyes.

"Please?" she asked, a sad nip of pleading in
the question.  "I'm freezing.  I won't stay
long."

You can do this, he admonished himself.  Just
don't let her get too close.  Not yet - not
until you have a plan of action.  He knew the
best thing for her health right now was the
safety of the Ranch.  But that was a catch-22 -
she was safe, but in the hands of the enemy.

As these thoughts ran through his mind, he found
himself nodding, giving her permission to enter. 
His body wanted her close, despite the
rationalization of his mind.  A self-derisive
grin slashed across his mouth as he turned back
to the fire.  He was such a wuss when it came to
denying her anything.

He heard the door close.  "Thank you."

Stay calm, don't give anything away.  It became
a litany in his mind as he heard her move about
the room.  Where was Matthew?  What the hell was
she doing here alone?

The rustle of clothing coming closer made his
neck stiffen and his ears prick beneath his fall
of hair.  "Matthew is seeing the doctor this
morning."  Her tentative explanation did not
ease his tension.  In fact, it made him more
anxious, knowing they were truly alone.  "He's
really a frail boy, despite his size.  His body
is susceptible to infection and his temperature
was up a bit this morning."  Her sigh was tinged
with a hopeful smile.  "So I get to tend to you
- if you don't mind?"

Damn, but that sweet voice was close.  He could
almost feel it caressing his skin.

"Gabriel, let me see your neck, okay?"

Close?  It was right behind him now, beckoning
with a concern he was unable to resist.  He
turned and almost reeled at the sight of her
standing before him, the cloak gone.  A simple,
scoop-necked shift fell to mid-calf, fashioned
of muted blue cotton, the tiny row of white
buttons falling over the round belly.  At the
sight of her bare feet, he raised a creased
brow, spying her shoes by the door.

"It's hot in here," she stated, her hands
gesturing to the fire.  "Normally, I suppose it
would be comfortable, but lately, I can't stand
too much heat."  One slim hand settled on her
belly and she winked.  "One second I'm cold, the
next I'm burning up.  Typical, they tell me."

She had no idea what 'burning up' felt like -
his skin was going to melt at any second, just
from the warmth she brought upon him.  Idiot, he
told himself.  Get that look off your face...
the one you know she can read like an open book.

He lowered his gaze in the face of her
curiosity, then started and averted his face at
the feel of her hands on his chin.  "I just want
to see," she murmured.

Squirming under her scrutiny, he shifted from
one foot to the other, his heel catching on the
hem of the too-long pants.  His right hand shot
out and landed on the first thing he could
reach.  Damn.  In spite of her growing abdomen,
her waist felt just as familiar in its curves as
it ever was, sloping beneath his remembering,
greedy fingers... with a jerk, he pulled away as
if burned, then hissed at the actual danger of
the fire licking perilously close to his back.

Pursing her lips, she withdrew to wrap her arms
about her waist, sadness clouding her eyes. 
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her eyelashes
fluttering down as she took his rebuke to heart. 
"I'll just get the first aid kit and you can do
it yourself, all right?"  In a flash, she'd
skittered away.

Damn it.  Gabriel clenched his fist as he
watched her disappear into the bathroom.  Seemed
any course of action was likely to hurt her,
despite being done with the best of intentions. 
Let her get too close and risk physical harm;
keep her at arms' length and hurt her tender
feelings.  He kept forgetting that she wasn't
Scully.  Scully could take his barbs and
retreats for what they were and bounce right
back without missing a beat.  Julia, on the
other hand, was a lost soul with an open,
friendly manner.  It was obvious she was starved
for contact with someone who was a peer; she
needed to be with someone her own age, someone
who could possibly understand what she was going
through.  And he'd just treated her like a
leper.

She came back into the room, carefully avoiding
his gaze as she set the supplies on the table,
and said, "You should be able to do for
yourself."  Before he could make his way to her
side, she'd walked around the opposite side of
the table and grabbed her cloak.

Forcing his legs to move faster, he headed for
the door.  A small, "Damn," accompanied her
attempt to slip on her socks and shoes as she
bent down.  When she straightened, he was set up
like a roadblock at the door.

"Don't go," he whispered, knowing the path he'd
chosen was dangerous.  But the words kept on
coming from his heart and he ignored the alarms
going off in his brain.  "Stay.  I'm sorry if I
-" The apology dwindled as his voice gavve out; 
he put out a hand to touch her, then thought
better of it, forcing it to curl at his thigh as
he bit his lip.

Her blue gaze searched his face, her hands
holding the cloak together in a white-knuckled
grip.  "There's something about you, Gabriel. 
No, wait -" She put a hand on his arm as he made
to sidestep her, then lifted it when she noticed
his flinch.  Her lips curled into a small smile. 
"It's just a feeling I have.  I'm not trying to
corner you, you know.  Maybe I know you from
somewhere... maybe you don't know me.  It's
possible.  Anything's possible."

And well he knew it.  It was foolish of him to
think that she was going to let go of this so
easily; her suspicions, while not yet confirmed,
were still alive and well.  Her lips spoke of
maybes, but her eyes were clear and bright with
certainty.  But he had one leg left to stand on
- his denial of the truth.  As long as hhe
insisted they didn't know one another, she could
not refute it.  It galled him to live this lie,
but for now, it was the only safe path to
follow.

Brushing aside his self-loathing with a sigh, he
decided upon his next words with something that
had served him well in the past.  A bit of
levity was in order, and he tried to deflect her
a bit without crushing her hopes.  "I think I
would have remembered you," he lied, his hoarse
voice wrapped around a leering, joking grin, his
wink aimed at tamping down her rampant
intuition.

One brow went up as her lips pursed with
curiosity.  "You know, I'm sure I believed the
same thing once," she murmured, still trying to
read his face with those piercing, knowing eyes. 
"Gabriel?"

Yes? his brow asked in return.

"Face it, neither of us are in any shape to
actually *do* anything about it... and, at the
risk of sounding like I'm trying to pick you up
in a bar... do I know you?"

Ahhh... would that they *were* strangers in a
smoky, jazz-filled club.  Their eyes meeting
across a room as they sipped false courage in a
glass - slowly meandering through the fading
crowd until their hands touched and the dance
began for them.

He sighed, wondering if they ever had a chance
at such simple pleasures.  They would, if he had
any say in the matter.  For now, just being with
her was enough.  He shook his head and grinned
sadly, gesturing to the table.  "Can I buy you a
drink, anyway?"  It came out as a near ghost of
a question; he'd have to take it easy for the
next few minutes.  Words were something he
couldn't afford to waste, not while with her.

He thought of those months she spent without a
voice and realized it must have been hell.  The
sound and taste of words were something he'd
never take for granted again - and as soon as he
could safely do so, he'd put his lips and tongue
to use.  In a more tender way than ever before.

Thankfully, she chuckled and the cloak fell away
as she kicked off her shoes.  "Whatcha got,
Slick?"  Backing away, she draped the cloak over
one of the kitchen chairs and lifted the lid on
the boiler on the stove.  "Coffee?" she asked,
facing him with a grimace.

More relaxed now, he followed her, easing into
the chair opposite hers with a nod and a half-
shrug.

"No can do, Gabriel."  Eyes filled with mirth
glanced down, then back up.  "He already jumps
around like a basketball player."

At the mention of her pregnancy, Gabriel
colored, though he schooled his face into an
impassive mask.  With a jut of his chin in the
general direction of her stomach he mouthed,
<How far along?> He held his breath while he
waited for her answer.

Julia reached into the cabinet and came back
with a teapot.  As she filled it with water from
the sink, she said, her back to him, "The doctor
doesn't really know for sure - maybe 20 to 22
weeks.  Without my history and the proper
equipment, it's hard to determine with pinpoint
accuracy."  A short laugh followed her to the
stove.  "And someone who's worked as a
researcher before the invasion is bound to have
limited expertise in pregnancy, don't you
think?"

Anywhere from five to almost six months.  Could
be his... then again, could not be.  Mentally,
he slammed the hope down.  No way was that baby
his, and he'd just as soon forget about it.

Instead, his mind latched on the word
'researcher'.  Was this doctor actually one of
his father's people?  Trained in human/alien
genetics, just waiting for the birth of this
baby?  He shuddered inwardly at the thought, but
somehow knew it was so, despite his yearning for
it to be otherwise.  "Researcher?" he asked,
straining his throat with the word.

She rummaged through the cabinet again, this
time pulling out a box of tea bags.  "Decaf,"
she said pointedly.  "Want some?"  At the
negative shake of his head, she continued,
preparing her cup as the water began to hiss
from the teapot.  "Just a rumor I heard - about
the research, you know.  Matthew is primarily
the reason we have a physician in residence.  He
has some chronic condition that flares up now
and again.  Some doctor, though - he smokes like
a smokestack.  So does everyone else at the
Ranch."  Her nose wrinkled with distaste.  "Not
in front of me, thank goodness.  But I can smell
it all over them."

Nicotine.  One of the reasons the bees weren't
as effective as the aliens thought they'd be. 
His father had known this; to guarantee he'd
have a support staff without having to use the
vaccine, he'd surrounded himself with smokers
just like himself.

It made perfect sense to Gabriel.  The old man
had wanted power, yes.  To set himself up in the
capital of the free world like a king on the
highest mountain... but he would have been a
fool not to have a second base of operations. 
How Matthew figured into the scenario had yet to
be determined; maybe he had a younger brother he
never knew about.  The old bastard, despite his
foul breath and proclivity for murder and
mayhem, seemed to get around quite a bit in his
younger days.

Was this doctor experimenting on Julia?  On the
baby, even in the womb?  Even now, taking blood
from the fetus in an effort to keep the old man
alive?  God, he wanted to ask so badly, but knew
the questions would inevitably arouse her
curious nature once again.  He had no right as a
simple guest to be asking about such personal
matters.  But if he was careful... he reached
for the pad and pencil on the table.

<What about a hospital?> he wrote, then shoved
it in her direction.

She stirred half a teaspoon of sugar into her
tea and sat down, taking a small sip.  "We have
everything we need here, they tell me.  Except
for the bells and whistles, of course.  To spare
me the pain, they'll put me under."

And when she woke up, they'd give her the bad
news, he thought.  So sorry, but your baby was
stillborn. *If* she even survived the birth.  A
nice, convenient overdose of anesthesia would do
the trick.

His thoughts turned his stomach and the chair
suffered under his agitation as he stood,
scraping the legs in a harsh rasp against the
floor.  His good hand came up to scratch at his
beard as his thoughts whirled.

"Gabriel?"  Her worried call of his name
followed him to the fireplace.

He had to get her out of here, and fast.  Only
one thing to do.  It was risky, but necessary. 
Turning back to her, he walked to the table and
picked up the pen once again.

<Do you have a computer at the Ranch?> Please
say you do, he prayed.

She raised confused eyes to his.  "A computer? 
Yes, of course we do, but -"

"Friends of mine," he rasped, bringing his hand
up to soothe the stretch of tender, healing skin
on his neck.  "Contact them."

"Gabriel, I don't think it's a good idea for you
to be seen at the Ranch."

With a snort of frustration, he snapped his head
from side to side, wishing like hell he could
speak long enough to explain.  Instead, he
scrawled a hasty, <NO - YOU> on the pad and
pointed at her for emphasis.

"Me?  You want me to contact them?"

He nodded, forcing air through his bruised
throat.  "Come... get me."

For a second, her face fell as she realized he
was speaking of leaving.  A sharp pang of guilt
at the way he was keeping her in the dark
assailed him, but he had no intention of telling
her just yet she would be accompanying him.  How
the hell he was going to manage that, he didn't
know.  Maybe the Colonel had one more plan up
his strategic sleeve.

Lowering her gaze, she shoved the cup of tea
away.  "Sure," she whispered.  "Just tell me
how."

God, he wanted nothing more than to reveal all,
to make her smile again.  To show her she had a
family after all - maybe not in the strictest
sense of the word, but in the most important
way.  She had people who loved her and wanted
her with them.  One day soon... he clamped his
jaw over the urge to comfort her with promises
of the future and quickly wrote the name of the
newsgroup on the paper.

<Don't give your name.  Just tell the Colonel
where I am and that I need help, to come for
me.> And for you, too, he added silently. 
Hesitation at just how much could be revealed to
her on the newsgroup was discarded; they only
spoke in vague generalizations for fear of
discovery, mostly using Gunmen code to converse. 
Frohike would not risk giving away personal
information about her on the newsgroup; he'd
only circulated photographs of other women in
the hopes Gabriel would sense a likeness in the
lost eyes.  If she opened one of those
attachments, he could always shrug it off as
searching for a wife between friends - lots of
men bartered for women that way these days. 
Bought and paid for on an Internet auction
block.

But what if Frohike didn't believe that Gabriel
had found her?  Gabriel scanned his memory
quickly for a confirming nuance only they would
know.  Actually, it was likely the little man
would weep at his keyboard when he saw the next
sentence, knowing Gabriel would only have given
the favor to the one they'd been searching for.

<Tell him I gave you the yellow ribbon.>

The fingers of his right hand trembled just a
bit as he reached into his hair, pulling the
ribbon free with a tug of his fingers.  His
unruly mop threatened to blind him as it swung
free into his face, but it was just as well, as
his emotions threatened to burst forth from his
eyes.  A little cover was called for at this
moment, and he took advantage while he could.

The ribbon was dirty, and small dots of his own
blood from so long ago still marred its
otherwise smooth perfection.  But it was hers,
and it was back where it belonged.

He shivered at the touch of her hand in his. 
The pads of her fingers slid over the satin and
she shook her head, her mouth dropping with
regret.  "Gabriel, I can't take this - it's
yours.  I'll just tell him I saw it... he'll
believe it's you."

Gabriel was adamant in his refusal to take it
back, instead clasping her hand in his to bring
it close to his body.  Holding her still with
the hand in the sling, he used his free hand to
wrap the ribbon around her wrist and hand. <Keep
it,> he mouthed, not hesitating to return to her
this little piece of herself.

Smiling, she lowered her eyelashes, gazing upon
their clasped hands as she ran her satin-wrapped
thumb over his palm.  "You know what this means,
don't you?"

They were engaged?  God *damn* it, he wished he
had the strength of voice to tease her!  Only
somehow, it wouldn't quite be a tease, he knew.

"You no longer have anything to hold back your
hair."  Amused blue eyes lighted on his face and
he gulped, glancing around the cabin with worry. 
Surely there had to be something around there to
tie it back?  His eyes softened with relief as
they caught sight of the gauze on the table.

"Uh-uh," she said, her eyes darting to the gauze
then back to him.  "My price for contacting your
friends, Gabriel... a haircut and shave."

Oh, this was too good to pass up.  Pulling his
hand from hers, he passed his index finger over
her downy cheek.  It hurt like hell, but he
managed to say, "You *are* a bit scruffy."

Her cheek twitched under his finger.  "Nice try,
Slick.  But you're not getting out of it that
easily."  Turning, she reached for the paper
with the contact information on it and her
cloak, then walked to the door, where she donned
her socks and shoes.  "My price is firm,
Gabriel.  Take it or leave it."  She waved the
paper, her hand on the door knob, one eyebrow
cocked in challenge.

He had no choice.  Saying a silent prayer to the
gods that this wasn't a bad move, he nodded,
hoping the sight of his face wouldn't trigger
another seizure.  Somehow though, he didn't
think it would.  The sketch told him that the
man in her dreams was faceless.  And God knew
his wasn't the type of mug women swooned over,
especially since the added repellant of the
scar.

"Good.  Don't forget to clean the rope burns and
re-apply the salve, okay?"  Opening the door,
she turned back with a smile.  "You know, I bet
you're handsome under all that hair.  A quick
mind *and* a handsome face?  Impossible to
resist, you know... I wonder how I'll ever let
you go."

Though the last was delivered with light-hearted
flair, her eyes were sober as they looked into
his, unwavering for a long moment.  She was
serious, he realized.  He could feel himself
begin to falter under that stare.  Then she
broke the spell, chuckling as she opened the
door.

"Geez, Gabriel, that's some panic face you have
there.  Almost puts me off... almost."

As she shut the door behind her, he remembered
to breathe.


End Chapter Ten


Gabriel
Chapter Eleven


The Rocky Mountains
September 20, 2001
5:45 p.m.


Gabriel let his head loll against the back of
the tub with a contented sigh.  He'd slept most
of the day, only rising to eat and stretch his
legs every few hours.  The respite was welcome,
especially after Julia's probing that morning. 
When she hadn't returned by mid-afternoon, he
figured she wasn't going to come back to the
cabin that day, and he decided it was time for a
good washing.

After he unwrapped his arm, he found he had a
decent range of motion, though it still hurt
like a bitch when he tried to overextend in any
direction.  He wasn't going to wrap it again,
but he knew the sling would still be necessary
for a few days.  He wouldn't miss the bindings,
that was certain.  And the skin of his throat
and neck was healing nicely; in a week, he'd be
good to go.  Hopefully his friends would arrive
by then; already he was getting the itch to be
as far away from this place as possible.  More
than that, he wanted *her* away from here.  He
wouldn't be satisfied until she was safe.

But for now, he lazed in the hot water and felt
the grime sluice away from his body,
invigorating him in preparation for the flight
to come.  He would have preferred a shower, but
there was none - only a huge, claw-footed tub
that nearly took up one wall of the small
bathroom.  He wondered if he'd be able to get
out of it easily, but not from pain at his
injuries.  He felt decadent somehow, not wanting
to abandon the soapy water that smelled of her.

Just as he was about to give in to the urge to
nap, he heard a noise in the cabin, one that
made him sit upright.  Someone was in the outer
room - panic made him still, when all he wanted
to do was fly from the tub, naked or not.  Damn
it, he should have brought one of the kitchen
knives in the bathroom with him.

"Gabriel?"

Her soft call of his name blew the breath from
his lungs with relief.  But panic set in just as
quickly - naked and wet was *not* the way he
wanted to greet her.  Shit, shit, shit, his mind
screamed.  That's what you get for letting your
guard down, moron.

"Gabriel, are you in there?"  The voice came
closer, just beyond the open door of the
bathroom.

He was also a stupid fool for not closing the
door of the bathroom.  He slid in the tub,
trying to use his good arm to lever himself up
while draping the washcloth - the pitifully
small washcloth - over his hips.  However, his
feet couldn't get a grip on the slick surface
and he fell back with a splash, just as she
peeked in around the door.

Her mouth dropped for a fraction of a second,
but she recovered quickly, smiling at the drops
of water he wiped from his sputtering face. 
"Sorry," she chuckled, turning to lean against
the doorjamb, arms crossed.  "Didn't mean to
surprise you like that."

Like hell she was sorry, he thought.  He could
see the smirk on that profile and hear the mirth
in her voice.  Just as he could feel the hot
blush of embarrassment paint his chest and
cheeks as he sank lower into the thankfully
murky water.  This was ridiculous; she'd seen
him in the buff lots of times, but he couldn't
help but feel exposed.  Like a schoolboy
trembling before his first woman.  "I didn't
think you were coming back," he said, his voice
stronger from its hours-long rest, though it
still sounded like someone had dragged their
fingernails down his throat.

"I brought you some more clothes.  I swiped them
from the laundry.  Hopefully, they'll fit you
better than Matthew's."

Is that all she came for?  He opened his mouth
to let her have it about venturing out so close
to sunset, but she continued, cutting off his
tirade with a sly glance over her shoulder.

"I spoke to the Colonel today."

Gabriel held his breath at the pronouncement;
what had Frohike told her?  Not much, if her
appearance was anything to go by.  She was the
picture of good health - if she'd seized again,
she certainly wouldn't have had the strength to
come to the cabin so soon.

"He said to tell you they're coming, as soon as
possible.  He also said he expects me to grace
him with a ribbon in return this time - wonder
what he meant by that?"  Completing the turn,
she faced him fully, her eyes wide and
searching.  "I mean, he's never met me before,
has he?  Why would I give him a ribbon *this*
time?"

He could not answer; anything he said would, at
the least, keep the questions coming.  Deny
everything - remember that, he told himself. 
Keeping silent was the best form of denial.  He
lowered his head and watched the steam rise from
the water.

The seconds crawled by and he felt her gaze move
over his face in a gentle, yet piercing forage
for truth.  Without looking up he deliberately
steered the conversation into safer territory. 
"How's Matthew?"

Her sigh was pained, but not from worry over the
boy, he knew.  "He still has a temperature, but
the doctor says it's just a virus.  He's being a
royal pain, trying to get up out of bed. 
Another couple of days and he'll be okay - if he
takes it easy."

He deemed it safe to look at her as he said,
"Good.  That's good."  Another awkward pause
followed his scratchy statement and he cleared
his throat, plunging ahead.  "Julia, would you
mind?"  He gestured with a nod for her to leave
so he could get out of the tub.

But she didn't budge, answering his unspoken
command with a gentle rebuke, her eyebrow
shooting up.  "Please.  I've seen a naked man
before.  At least I *hope* I have." With a quirk
of her lips, she waved at the protrusion under
the buttons of her dress.

Rolling his eyes, he answered, "Not me."  Yet
another lie; the color in his cheeks flamed now
with the remembrance of just how many times she
*had* seen him naked.  Every one stood out in
his mind like a photo album of treasured
moments, albeit just a tad on the erotic side. 
A decidedly un-Hallmark collection... but one he
wouldn't part with for all the world.

"Sure I have."

His embarrassment ratcheted up to enormous
proportions and he gulped as he realized it
wasn't only the abstract reacting to her husky
voice and subtle innuendo.  A part of him long
asleep stirred under the washcloth and he
shifted in the water, giving her what he hoped
was a scathing, leave-me-alone stare.

"Your first night here.  You couldn't very well
sleep in those muddy clothes, now could you?"

Inwardly, he groaned, his eyes slipping shut. 
"Julia," he began, intending to beg for some
privacy, but she cut him off.

"Well, Matthew was the one who undressed you,
really.  I just caught a glimpse here and
there."

The disappointed purse of her lips told him
she'd tried like hell to look.  It made him more
uncomfortable; her very being exuded curiosity
and he knew she'd never stop trying to get under
his skin.  His only hope was the power of his
lies, something that was proving to be damned
difficult with an iffy voice.  But he couldn't
stop trying, even though his plea came out more
like a gentle breeze than a roaring tornado. 
"Julia, please -"

"You didn't wash your hair, did you?"  She was
good at stifling his weak resistance, her
question delivered with schoolteacher reprimand.

"I was just about to," he hissed through
clenched teeth, even though he knew the task was
beyond his ability to move his arm.  Anything to
get her away from him before he thoroughly
humiliated himself by dragging her into the tub
with him.

"Yeah, right," she snorted.  His eyes flew open
and he saw her smile as she walked forward in
her bare feet through the water on the floor. 
"Can you sit up?"

"Julia, watch the water," he cried, seriously
taxing his voice until the last word came out in
a hoarse croak.

She took her time, reaching up to the shelf on
the wall behind his head.  "I'm being careful,
Slick."

He cringed at the awful nickname she'd bestowed
upon him as he sat up, trying to fold in two to
hide his growing arousal from her.  If he hadn't
just worn out his voice on his alarmed near-
shout, he would have told her that he hated when
she called him that.  No way was he a 'Slick',
not by any means.  Never had been, never would
be.  Certainly not where she was concerned; for
God's sake, it had taken him years to let
himself love her, and then only because of their
dire circumstances.

He heard the splash of water behind him and he
tensed, wondering what she was up to.  She
wasn't actually going to wash his hair, was she? 
God help him.

"Gabriel," she breathed, sadness tinging her
voice.

In that instant, he knew she'd seen the lash
marks on his back.  Before, in the dimness of
the outer room, it had been difficult for anyone
to notice the faint red lines.  He hung his head
and started at the feel of her fingers, his body
curling in upon itself.  Don't say anything
else, he pleaded silently.  I don't know if I
could stand your pity once again.  It was bad
enough that his back reacted to the familiar
touch, shivering as if asking for more.

Thankfully, she said nothing more, just cleared
her throat and moved behind him.  The rush of
water over his head made him gasp.  Yes, it
looked like his torture was just beginning.

"Sorry," she murmured.  "I'll warn you next
time, okay?"

Like that would help any, he thought.  No amount
of warning would ease his growing anxiety - just
be cool, he told himself.  Let her do this and
she'll be satisfied.  Once you're out of the
tub, you'll have room to maneuver.

The perfume of the shampoo wafted over him in
the split second before he felt its cold slide
over his scalp.  Then he almost purred at the
touch of her fingers in his wet hair.

Sit still... don't move... breathe.  He had to
admit, he was getting good at calming himself;
his body relaxed into the sphere of her warmth.

Until her hands began to move.  Her short nails
scraped over his skull and the heels of her
palms massaged his curls into a frenzy of sweet-
smelling foam.  Jesus, it felt like he'd died
and gone to heaven.

"Was it... bad?"  Her hesitation drifted over
his shoulder and he tensed, wondering where she
was going with this.  "The invasion.  Was it
that bad?"

He didn't feel like talking about it; to bring
up the horrors as he was trying to control his
physical reaction to her would seriously tax his
emotions.  "Later," he whispered, hoping she
would simply forget to ask later.  Much as he
wanted her to remember him, this was one subject
best put off for as long as possible.

Her hands kept moving through his hair.  "You'll
tell me before you leave, won't you?  Because I
want to know - and no one here will tell me."

"I promise."  If he had his way, she'd remember
on her own.  He didn't want to be the one to
give her those memories, especially since he
hadn't lived through them with her.  His
experience with the invasion began and ended on
an alien ship, oblivious to everything but his
own pain.  Then, living in the lap of luxury
with his father didn't exactly make him an
expert on life after the bees.

What would he tell her, anyway?  He knew what he
*wanted* to tell her.  That he'd been lifeless
until she'd come for him.  That if not for her,
he'd surely have long since been insane or dead.

No, life after the invasion was a subject he'd
avoid as long as possible.  Especially in light
of the fact that the serenity in these mountains
was meant to be undisturbed.  With as little
disruption as possible, he'd get her out of
here.  That's all that mattered.  

Who wanted to think about such things at a time
like this?  He gave himself up to her touch with
a silent sigh, letting all his worries fade for
this precious few minutes.  The gentle scrub of
her hands made his whole body feel like jello
and he found himself leaning to the right, his
eyes closed in the joy of pure sensation.

"Oh!"  A little thump accompanied her
exclamation and his eyes shot open to find her
face inches away from his, her arms practically
encircling his neck.  He started to sit upright,
but she wouldn't give way, saying, "It's okay -
you stay right there.  I just couldn't reach you
any more, so I knelt down."

Her bright, laughing eyes, her lazy smile, the
even more familiar husky timber of her voice...
Gabriel drowned in them and his lips opened to
gulp in air as he sat, mesmerized by her
proximity.  The front of her dress was damp and
the soap bubbles trailed slowly down her
forearms to the cuffs of her shoved-up sleeves,
but she didn't seem bothered by it at all.  In
fact, her smile became broader.

"Gabriel?" she chuckled, her cheeks rosy with
heat from the water and embarrassment.  "You
still with me?"

Shaking off his stupor, he lowered his chin,
feeling like a lovesick fool.  She wasn't
laughing at him, he knew.  Her tender heart
wouldn't allow her to have fun at another's
expense.  Somehow, that made his staring even
worse, because she saw it all in his face and
let it go, when she could have pounced on his
vulnerability.  If the roles were reversed, he
would have done so in a heartbeat, delving into
her as far as he could go.  Which never was too
deep; she always had a knack for repairing any
breach in her armor before he could penetrate.

Had it ever been this difficult for her?  He'd
always considered himself an open book as far as
letting his grief, anger, or happiness show. 
Hell, even though he'd never told her so -
except for the drugged confession in Bermuda,
which didn't count, in his opinion - he always
thought she could see his love for her.  It
wasn't something he made an effort to hide. 
Now, he was finding it a monumental task to keep
it all in.  Sometimes he felt as if he would
explode.  Like now, as she touched him with such
gentleness he thought he would cry.  How the
hell did she ever withstand the need to just let
go?  She was made of much sterner stuff, that
was certain.

"Here goes the rinse again."

He closed his eyes at the warning and sat still
as the warm water washed all traces of soap
away.  Now what?  Did she expect him to get out
of the tub with her watching?

"There.  All finished."

Resisting the urge to shake like a wet dog, he
brought a hand up to wipe the strands of hair
from his face.  The next thing he knew, a towel
was shoved in his face.

"Dry off.  We have work to do."  Up and gone,
she disappeared around the corner of the
bathroom door.

Work?  Did the Colonel give her some sort of
specific instructions to follow?  Gabriel hoped
he hadn't; the less she was involved in their
escape, the better.  Although the real person
behind that soft exterior and those easy smiles
would likely want to know every nuance of the
plan.  But if she already knew too much, he'd
have to acquiesce to her involvement.  He just
hoped it wouldn't overtax her, physically *and*
mentally.

With his weight balanced on his right side, he
gingerly got to his feet and stepped out of the
tub.  It wasn't as difficult as he thought it
was going to be; the hot water had soothed his
muscles and he felt more limber than he had in
days.  He turned to pull the plug on the tub and
almost slipped at the voice behind him, hastily
wrapping the towel around his waist.

"Your clothes," she said, dropping them on the
lid of the toilet.  "They should fit you better,
if I judged the size correctly."  A small,
flirty grin blossomed on her face as her eyes
shifted down, then back up again.  "Nice," she
purred, turning to leave.

Jesus, she was going to kill him yet.  Raising
suddenly pleading eyes to the ceiling, he prayed
to an iffy deity who seemed determined to test
his wavering belief.  Give me strength, his mind
screamed.

He took his time toweling off, listening to her
putter around the main room of the cabin.  What
the hell was she doing?  A thump, then a scrape
of a chair; the sound of water running in the
sink and the clatter of instruments of some kind
in its metal basin - if he didn't know better,
he'd say she was preparing for an operation.

Shit.  He paused in the act of pulling on the
faded denim shirt, realization dawning.

She quickly confirmed his suspicions, her voice
demanding and precise.  "Leave the shirt off,
Gabriel.  You owe me a haircut and a shave."

His mind raced - how to put her off?  Easy. 
Just tell her he didn't have the proper use of
his arm yet to shave or trim his hair.

"And before you come in here and give me that
'I'm injured' look... *I'm* going to do the
honors."



End Chapter Eleven 


Gabriel
Chapter Twelve


The Rocky Mountains
September 20, 2001
6:15 p.m.


There was no way to get out of it, or even to
sneak around it.  She'd done as he asked and
contacted Frohike, so she expected him to hold
up his end of the bargain.  Such a simple task,
really - a haircut and shave.  But his heart
threatened to pound out of his chest as he
slipped the sling over his head and adjusted his
arm into it.  At least the bulk of his arm in
front of him afforded him some protection
against her sure encroachment.

He walked slowly from the bathroom and stopped
at the sight of the tableau laid out before the
fireplace.  She'd pulled a kitchen chair and a
small table from the alcove to the rug in front
of the fire, and had all the needed instruments
of what he knew was going to be sheer torture on
the flat surface of the table.  She looked up
and gave him a smile, gesturing toward the
chair.

"Sit.  I promise not to hurt you too much."  Her
wink was playful.

His eyes were wide as he took that first step
toward what promised to be pleasure and pain.

His body numb with fear - and no small amount of
excitement - he did as she asked, sitting on the
chair she'd pulled close to the fireplace.  He
followed her every move with greedy eyes -
watched as she fingered the things she would
need on the table next to him.  The scissors,
comb, and razor, all placed on a clean towel
with what was, unbeknownst to her, the precision
of surgical preparation.  A small hand mirror
reflected the meager light in the room as she
put it beside the instruments.  Next came the
steaming pan of water and a bar of purplish
soap.  He already smelled like a girl, but he
didn't care.

The firelight cast her in a red-orange glow, and
when she stood just... *there* ... he could see
the outline of her body through the linen shift. 
The swell of her breasts and the curve of her
hip as it met her thigh; he swallowed down his
growing arousal and shifted his gaze to the bare
feet that peeked from beneath the hem of her
dress.  Such small, dainty feet.  Unconsciously,
his own bare feet slid across the floor in
search of hers - with a start, he stopped them
just in time and decided maybe it was best to
close his eyes against the temptation she
presented.

But it was damned hard, especially when the
clean, siren scent that was hers alone wafted
over him.  It hadn't been that noticeable in the
bathroom, blending in with the fragrance of the
shampoo.  Now, it slammed into him.  God, she
was close, he thought, only to have it confirmed
when her voice drifted over his heated face.

"Shall I cut your hair first?"

Mute with the almost overwhelming need to touch
her, he simply nodded, his wet locks falling
forward to tickle his shoulders.  The beads of
water trickling down his chest helped cool his
ardor and he drew a deep breath, waiting for the
feel of his fingers in his hair once again.

Light as a feather, she lifted the heavy,
curling mass away from his neck and the grinding
of the scissors' blades sheared through him. 
His teeth mirrored the cutting action, clamping
down as with one fell swoop, half his hair was
gone.

"That was easy enough," she chuckled behind him. 
"Now for the hard part."

He'd thought the hard part was the shampoo. 
God, was he wrong.  Joy was beginning to melt
his bones; he had hated the disguise, despite
its necessity.  Exposure was a gamble, but
truthfully, he was tired of hiding from her.  If
he couldn't tell her who he was, then at least
he could let her see the real face behind all
that hair.

Most of all, he didn't care what he looked like,
as long as she kept touching him.  She could
butcher his hair to the point where he looked
like a porcupine, and still he would be happy. 
It couldn't be any worse than the haircuts he
used to pay a good money for back home, so long
ago.  Though this freebie might end up costing
him his feeble hold on sanity...

She kept working, snipping and combing as the
hair continued to come off.  His eyes popped
open as an errant curl skittered down his torso
to land in his lap.

"Sorry," she murmured, reaching down to pick it
from his jeans-clad thigh.  At her nearness, he
jerked away, his left hand fisting in the sling. 
She noticed his avoidance, asking softly, "Did I
get any in your eyes?"

He shook his head, dodging the warm breast that
brushed his shoulder.

"I'll try to catch them before they fall, okay?" 
Her voice was filled with regret, as if she'd
somehow hurt him.  But he couldn't bring himself
to tell her it was okay; damn him, he couldn't
even manage to look her in the eye.  If he did,
they'd find themselves tangled on the rug in a
heartbeat.  And he couldn't do that to her.

Instead, he nodded again, urging her to
continue.  She said nothing, just returned to
her task; he sagged a bit with relief as she
moved around to stand behind him once again. 
This time, she cut and combed with a swift
sureness, as if more comfortable with what she
was doing.  He knew if he dared look at her,
he'd find her brow creased in concentration,
maybe the tip of her tongue darting out to wet
the corner of her mouth.  It was a signature of
hers, the way her face reacted to her mind's
workings.

But he didn't want to look; therein laid
trouble.  He sat still as stone under her
fingers and after a while, he relaxed enough to
open his eyes once more, though he trained his
vision on the dancing flames of the fire.  He
felt his ears get cold at their exposure to the
chilly air of the room and he couldn't suppress
the shiver that ran through him, especially when
she ran her finger over the lobe on his right
side.

"Wouldn't want that to take root, would we?"

Jesus, she was a delight to behold, laughter
coming so easily to her now, warmth and joy
seeming to surround her, despite the clouds she
lived under daily.  He wanted to let the forest
grow around them, to keep out everyone and
everything so he could hold her and love her to
his heart's content...

"There," she pronounced, jerking him back to
awareness as she came to stand before him with
crossed arms.  She cocked her head to one side,
then the other, surveying her work with a purse
of her lips before smiling.  "I left it just a
bit long on top - what can I say?  I like the
way it curls.  Would you like to see before we
move on?"  She shifted, reaching for the mirror.

Gabriel shook his head, his right hand coming up
to feel the wavy strands.  A lopsided grin
blossomed on his face; in the ensuing months
since he'd had a haircut, his hair must have
taken on life of its own.  No longer weighed
down, it sprang about his head, much curlier
than he remembered.  He'd never hear the end of
it from the Colonel, who was bound to seethe
with jealousy.

He looked up and his grin faded as he faced her
head-on, her smile taking his breath away.  It
wasn't fair that she stood before him with such
innocence, her mind deprived of all they once
were to each other.  Frustration burned his eyes
and he dropped his chin, looking away lest she
picked up on his sudden sadness.

With a short sigh, she spoke.  "Well... let's do
something about that face now, shall we?"

OhGodohGodohGodnooo...  But he couldn't move,
even though he wanted to run from her.  A
selfish part of him craved more of her touch and
he was helpless to deny himself, even though he
knew this was going to be more difficult than
the haircut.

She moved to the table, shoving up the sagging
sleeves of her thin dress before wetting the
towel in the hot water.  A soft hiss made him
sit up straighter as if to rise, but she turned
her head and gave him a wink.  "It's okay - just
a bit hot.  My skin is just not as tough as
yours."  Her hands were slightly red as she
wrung out the towel, the water bleeding through
her fingers like rivers of tears.  With her
profile to him, she formed an 'o' with her mouth
and gently puffed cooling air on the steaming
white terrycloth.

It was almost his undoing.  He squirmed in his
chair, trying to decide if maybe this wasn't
such a good idea after all.  His groin tightened
in the confines of his jeans and a fine sheen of
sweat broke out on his forehead.

"There," she said, letting the towel unfold with
a wave.  "Tilt your head back, please, Gabriel."

Like he could refuse her, he thought, despite
his rapidly escalating desire for her.  Letting
his eyes slip shut, his neck popped as his head
fell back.  In seconds, the towel was wrapped
around his bristly cheeks, and he jumped a bit
at the heat of it.  Guilt flashed through him at
the realization that her silken skin had
probably felt the burn ten times more than his
leathery covering, in the basin *and* in the
bathtub.

He could hear her splash around in the water and
the smell of lavender mixed with the steamy
smell of the towel.

"I hope you don't mind, but this is the only
razor I have," he heard her say.  "It's one I
use on my legs.  You can use it from now on, if
you want to.  I don't think I'll be able to
reach them for much longer."

A picture of her running the razor over her
naked legs in that huge, claw-footed bathtub
made him groan under the towel.  He wanted to
rip the towel off and beg her to let him do that
mundane task for her from now on.  He'd wash her
hair, scrub her back, shave her legs - do
everything her pregnancy wouldn't allow her to
do.

I'll be your slave, Scully, his mind sobbed.

Cool air graced his warm cheeks as she took the
towel away.  Replacing it with her hands, she
lathered his face with the soap, her voice close
at his side.  "Too girly, I know.  But it's all
I have, sorry."

Sorry?  He'd gladly rub his girly-smelling face
into his pillow tonight, if it meant he'd see
her in his dreams.  At the cessation of her
speech, he opened his eyes, unable to withstand
his self-imposed blindness any longer.

"Hi there," she smiled, her hands massaging the
soap into his beard.  "Ready to begin?"

He blinked twice, feeling as though he was an
idiotic fool.  Mesmerized by her brandy-warm
voice and strong, yet gentle touch, by the sight
of the few wisps of red hair that had escaped
her braid and the pull of those happy eyes, he
sat there, struck dumb by her simple attention.

"Okay, then."  Wiping her hands on the towel,
she reached for the razor.  "Let me know if I
hurt you, okay?"  She pulled the table a bit
closer for easier access to the water and then
began.

Slowly drawing the razor down his cheek, taking
the beard with it as he watched her... her mouth
lax and her eyelids lowered in concentration. 
In this, she worked as he imagined she'd done
with his haircut, taking her time with
meticulous glides of the blade against his skin. 
His breathing slowed to match hers; in, out,
in... out.  He was lulled to the point of
fascination, and jerked only when he felt the
cut below his temple.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she whispered, almost
stumbling in her search for the towel.  His hand
shot out, steadying her with a grip of her
waist, the pain really non-existent in the face
of her distress.  She brought the towel up to
dab at the cut, her hand shaking and her eyes
full.  "I'm too clumsy these days," she
apologized.

Gabriel shook his head, decrying her guilt with
a re-assuring lift of his gaze.  He knew what he
had in mind was dangerous, but he'd be damned if
he'd see her injure herself in a fall.  With a
slight pull at her waist, he allowed his legs to
spread wide, urging her to stand between them,
his eyes silently asking for the intrusion.

She hesitated, the reticence of isolation these
many months blooming in a pink flush on her
cheeks.  Gabriel didn't want to push her, but
his trembling fingers betrayed him, brushing
over the fabric at her waist like a plea.  With
a breathy exhale, she smiled, dropping her eyes
as she put the towel away.

"Guess it *would* be better, wouldn't it?" She
chuckled at her embarrassment and moved closer,
tilting his chin up with one small finger, the
razor poised.  "This doesn't guarantee your
safety, you realize."  Her teeth tugged on the
fullness of her lower lip as she poised the
razor over his jaw.  "I may not remember what I
did before, but I *really* don't think I was
very adept with any type of sharp instruments."

At that, Gabriel's face broke into a broad smile
and his husky laughter filled the room.  She
pulled the razor away and said with an affronted
air, "It's not funny!  I don't want to hurt you,
Gabriel."

Sobering with the greatest difficulty, he pursed
his lips, though he could feel his good humor
still shine from his eyes.  Jutting out his
chin, he offered his face to her, promising
compliance with a lift of the corners of his
mouth.

"That's better," she stated, shifting from one
foot to the other within the trap of his legs. 
She licked her lips and moved in.  "Now, keep
still."

I'm not going anywhere, he pledged silently,
shutting his eyes in simple acquiescence.  It
would take an earthquake of catastrophic
proportions to move him from that chair.  The
devil himself could walk in, flanked by Elvis
and - well, no use wondering what an EBE looked
like.  Been there, done that...

Jesus!  His wandering thoughts were cut short by
the soft cushion that pressed against his
wrapped arm.  He knew what that was - don't
look, don't open your eyes.  But they fluttered
open anyway and his lips dropped open as well.

"Gabriel."  Her slow warning made him close his
mouth quickly and she kept on, though he knew
she hadn't caught on to what he was seeing.

Her breasts, made fuller by the pregnancy,
brushed against his chest, right above the
sling.  The roundness below them - her baby -
was firm against the knuckles of his left hand. 
The rope of her braided hair snaked down her
collarbone and he wanted to cry at the beauty of
the yellow ribbon that was bowed around its
curling tip.  It was back where it belonged;
*he* was back where he belonged.

Every now and then, she swirled the razor in the
water, shifting and stretching, the braid moving
with her.  He was hypnotized by the sight of it
and her; she was bathed in firelight, glowing
with health and heat.  As he watched, a red
flush crept up her neck and a single bead of
sweat traveled slowly down between her breasts.

"Almost done," she murmured, still unaware of
his scrutiny.  "Lift your chin, please."

He did so, knowing she was being doubly careful
around the scraped skin of his lower neck.  The
rope had bit into him just below the edge of the
beard.

"I think I can get it all," she said.  "Just be
very still - I don't want to hurt you."

Hurt him?  God, she could never hurt him.  The
gunshot was a distant memory, filed away as an
aberration - the product of a mind under the
control of another.  This - *this* was the real
woman, even though she knew not who she was. 
The gentle touch and loathe to bring pain to
anyone was still there, making her as 'Scully'
as she could be.

"Just one more spot," she said, gripping his
chin to make him look at her.  "Do this."  She
gave him the 'time to shave the moustache
grimace' and he complied, bringing his upper lip
down, his eyes straying from her chest to her
mouth.

"Good."  She scraped the hair from his lips and
chin and he felt the warmth of her breath on his
face as she leaned over him.  Dry tufts of
imaginary cotton took up residence in his mouth
as he watched her tongue dart out to wet her
lips.

If she knew the direction his thoughts had
taken... how he wanted to pull her face down to
his for a kiss, then let his lips travel over
the graceful arch of her neck to bury themselves
in the cleft of her breasts... she'd run.  Take
herself far from his madness and never look
back.

The hand at her waist slid around her back
slowly, giving in to the pull of her warmth. 
Heat drifted up between them to fill his head
with thoughts of the sensual exploration of days
past.  Slow, languid lovemaking in a dim room on
a pallet of blankets; hot, hurried couplings in
a shower stall and soft, satisfied kisses of
completion and love.

Her name clogged his throat, threatening to
burst forth.  At the last second, it was denied
birth, as she laid the razor on the table and
gently drew the towel over his face, cleaning
away the last of the soap.  The towel fell away
from her fingers to the floor as she drew in a
sharp breath.

"Oh, Gabriel."  Her words were husky and her
eyes glazed over with tears as her fingers slid
over the scar on his chin; she'd seen its end on
his chest, but not its beginning on his face and
neck.  "Who did this to you?"
  
With a bite of his lip, he looked down, feeling
more hideous than he ever had before. When he
looked like a grizzly bear, he felt so abnormal,
wishing that he could rid himself of the cloak
of the accused.  Now he felt naked, his past
exposed for her to see.  He turned his head,
trying to keep his scar from her white fingers.

But she held fast, her hand curling about his
face, her thumb caressing his cheek.  "I knew
you were handsome under all that hair," she
whispered, her smile chasing away the shadows. 
For a second, her eyes clouded over and he held
his breath, dreading yet hoping for a sign she
knew him.

Remembrance was there for just a second; whether
brushing the clouds in those blue eyes away of
its own accord, or reflecting that which he knew
was shining from his own moist gaze - it was
there.  Did he dare risk her safety by letting
it overtake them?  He so wanted it to happen.

But then it was gone in a flash.  "I guess we're
done," she said, lowering her gaze with a sigh. 
His hand slipped from her body before he knew
it.

Her face fell with disappointment, more in
herself than in the lost moment.  He knew she
wanted it.  But just like him, she knew the
possibilities.  In spite of her bravado after
the seizure, it had frightened her.  That wasn't
the only scary thing, he realized.  She knew as
well as he did that they were treading into
intimate territory.  What was always there
between them was pulling them together like
magnets.  Her body knew him, remembered the
lingering touches and movements, craved it just
as his did, though she herself knew not why. 
And though her physical self was virginal no
longer, her mind certainly was.  Stripped of the
memory of lovemaking, it trembled with the fear
of the unknown.

In the midst of his amazing discovery, he almost
failed to notice her shying away, stepping back
from the brink as she closed in on herself with
a sigh.

But he wasn't finished; little did she know he
was just beginning.

Before she could break the warmth around them,
he caught her hand, bringing its warmth to his
lips.  Closing his eyes, he pressed his mouth to
her palm, bestowing his thanks in a reverent
kiss.  Giving her the promise of more to come in
the slow brush of his open mouth to the soft,
damp skin.

The hitch of her breath reached his ears in the
split second before she pulled away fully.  He
opened his eyes to see her silhouetted in the
firelight, hands clasped, surprise warring with
something familiar - desire.  He'd seen it
enough to recognize the burn in her eyes.

That dilated, heavy-lidded stare... those
parted, pink lips and flushed cheeks... it
wasn't fair what he was doing to her, he knew. 
But God, he wanted her.  Even if she'd never
remember him, he wanted her trust back.  He
wanted her mind and her body... her love.

Gabriel, the bringer of a new truth.  No matter
who they were, they were meant to be together.

She cleared her throat and looked everywhere but
at him.  "Well... I - I need to get back.  I'll
come back tomorrow, okay?"  Moving to the door,
she slipped on her shoes and cloak.

No, no, she couldn't leave.  He stood, the force
of his need slamming the chair backward.  His
lips moved, his throat aching with the attempt
at speech, his hand shaking as it stretched out
toward her.

She started, stopping to look at him, her hand
on the door knob.  "No, Gabriel," she pleaded,
bringing the edges of her cloak together, fear
and confusion shadowing her face and voice. 
"Let me go.  I'll come back tomorrow, I
promise."  A blast of cold air came through the
door, and she was gone into the twilight.

Raspy and filled with tears, his thready voice
echoed in the empty room.

"Scully."



End Chapter Twelve

Gabriel
Chapter Thirteen


The Rocky Mountains
September 23, 2001
4:25 p.m.


On the afternoon of the third day, he was too
exhausted to keep his eyes open any longer. 
Three days... three fucking days without seeing
her.  The first day after she'd flown from him,
he really hadn't expected her to brave his
presence, though he wanted her to come to the
cabin so very badly.  Keeping vigil by the fire,
he'd listened to the creak of the rocker count
the seconds that went by at a snail's pace.

She didn't come.

That night, when the rumble of his stomach
forced him to seek food, he pulled his stiff
bones from the ancient rocker and made a
sandwich.  He ate only half, though he savored a
cup of her decaffeinated tea, imagining he
pulled the taste from her lips.  Sleep was
fitful, filled with stark memories of every time
he'd ever lost her.

Pfaster, Duane Barry, Gerry Shnauz... striking,
black and white reels of the pain and
frustration he'd had to live through.  In real
life, she'd come back, every time.  In the
dreams, she stayed gone.  Endless loops of his
searches dogged his slumbering brain until the
last, when she walked from the bunker.  In that
one, the end was more horrific.  He woke in the
wee hours of the morning, gasping for breath,
the image of her lifeless body in his arms
making his cheeks wet with tears.

The next day, she should have come.  She knew he
was waiting, didn't she?  At least a dozen times
he'd been tempted to leave the security of the
cabin and storm the Ranch, declaring to one and
all just who he was and where the hell was his
woman.  Caveman, of course.  And utterly
ridiculous, not to mention unsafe.  He didn't
give a shit about himself; but poking the
sleeping giant with a stick was bound to make
problems for her.

He'd been too bold, yes.  Insinuating himself
into her friendly sphere only to awaken the
desire that hadn't been erased with her memory. 
He'd tried, really.  Tried to keep himself from
her, but in the end, it became impossible.  Her
face, her voice, the scent of her skin - it had
drawn him over the edge.

Today, he was wracked with worry.  Though his
arm was sore, he refused to wear the sling out
of sheer obstinance.  His slurred thoughts made
him doze off and on and the dreams were getting
more frightening with every turn.  Only the pain
in his arm kept him from sleeping more than a
few minutes and he was thankful for it - he
didn't want to dream.  He wanted her back.

Lying on the bench beneath the alcove window, he
made a vow.  He wouldn't touch her again, if
only she'd come walking up that path.  Hard on
the heels of that thought came another -
tomorrow, he was taking that path, danger be
damned.  He had to see for himself that she was
okay.

Let her come, let her come.  The litany rolled
over his weary mind with the monotony of a
passing train, lulling him into an uneasy sleep.


**********


5:55 p.m.


Cracking his eyes, he felt the side of his face
tingle as if a beam of warmth thawed the cold
skin of his cheek.  Shifting slowly on the
bench, his neck screamed from being crammed up
against the alcove wall behind him and he
grimaced, bringing up his hand to rub at the
tense muscles.

"You don't need the sling anymore.  That's
good."  The sigh that accompanied the
congratulatory sentiment was its perfect
opposite, laced with a hint of sadness.  "And
you can hardly see the bruising on your neck
anymore."

Julia.  For a second he felt like crying over
the miracle of her presence.  But the trailing
tones of her voice spoke of just how unsure she
was with this visit and he knew any sudden show
of emotion would likely scare her away. 
However, there was nothing he could do about the
joy in his gaze as it lighted on her seated form
in the rocker.  A sketch pad laid open in her
lap and the fingers that gripped the pen were
white with tension.  Her eyelids lowered, her
interest shifting to a speck on the floor.

"The light isn't good in here in the evenings,
but you looked so peaceful sleeping there I
couldn't resist."  She spared a quick glance his
way, then resumed her fascination with the dusty
floorboards.

Peaceful?  God, if she only knew just how stormy
his insides were.  How badly he wanted to fall
to his knees at her feet and beg her to never
leave him again.  His body began to do just
that, sitting up from its reclined position.

"No, don't move," she whispered.

Was she going to fly?  He stilled with bated
breath, mentally calculating their respective
distances from the door.  His damn legs were
weak from sleep, but he'd crawl if necessary to
prevent her escape.

Lifting and turning the sketch pad, she held it
up like a stop sign, halfway hiding behind it. 
"See?  I'm almost finished."

It was him... a flat, black outline of
unconscious longing, his head turned from her to
face the window, his hand lying palm up upon the
bench in supplication.  She'd drawn every nuance
of his form.  From the denim shirt that laid
open, revealing the wicked scar... to the day-
old stubble that adorned his hollow cheeks... to
the bare foot that remained on the floor even
while he slept, ready to lift up his body should
she walk through the door.

That she could do this was amazing to him. 
She'd never shown an aptitude for art before; at
least, not one that she ever revealed to him. 
He pictured a young Dana, sitting with colored
pencils in her mother's backyard, wanting so
badly to create a portrait of the bluebird in
the rose bush - but letting it go at her
father's urging to hit the books.  Never again
to be expressed while there were other, more
important things to do, to learn.  Until it was
set free the moment all else was lost.

The ability obviously made her happy; he hoped
it stayed once she regained the rest that was
Scully.  He would insist that this piece of Dana
remain, even if it was for his eyes alone.

He relaxed, though his head didn't budge, his
eyes refusing to look away from her. 
Unblinking, he watched her as she took up the
sketch again.  She knew he was staring but never
wavered in concentration, her lower lip caught
between her teeth.

If possible, she was more beautiful to his
starved gaze than ever before.  The braid was
gone, but the ribbon still flowed over her
exposed neck, holding back her hair in a binding
that let just as much break free as it held in. 
In the late afternoon sunlight, the strands that
framed her cheeks made a halo around her face. 
The dress today was as simple as the others, a
loose, boat-necked pullover of cream-colored
cotton; very wrinkled, as if she'd been fisting
the material with indecision all day.

He imagined her pacing the Ranch these past
three days, her bare feet wearing a hole in the
floor.  Speaking of - yes, the shoes were gone. 
Relief made him loose his gaze and he blinked,
swallowing down his smile.

Bare feet meant she would stay for a while.

Her voice broke into his short-lived triumph,
just a tiny bit louder than the scratch of the
pen on the paper.

"Those pictures, Gabriel."  She paused in speech
but not in drawing.  "Why are they in the
messages?  Why..."  The effort to draw became
too much for her and she stopped, lifting her
attention from her work to search his face. 
"The Colonel - he always asks you if it's her. 
Why?"

He should have known she'd go digging.  The
latent artist in her may have been tamped down
all these years, but that urge to seek out
answers would never go away, not even with his
father's best efforts.  He sighed, wondering
just how much he could tell her.  He was so
tired of lying.

Looking away for the first time since he'd woken
to her face, he watched the shadows creep into
the forest.  "I'm... looking for someone."

Her gasp was almost inaudible.  "Like me?"

His head snapped back.  Was she asking if he was
looking for her?  No.  Her face betrayed no sign
that she expected him to say yes.  She looked
upon him as a soul torn apart from his other
half - 'the one', as she'd named it.

"Yes," he murmured, "just like you."  Though his
lips spoke of generalities, his throat clogged
with the truth.  She *was* his one... would
always be.

Her half-smile was wistful.  "Whoever she was,
she must have been beautiful.  Light of hair and
fair of face, to use the Colonel's words."

Sometimes, the Colonel could be a poet.  Gabriel
wished he had that power, especially with the
object of his love sitting so close.  "She was -
*is* - the most beautiful person," he said,
watching as Julia looked up again.  "Inside and
out."

"What happened to her?"

Lowering his chin, he realized he'd stepped into
a quandary.  All thoughts of telling a tale of
'bartering for a woman' had flown from his mind,
gone as he laid there drunken with the sight of
her.  Quickly, he fumbled for an explanation.

"She - she just disappeared one day."  He raised
a hand to his brow and rubbed at the pain of
remembrance that pounded in his head.

"During the invasion?"

It would be easier to say yes, but he kept on,
the purity of the truth cleansing his tongue as
it flowed forth.  "No.  After.  I think she was
taken.  Kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?  Who would do that?"

He chuckled, a mirthless bite through his teeth. 
"I have an idea.  Best for you not to know,
Julia."

Thankfully, she abandoned the direction their
conversation had taken, instead returning to an
earlier point.  "The photographs?  Why so many? 
Don't you know what she looks like?"

"She may have changed."  He looked up, noting
her confusion.  "Believe me, it's possible."

She fell silent at that, dropping her head to
take up her work once again.  The only sound in
the room for long moments was the scratch of the
pen against the paper.  Gabriel finally gave up
his constant watching of her, satisfied she was
comfortable enough to stay.

As he watched the long rays of broken sunlight
stream from behind the cabin to slice across the
weeds outside the window, he wondered where they
would go now.  Should he pursue the meager
beginnings of their renewed relationship and
risk scaring her away again?  Or should he just
hog-tie her when Frohike arrived and spirit her
away from the Ranch?  Not the best idea, for a
number of reasons.  Least of which was - she'd
probably kick his ass.  Julia might not have
anything but the barest hint of Scully in that
mind, but what was there was ferocious and
tenacious.

"Matthew is not doing well."  Her sad statement
broke the silence.

His head whipped around.  "What's wrong with
him?"  The boy was just another face in the
small sea of people left since the invasion;
Gabriel had formed no real attachment to him,
but her worry was palpable and he sought to
comfort her as best he could.

"His fever is not going down this time.  The
doctor sent for Matthew's Grandpa yesterday -
told him to come home.  But it's going to take a
day or two, from what I hear."

So Grandpa was away, was he?  "Where is he? 
Matthew's grandfather, I mean."

"I don't know where he goes, but he stays gone
for weeks at a time.  Business, Matthew tells
me.  What kind of business, I don't know."  She
sighed, her brow creasing.  "I wish he'd hurry
home.  In his delirium, Matthew asks for his
Grandpa."

Gabriel softened his face, his voice soothing
and calm.  "He'll be okay, Julia."

Her eyes were bright with a sheen of tears.  "I
hope so.  He's my only friend."

Gabriel said nothing at that, just averted his
gaze at her subtle implication.  She was so
scared of losing the boy.  Not just because she
obviously cared for him, but because she didn't
want to be left at the Ranch alone.  He knew the
last few days had been difficult for her and not
only from dealing with Matthew's illness.  Her
whole manner spoke of the way she'd closed in on
herself with her thoughts.

The way her eyes could only meet his for a few
moments.  The deliberate distance between the
rocker and the bench, when before she'd taken
every opportunity to touch him, to be near him. 
Her slow, soft sentences, as if any rise in
volume would upset the tentative truce of the
last few minutes.

There was something on her mind, he could sense
it.  She was debating how to approach the
subject, hiding behind the sketch as she
gathered the facts.  He'd given her some clues,
he knew.  The ribbon, the exposure to the
Colonel and the photographs on the newsgroup;
the tale of her disappearance, though thinly
veiled with references so vague as to apply to
anyone.

"Your voice is stronger."  The words were just
as sad as her comment on Matthew.

He looked her way, caressing her face with a
sober, heartfelt look.  "No one to talk to."

The hint taken, she flushed from her chest to
her cheeks, slowly offering, "I'm sorry,
Gabriel.  Matthew needed me."  Hesitating for a
moment, she brushed her lower lip with her
tongue.  It looked chapped, as if she'd spent
the last three days giving it grief.  "And I
needed time."

She stated the obvious; he could have let her
off the hook and looked away.  Instead, he
nodded, his soft regard apologetic in return. 
He wanted to soothe her chapped lips with his.
"I know.  I'm sorry, too."

Her feet came up to settle on the bottom rung of
the rocker and she leaned slightly forward as if
to make herself a smaller target.  He wondered
at the reason for her sudden withdrawal,
especially in light of her comments on his
recuperation.  Then it dawned on him where this
was going, confirmed by her question the instant
before he opened his mouth to stumble forth.

"You'll be leaving soon, won't you?"

The muted sorrow on her face made him want to
deny the fact.  As far as she knew, he was
leaving her behind.  Now wasn't the time to
venture into the subject of her leaving with
him, not when she'd just summoned enough courage
to face him again.  Really, he wasn't too keen
on asking her yet.  'Grandpa' was coming home; 
he looked forward to doing a bit of sneaking
around the outskirts of the Ranch, now that he
felt better.  The more information he gathered
before escape, the better for them both.

She was still a bit skittish, mostly because of
worry for the baby, he knew.  Truthfully, he was
just as concerned for her baby's health; if she
wasn't in his father's grasp, he'd leave her
exactly where she was.

Sighing, he whispered, "Yes.  As soon as my
friends arrive."  He didn't tell her that his
wait was liable to stretch out to a week;
Frohike was good, but not *that* good.  Making
their way from one side of the country to the
other was bound to take the Gunmen some time.

"I see.  That was a rather silly question,
wasn't it?"  She rose from the rocker, the pad
held close to her body.

Gabriel shifted his other leg to the floor,
ready to go after her.  But she surprised him,
only circling the rocker to stand before the
fire.

"And if I asked you to stay?"  She faced him,
resolute in voice and form, her blue eyes
unflinching at her disclosure.

Skittish?  Whatever the hell had given him
*that* idea?  He stood, holding his arm close to
his abdomen, the stiff limb not cooperating when
he tried to lower it.  At least it helped hold
in the butterflies that threatened to break
through his skin, the ones that had taken up
residence in his stomach at the realization that
she was serious.  The time spent away from him
the past three days had made her think, just as
it had him.

She didn't know why, but she knew enough to
wonder at the possibilities.  But like always,
they approached the same goal from opposite ends
of the spectrum.  He wished he could tell her
she was coming with him, but even if she said
yes, it wasn't like she could walk into the
Ranch and say, "Toodles.  Thanks for your
hospitality."  Telling her she'd have to
covertly leave meant having to answer questions
about the necessity of such a plan.

Maybe just sneaking in and snatching her was the
way to go, after all.  It wasn't like she cared
for him in *that* way, after all.  She may have
suspected who he was to her, but she wasn't sure
enough to just throw caution to the wind.  God,
there was too much to consider, especially with
her standing before him looking as if her world
would end if he said no.

It pained him to have to say it, be he did, his
good hand fisting at his side.  "I can't."  And
neither could she, though she didn't know that
yet.  God, he ached with the need to tell her. 
Instead, he clamped his jaw over the forbidden,
begging her with his narrowed, regretful gaze to
understand, to sense the unspoken future.

Rolling her eyes, she half-turned, her
frustration apparent in the hoarse, "You're a
wanted man, I know.  The company will come
looking for you."

She'd gotten it all wrong.  Well, it was half
right, but it wasn't like he gave a rat's ass
about the company and their goons.  He only
cared about her.  "Julia -"

"No, Gabriel.  I understand.  It was foolish to
hope that a total stranger would come to think
of me that way in just a few days."

But he *did* think of her that way - had always
thought of her that way.  Couldn't she see it
written all over his face?  Better yet... if she
hoped he felt something for her that meant that
she felt something in return...

He reeled with the revelations of the last
minute.  No way could he be that lucky.  Maybe
she was just very lonely, or the pregnancy had
made her want more in the way of security and
love.  Hormones.  Had to be hormones.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, anger
getting the better of her.  "I'm not hormonal,
or whining like a spoiled child.  I felt
something about you from the moment I laid eyes
on you.  Your reaction when you saw me... you
can't tell me you'd never seen me before."

"I told you - the photographs -"

"Oh, just stop it, okay?"  Frustration slumped
her shoulders and she huffed,  "You're not being
honest with me, Gabriel.  I know it and you know
it."

"Me?"  All right, so he'd basically lied from
the beginning and still would, no matter what. 
But he hadn't lied in the tender way he looked
at her, the greedy, yet gentle way he touched
her, or the longing that graced his every word.

"Yes, you."  Storming to stand in front of him,
she held out the sketch, urging him to take it. 
He did, the paper hot in his hand. "You,
Gabriel.  You're the one."

Swallowing hard, he looked down at the drawing
and felt the blood drain from his face.

He looked just as he had moments ago, lying on
the bench, his face averted as he slept.  The
portrait was very good, very detailed.  Right
down to the scar on his face and chest... right
down to the final touch she'd added in the last
few minutes.  The one that nestled in the hollow
of his throat with telling hope.

The cross.

It was such a familiar, beloved sight that he
felt his throat constrict with its loss once
again.  Though he wished that first day it was
still there, wanted it to serve as proof of who
he was, he knew it was fate that it had
disappeared.  She would surely have known it was
him if he'd had the necklace.  And now, she
seemed determined to encircle his neck with the
imaginary badge of commitment.

In other circumstances, he would weep with joy. 
If he were a more selfish man, he would pounce
on her assumption and ride the wave of ecstasy
that would result.  She'd give herself to him
without reservation; all he had to do was nod
his head.

But he couldn't.  Frightened of her response to
the truth, he simply handed the sketch back to
her, his words threaded with grief.  "Julia, I
wish I could tell you what you want to hear." 
That, in itself, was the truth.

Grabbing the sketch with a dubious frown, she
turned away from him.  "You could if you wanted
to."  She shifted, looking up with sad
confusion.  "What I don't understand is why.  Is
it because of my seizures?  Are you afraid to
tell me because of them?"

Say yes and he'd be confirming her suspicions. 
Say no and watch her blooming hope die,
something she knew he didn't want.  Another
trap, carefully laid by a mind just as sharp as
ever, despite the memory loss.  Pausing, he
searched for the right words, bringing his hand
up to caress her shoulder.  She started at the
touch, but didn't move away, dropping the next
bombshell with soft clarity.

"I can remember some things, you know."

It was his turn to stiffen.  His throat moved
with the effort to keep his voice calm.  "What
do you mean?"  He thought she couldn't remember
anything.

"In the last three days, I've had a lot of time
to think.  All I have to do is stay calm; to let
the memories come to me."  She moved away,
laying the sketch on the rocker as if it were a
fragile piece of glass.  "I'm not speaking of
names or faces.  I'm talking about little
things."

"No seizures?"  Could it be possible to pursue a
different, less treacherous path?

"No.  But these pieces of me are small, almost
fleeting.  I figure they're not of any real
danger to me... if I pretend they can't hurt
me."  Turning, she faced him, her hands clasped
above her belly.  "Feelings.  Smells.  Sounds...
sometimes even words that come and go before I
can recognize the voice."

He stepped forward just a bit, anxious to hear
what exactly she knew.  "Like what?"

She moved forward as well, though she kept a
safe distance.  It looked like she was more
afraid he'd take flight than the other way
around.  "'You're my one in five billion.'"

It was all he could do to hold himself upright,
to not show how the simple sentence had
staggered him.  As he struggled to find a
response that would not give too much away, she
continued, edging closer, her gaze steady and
bright.

"The 'one'.  I figure if I used to be 'his one',
then he must have been mine, right?"

<Are you the one?>

Her first words to him so many nights ago rolled
around in his brain, threatening to make it
explode with excitement.  That's where she'd
gotten that cryptic question from - straight
from one of the few places that remained intact
in her memory.  Gabriel knew he was staring at
her now, could feel his hunger for her grow in
his eyes and in the hand that itched to touch
her.  A trembling hand, the fingers clenching at
his thigh - it wanted to reach out and cradle
her head.  To dig deep into her skull and pull
out more of those tidbits - little puzzle pieces
that, when joined, became all of what they were
to one another.

He licked his parched lips.  "What else?" he
croaked, swaying a bit.

Her next step brought her into the last rays of
sunlight that peeked through the kitchen window. 
The cabin was muted with shadows now, but she
shone like a beacon, drawing him in.  Her eyes
were sure and her face proud, yet soft and
tender, luring him in with a silent promise that
none of this was hurting her.

"Sometimes, when I clear my mind of all else and
not force it... I hear other things, other
words."  Her voice lowered to a murmur.  "'It's
me'... 'You think I'm crazy'.  A voice telling
me that when you hit a baseball, 'the rest of
the world just fades away'."  She smiled.  "I
wonder if that's really true."

Of course it is, he wanted to cry out.  Instead,
his grin joined hers, shaky with anticipation at
the precipice ahead.  "What?  No 'I love you'? 
I mean, if this guy was your 'one in five
billion', surely you'd remember that, wouldn't
you?"  The air in his lungs was trapped as he
waited for her answer.

"Oh, it's there.  But something tells me I
didn't believe it - at the time, anyway."

And she believed it now.  Her whole mien spoke
of belief - in what she knew to be true, but not
said.  Taking another step toward that belief,
she stood so close he could feel her warmth
through the gap in his shirt.

"I know you can't say it... won't let yourself
say it," she said, looking at him with softly
pleading eyes.  "But can I at least pretend that
you have?  For a little while?"

Oh, this was definitely dangerous.  She was
offering her hand as they stood together at the
cliff, enticing him to take that first step with
her into the freefall below.  Suddenly, it was a
choice of monumental proportions, one guaranteed
to exhilarate - but with a chance of devastating
failure.  Should he risk it?

"I'm not asking you to be him, Gabriel."  The
words left unsaid - I already know you are -
remained in the ether, tucked away until she was
ready to embrace the fact without fear of
reprisal.  "I'm asking you to let me pretend. 
Nothing can hurt me if I pretend."

The past nights, spent alone and anguished, had
been the worst he'd ever had to endure.  Knowing
she was so near, yet so unattainable.  This
opportunity, cloaked in the veil of pretense,
gnawed at his whole body.  His heart wanted it. 
His mind catalogued the careful maneuvering he'd
have to do.  And his hand made the decision for
them both, coming up to touch her face.

He licked his lips and swallowed, his voice
shaking with the need to give them both their
heart's desire.  "You have to promise me
something."

Her cheek sank into the caress as her eyes lost
their urgency and her voice lost all trace of
strength.  "Anything."

God, he was crazy to be doing this.  He began to
shake from the inside out, his madness
manifesting itself in the thready command, "You
feel even the slightest twinge, you tell me,
Julia."

"I promise," she whispered, her gaze misting
over as her hands came up.  He didn't move as
she feathered her fingers over his shirt.  With
a hitch of breath, she lowered her eyelashes,
hushed joy coloring her voice.  "Can I touch
you?"

He couldn't move, couldn't back away from her
encroachment.  The feel of her fingers through
the denim burned him more than the touch of her
hands through his hair not long ago.  This time,
she wasn't touching him as an injured man in
need of help.  She touched him now as if he were
a long lost lover, re-acquainting herself with
his body.  "Yes," he sighed, feeling himself
drown in her proximity as his eyes lost the
battle to remain open.

Feeling... pure sensation engulfed him as her
hands bridged the gap of his shirt, brushing
over the frayed edges to meet on his bare skin. 
He sucked in a deep breath, the scent of her
hair filling his head.

The hand at her cheek shifted and his fingers
wound through her hair with shaky remembrance,
only stopping at the circle of the ribbon.  The
arm that ached still now screamed with a new
pain - this one borne of the need to bring her
closer.  He did, sneaking it out from between
them, ignoring the muscles that cramped with
protest.  As his arm settled around her back,
its pain quieted, content in its familiar,
beloved position just above her hips.

With a soft, hitching breath, she turned her
head, settling her cheek against his pounding
heart.  The brush of her words tickled the fine
hair that covered his skin, making gooseflesh
rise on his arms.

"I can pretend that this means nothing to me,
Gabriel.  That we're just two friends seeking
comfort from one another.  Can you do the same?" 
Her hands trailed down his chest, spreading the
shirt wide as they sought out his waist.

The overwhelming need to pull her closer won out
over his trepidation and his feet joined in the
betrayal of his mind, sliding and shifting to
make room for hers between them.  Her body
seemed to melt into his, her arms sneaking under
his shirt to wind around his back as he pulled
her flush against him with a sigh.

"That sounds like a pretend 'yes' to me," she
murmured, snuggling under his chin as he felt
her smile tug her cheek above his heart.

Lowering his chin, he felt his way to her
temple, his hand tilting her head for access as
he said in return, "That was a pretend 'Hell,
yes!'" Too emotionally overloaded to chuckle, he
pressed his lips to the fine hair that framed
her brow.

The humor in his reply wasn't lost on her,
however, as her belly shook with soft laughter. 
He gasped at the feel of the baby moving within
her, nestled between them.  His reaction was
immediate, as he felt himself begin to harden
and expand against that living pillow.  God, he
was a perverted bastard.  This was not supposed
to go this far; her trust in him was still new
and he didn't want to scare her away.

"No," she whispered, her arms tightening around
his back as he tried to let her go.  "This is
just pretend, remember?"

Squeezing his eyelids together even harder, he
pressed his hand into the small of her back,
making sure there could be no mistake about
where this was going.  In a hoarse attempt at
sanity he said, "Julia, there is nothing pretend
about this," rubbing his erection against her
belly.

His eyes opened when he felt her head move away. 
She looked up at him, her cheeks damp with
happiness.  Sobering, her gaze dropped to his
lips, then back up, the burn of desire firmly
planted in those sky blue eyes.  "Then we'll
just have to let some things be real."

Speech was impossible for him.  Seeing the
familiar determination in her beloved gaze, he
could only nod, the words of love trapped just
below the surface, but there for her to witness
just the same, his face warm and open.

She stood on her toes, her lips brushing the
corner of his mouth.  "I missed you, Gabriel." 
Mirroring the caress, she dotted the other
corner with a kiss before settling back on her
heels, her face pink with heat.  "I'm sorry I
stayed away so long.  Can you forgive me?"

Gabriel let his gaze roam over her beautiful
face, his mouth itching to return the favor. 
Finally, his throat relaxed enough to let him
croak, "That depends."  His hand wiped away the
drying tears on her cheeks.

"On what?"

"Is that a pretend 'missed you', or a real one?"

Her throat worked as she swallowed, and suddenly
her voice was a shadow of its former self as she
smiled.  "Oh, that was definitely a real one."

"Then I forgive you."

After a moment of silence, Julia asked, "That's
it?", her face clouding over.

"What else do you want?"  He knew damn well what
she wanted, but decided to let her wade forth.

"A kiss would be nice."

Now that their intimacy seemed to be posing no
danger to her, he threw the remnants of his fear
to the wind, giving her a brilliant, but cocky
smile.  "A pretend kiss, or a real one?"

"Shut up, Gabriel," she muttered, on tiptoe
again as she pressed her mouth to his.



End Chapter Thirteen


Gabriel
Chapter Fourteen


The Rocky Mountains
September 23, 2001
6:18 p.m.


It was all he could do to remain unmoved by her
kiss.  Despite the free and easy forward
movement of the last few minutes, the touch of
her lips to his re-awakened the tense worry that
laid just beneath his skin.  What if this didn't
work?  What if just beyond that first kiss was a
disastrous breach of her mind?

The round tips of her nails skimmed his back and
she pulled away, though not far.  "Gabriel, I'm
fine."  The words tickled his lips and she ran
her tongue over the underside of his mouth,
tasting his chin.  The scrape of it against the
stubble reverberated through him and he moaned. 
She picked up on his failing resistance
instantly and said with a smiling breath, "We're
just pretending, remember?"

Yeah, right.  Just pretending.  All is fine.

The thought pushed him over the edge with her
and he curled his fingers around her cheek to
bring her lips up to his, his worry taking a
back seat to his desire.  It didn't take much
effort to open her mouth with his tongue and he
drank deeply of her sweetness, her head falling
back against his left arm as he moved in.

Jesus, she tasted just as he remembered - the
soft, smoky flavor of warmth and the tart bite
of reason.  Pretense?  This wasn't pretense.  It
was remembrance... and his tongue took full
advantage, sliding over hers to rediscover all
the small, tight places between her teeth and
cheek.  Ravenous with renewed hunger, he took
from her mouth the taste of her smiles and the
husky timber of her voice.

Until he felt her stiffen.  He pulled away, his
breath stolen by the anxiety that pierced him. 
Searching her flushed face, he rasped, "Are you
okay?"

Chest heaving, she laid in the crook of his arm,
her eyes closed.  The weight of her limp body
dragged on his arm, but he was too frightened by
her stillness to register the pain.  A second
before he lost all control to panic, her tongue
darted out to lick her lips and her eyes cracked
open.  "Wow.  Way to pretend, Slick."  Her
eyebrows did the Groucho Marx kick as she
grinned.

"Shit."  Furious at her flippancy, he let her go
and stalked to the fireplace, rubbing his arm
with his good hand.  His heart jackhammered in
his chest; it was hard to breathe.

"Gabriel, I'm sorry."

The muscles of his stomach clenched with
residual anger at her apology, but still he
didn't turn around, unsure if he could stay his
urge to run from her, screaming with the onset
of madness at the almost stumble.

"Gabriel, please say something."

Say something.  A thousand rebukes came to mind,
but he dismissed them, knowing his anger would
likely make this turn into a debacle.  And he
was so tired of anger and hurtful words.  It
came out as a mere whisper, the only thing he
could think of to say.  "I thought I'd hurt
you."

"But you didn't.  I was happy.  I was joking
around... pretending." She was right behind him,
her voice dripping with guilt.  "Gabriel,
please... please forgive me."

At the broken, watery plea, he turned, steeling
himself at the sight of her crumpled face. 
Keeping his distance, he left his right arm
where it was, more for protection of his shot-
to-hell nerves than for the good it was doing
with its massage of his left.  "Just where the
hell are we going with this, Julia?"

She answered without hesitation, sniffing away
the last of her tears.  "Wherever you want to
go."

Time for one truth.  "You know where I want to
go, don't you?"

A deep breath, then, "Yes."

"You have to be sure."

"I am sure."  She was resolute in voice and
body, stretching up as if standing in those
ridiculous four inch heels she used to wear.  It
was quite a sight and he knew then that she was
not backing down, even if the journey proved
perilous for her.

He held out his hand with a deep sigh.  "Then
come here."

She took the offered hand and he folded her into
an embrace, still slightly shivering.  "You can
pretend all you want, but don't do that to me
again."

Her breath was just as ragged as his, her words
puffed against his skin.  "I won't.  I promise."

His desire quickly overtaking him again, his
voice lost all traces of anger as his mouth
opened over her ear.  "And don't call me Slick."

Julia's chuckle was cut short by her sharp
intake of breath as he bit on her ear lobe.  "I
have to call you something.  We're pretending,
remember?"

God, the name was on the tip of his tongue, the
same tongue that meandered down to draw rhythmic
patterns on the rapid pulse beneath her ear. 
"Mmm..."  No, he couldn't say it.

"Morris?" she offered, arching her neck to give
him better access.

"God, no," he muttered, picturing the chain
smoker who'd thrown them out of Nevada years
ago.  What a memory... he quickly erased the
image of that man as he ran his hand up her
back.

"Melvin?"

That made him snicker.  If Frohike only knew...

"Max, then."

Was she picking these names at random?  Couldn't
be - most likely, they floated to the surface of
her murky mind like driftwood, each trying to
break the dam.  What mattered was that she was
getting dangerously close to remembering a name
that would certainly set her off.

"Gabriel is fine, Julia."  Ah, yes, there it
was.  He'd found what he hoped was a nice
diversionary tactic.

"I like that, anyway," she said, her hands doing
a dance of their own over his heated skin. 
"Oh!"  She tensed suddenly, pulling her lips
from his chest.

He paused, the zipper of her dress halfway down
her back.  "What is it?"

"Nothing.  It tickles."  Her chin lifted and she
gave him a smug look laced with a grin.  "That
good enough for you?  Or do I have to tell you
every time I feel something nice that it *is*
just something nice?"

He could have leapt on her cocky attitude, but
at that moment, he couldn't summon enough ire to
rise past his growing arousal.  Instead, he drew
the zipper down fully and watched with
satisfaction as her eyes became dark and heavy-
lidded.

"Tell me anything you want, Julia," he purred,
his hand coming up to part the edges of her
dress.  Jesus, she had on some kind of silky
thing underneath.  But it wasn't nearly as soft
as the skin above its lacy edge.  "Tell me what
you like... what you want me to do."

She stepped away from him, her gaze never
leaving his as she let the dress drop to the
floor.  With small, precise movements, she
picked up the wrinkled cotton and laid it over
the back of the rocker.

He swallowed hard at the sight of the slip that
clung to her curves.  It wasn't long, barely
reaching mid-thigh.  And it wasn't an overdone
piece of lingerie, either; just a breadth of
off-white silk trimmed with the barest hint of
lace that circled the top edge, merging into
thin, decorative straps.  Her breasts were
fuller than he'd ever seen them, the nipples
dark through the thin white silk.  The fire at
his back warmed him, but he knew that wasn't the
reason for the sudden sweat that seemed to break
out under his shirt.

Julia moved closer and reached for his shirt,
sliding it off first one arm, then the other. 
He sighed at the removal of the scratchy denim,
then shook at the way she ran her hands down his
naked chest and arms, pausing to bend the elbow
of his left arm with a concerned, "Don't move
that arm anymore, okay?  I can tell it's an
effort for you."  Laying it against his stomach,
she reached for his right hand with her left. 
"Touch me."

"Where?" he managed to ask, over the furious
beating of his heart.

"Here."  Those bold, sure eyes fluttered as she
placed his hand on her breast.

His hand shook under hers as he felt the hard
little point of her nipple under his thumb. His
breath shot from him in a surprised chuff as he
labored to make his mind believe what was
happening.  Fingers that hadn't touched such
beauty in months flexed, almost grabbing in
their greed.

A small hiss made him jerk, but she kept him
from pulling away.  "Not too hard, okay?  It's
tender."  Her fingers pressed down on the back
of his hand, applying the kind of pressure she
expected.

"Sorry," he said, feeling the goofy smile on his
face.  "It's been a while... and I'm nervous."

God, was he nervous. He hadn't been this nervous
with a woman since... the first time he'd made
love to the woman standing before him.  Except
she wasn't pregnant then.  And he wasn't a gimp
with only one good arm.  And there wasn't a
chance that armed guards could walk in on them
at any moment.

Well, maybe the only thing true about that first
time was the fact she was a whole lot slimmer
then.  Flashes came to him... of her sitting
astride him the first time they'd made love, the
tower's opulence surrounding them, the hidden
ears listening in, the way he'd hurt, not just
from the beating, but from her desperation...
the way she'd made him come in an explosion of
lust and urgency.

Just thinking of it made his mouth dry. 
Tonight, they'd take it slow and easy.  He
wanted to memorize every touch and every sigh of
this second chance at a first time.

"I'm nervous, too," she said, breaking into the
thoughts of his that were rapidly escalating out
of control.  Letting go of his hand, she stepped
so close the hem of her short slip brushed his
knees.  "Gabriel... that feels so good."

He was fascinated by the sight of his dark hand
against the pale silk.  Soft, breathy moans came
from her throat and her hands grabbed at his
waist, clenching with every circle of his thumb. 
She was so sensitive to his touch, more than
she'd ever been, and he knew it was because of
the pregnancy.  Eyes half-shut, face pink and
mouth open, she swayed into his touch, already
halfway to the finish line.  But he wanted this
to last, to prolong her pleasure and his, and he
lightened his touch, bending a bit to press a
kiss to the damp hair at her temple.

"Julia."

It took her a few seconds to answer, and when
she did, it was paper thin.  "Yes?"

"Help me with my pants, sweetheart."

"Huh?"

"My pants, baby.  Take them off.  Unless you
want me to do it myself."  Which would mean
removing his hand temporarily, a fact that
finally soaked into her brain.

"No, I'll do it."  Lowering her chin, she
concentrated on undoing the button and zipper
while he feathered her hair with light kisses. 
"And 'sweetheart' is fine, but don't call me
'baby' - *Gabey*."

He winced at the nickname; that was worse than
'Slick'.  Pulling away, he plastered a glare on
his face, intending to tell her once and for all
that nicknames were taboo... but the frown
quickly faded into a slack-jawed stare at the
feel of her fingers winding into the wiry hair
beneath the loosened jeans.  The sight of that
slim hand sneaking in made his hips surge
forward and he abandoned his caress of her
breast, his hand grasping her waist to steady
himself.

"Easy, Gabriel," she murmured, wrapping her
fingers around his cock to give a gentle squeeze
before pulling her hand free.  He almost cried
at the loss of her touch, then her warm, husky
voice gave him direction.  "The bed.  Walk to
the bed, okay?"

She was just as breathless as he was as they
practically stumbled the few feet toward the
mound of mussed blankets and sheets.  Shifting
and turning him, Julia positioned him at the
bedside, placing his hand on her shoulder for
support as she stripped the pants down to his
ankles, lifting first one foot then the other to
free him completely of their restriction.

"Sit," she ordered and he complied, keeping his
greedy gaze on her face.

He watched as she slowly let her eyes roam over
his body, licking her lips with anticipation. 
"Gabriel, you're beautiful."

Embarrassment tinged his cheeks and he dropped
his gaze.  "No, I'm not.  Too many scars."

She dropped to her knees before him, insinuating
herself between his legs to hug him.  "They give
you character.  Only a man who stood by his
beliefs would let himself be hurt by others
trying to sway him."  Her fingers outlined the
thin strips of raised skin on his back,
compounding her statement with a sure touch.

The surge of emotion clogged his throat and he
let her hold him, her touch erasing the scars in
his mind.  Her willingness to trust him made him
happy, but the innate, staunch belief in him
that no implant could ever take away was the
icing on the cake.  She believed in him still,
saw the scars as remnants of a battle fought and
won.  One that had delivered him back to her
side, though she didn't realize it.

But he did.  And he had enough memories for them
both to last a lifetime.

For long moments, he held her close, watching
the firelight illuminate the cabin.  They sat on
the edge of that light, blending in with the
shadows.  They needed no other source of heat,
no bright glow to lighten their lives. 
Together, they created brilliance.

Gabriel lifted her face, capturing her lips over
and over as he sought to thank her for that
revelation.  He was a better person when he was
with her.  And he vowed to keep her with him
from now on, to keep her safe.

Small, urgent moans filled the air as the brief
respite gave way to passion.  Julia's hands drew
away from his back, only to settle again on his
aching erection.  Gulping, he rested his
forehead on hers, watching as she gave him a few
slow pumps, her other hand reaching down to cup
the sac of straining flesh that already was
drawing up in anticipation of release.

"Julia," he said, dragging his gaze away from
the awesome sight to look at her with feverish
eyes.  "Stop... stand up."

"Why?"  It was obvious she was enjoying her
play, but was oblivious to the precipice he was
standing on.

"Because this will be over way too fast if you
keep that up."  He pulled her hands away amidst
her sigh of regret.  "Now, stand up."

She did as he asked and he said, "Come close. 
Put your hands on my shoulders."

Moving in, she complied, her face clouded with
confusion.  "What - ohhh..."

Slipping under the silk, his hand cupped her
mons, rubbing the fine hair as he smiled.  The
fingers that a second ago caressed the square
bones of his shoulder now gripped and pulled,
leaving little half-moons on the skin like a
kitten's claws.

"Gabriel?"  Despite her bold advances to this
point, she proved how unsure she was with the
shaky sigh of his name.

"It's okay," he soothed, watching the play of
emotion cross her face.  "Just testing the
waters."

One finger eased into her passage and he was
relieved at the amount of moisture their play
had generated.  Swallowing hard, he felt his
heart speed up at the feel of her hot, slippery
warmth.  Keeping his eyes on the face before
him, he chanced another finger, watching her
cheeks tense and her head droop.

"Easy sweetheart," he whispered, feeling her
tight walls expand a bit to accommodate the slow
intrusion.  She was so small, much more so than
he remembered.  Drawing in and out, he tried to
gauge her reaction in the dim light, wondering
if penetration would even be possible.

As if she sensed his thoughts, she forced her
eyes wider, fastening her gaze on his face. 
"It's the pregnancy," she said in a rush of
explanation.  "The increased blood flow to the
pelvic area.  We just have to be careful, maybe
not go too deep, okay?"

Brow creased, he wondered if she remembered more
about her life as a physician than she was
letting on.  With a short, gasping laugh, she
provided, "I looked it up on the Internet
yesterday."  Her hips began to move in time with
the rhythm of his hand and she smiled.

So this was planned before she even got to the
cabin today.  The thought pleased him to no end
and he smiled in return, feeling like she'd
given him the toy prize.  "While you were
looking, did you happen to see any other useful
information?"

Between the soft pants of breath, she spoke,
unaware of his inward preening.  "You can be on
top, but you can't put your full weight on the
baby."

Scratch that.  His arm wouldn't support him,
anyway.  "What else?"

"I - oh, don't stop - I can be on top, but we
have to make sure you don't go too deep."

God, the way he felt right now, no way could he
concentrate enough to keep himself from bucking
up into her as far as he could go.  Cross that
from the list, too.  A frown began to take shape
on his face, but she bent down to grace his brow
with several small kisses.

"Side to side, either facing one another or
back-to-front," she said.  "That seems to be the
best way."

What a weird education, he thought.  Making love
with a pregnant woman who had done this with him
before, but didn't remember a moment of it. 
Speaking of sexual positions like they were
discussing the logistics of flying under Kersh's
radar.

Wait a minute... this was *them*.  Perfect in
logic and passionate in feeling.  Smiling, he
gave her one last caress and pulled his hand
away amidst her whimper of protest.  "The best
way it is, then."  He gathered the silk in his
hand and slowly began to lift it from her body.

"No."  She stilled his hand with one of her own. 
"Can I keep it on?"

His smile faded just a bit.  "I want to see you,
Julia."

"I know, but not this time, okay?  I'm - I'm -"

He shushed her, letting the slip fall down
again, seeing just how vulnerable she was in the
way she bit her lip with indecision.  He could
push her - and God knew he wanted to see all of
her - but the fact they'd made it this far was
enough for him.  Take it slow, take your time,
give her what she needs, he told himself.

Using his good arm, he scooted up, swinging his
legs out from around her to lie in the middle of
the bed, his head resting on one of the pillows. 
"Julia," he beckoned, holding out his hand...
holding his breath now that the moment was at
hand.

Kneeling, she took his hand, happiness chasing
away all of the remaining clouds.  She settled
on her side facing him, taking his sore arm
gently in hers to tuck it under her pillow.  As
her legs entangled with his, she asked, "Is this
okay?"

Gabriel wound the fingers of his other hand
through her hair, tugging at the ribbon.  The
strands came loose, flowing over the pillow like
gold.  "Yeah," he whispered, showering her face
with small, tender kisses.  "Okay for you?"

"Mmm..." Her hum was lost as she tilted her chin
to fully open her mouth under his.

They kissed for long moments, Gabriel letting
her get used to the feel of his skin.  Her hands
roamed his damp chest, the ridge of his spine,
the muscles that flexed toward her warmth as she
dipped below his waist to grab his butt.  All
the while, he inched closer to her, his hand
traversing the same wayward path on her skin
until it sneaked under the silk to curl into her
upper thigh.  Bringing her leg over his, he
opened her to him, the scent of her arousal
making him light-headed.

She opened her eyes when he nudged her with the
head of his penis, breaking away from his kiss. 
He paused, stiffening with concern at her wide-
eyed stare.  But a second later, her face
relaxed and her leg closed the distance, draping
over his thigh.  "Yes," she breathed, urging him
on with a hand on his hips.

It was torture to move so slowly, but he did,
rotating his hips, pushing in a bit only to pull
out again as she panted into his neck, "It's
okay... keep going..."

He wasn't hurting her; at least, he didn't think
he was.  Keeping a careful eye on her, he kept
his movements languid, lubricating his cock with
her wetness.  She was so tight, it was difficult
at first to remain within her for more than a
second or two, despite the readiness that flowed
from her.  But he perservered, finally setting
up a pace that allowed him to almost sheathe
himself fully within her.  In the times before,
in those months of loving they'd enjoyed, he'd
bury himself so deep that he could feel her
cervix, taking pleasure in the attempt to crawl
inside her with pounding thrusts.

Now, he was satisfied with minimal penetration,
knowing she was going to have to get used to
this all over again.  They may not have the
freedom of uninhibited lovemaking, but they had
something better - time and privacy to explore
each other.  Until they had to leave, he was
going to spend every minute he could with her,
loving her until they both collapsed with
exhaustion.

Her moans and sighs were louder now, and she
moved with him in perfect countermotion, her
tongue darting out to rasp against his neck. 
The roundness of her belly presented a definite
obstacle, and he slid lower in the bed, using
his knee to lift her backside.  It made him go
deeper and she hitched a breath, causing him to
hiss, "Am I hurting you?"

"No."  The word was soft and easy, as was the
trailing sigh of his name.  "Gabriel."

God, she was like a vise around him, the little
ripples of pleasure massaging his cock until he
knew he wouldn't last much longer.  Clamping his
teeth over his lower lip, he gripped the pillow
under her head, seeking leverage, driving for
her completion before he lost control.

Then he felt it come.  Her clit, emerging from
under the hood of skin to throb against his
dick.  His name curled from her throat and her
head flew back as her orgasm stole her breath. 
She stiffened in his embrace and he watched,
loving the sight of the red flush that painted
her face and neck.

The collapse of her walls around him almost
pushed him from her, but he used his legs to
hold himself inside her as he, too, succumbed to
pleasure.  His hips jerked a few agonizing,
tense times, the rush of semen leaving him in
hot, shaky spurts as he dipped his head to groan
into the dip of her collarbone.  Her hands came
up to cradle his head as he trembled, her name
bleeding from his lips to vibrate over her skin.

For a while, they laid entwined, caressing each
other with hands and words.  She was a goddess
to behold, with a happy, sated smile, her hair
clinging to the pillow with damp abandon.  The
straps of her slip fell down her arms, exposing
one pink-tipped breast; before she noticed it,
he dipped his mouth to that perfect mound,
taking it between his lips to suckle.  It tasted
as it always had - sweet with the essence of her
skin.

"Gabriel!"

Her surprised gasp made his lips curl over her
flesh. *Now* she was all maidenly and pure? 
Releasing her nipple with one last tug, he
lifted his gaze, smiling at the way she quickly
brought the strap up.  "Just getting a taste of
what's to come."

"Mighty sure of yourself all of a sudden, aren't
you?"

Sobering, he brushed the wayward strands of hair
from her cheek.  "With you, Julia, I'm never
sure of anything."

The real world crept in and he saw uncertainty
bloom in her eyes.  He so longed to tell her of
what was on the horizon for them; the fact that
she'd accepted him this way went a long way
toward attaining that goal.  But he knew his
steps had to be carefully planned from this
point on, even if it meant a little heartache
for her now.

Julia lowered her gaze and shifted.  His moan as
he slipped from her wasn't solely for the loss
of his flesh leaving hers; he mourned the end of
their tryst as if it were the last time he'd get
to hold her this way.  "Don't go," he pleaded,
closing his eyes against what he knew was her
retreat.

"I'm not," she said, her gentle reassurance
letting him breathe again.  She gave him a
little push, encouraging him to relax under her
touch.  "You're not getting rid of me that
easily, Gabriel."

Like a wet noodle, he moved under her hands as
she turned him to his back, feeling a loopy
smile crease his face.  She was staying.

"That was nice," she said softly, curling into
his side.  "Pretending is nice."

Nice?  His legs felt like jelly and his arm
ached like a sonofabitch, but he curled it
around her back to settle her at his side. 
Dropping a kiss upon her head, he answered,
"Nice?  Julia, I may never get up out of this
bed again."

Chuckling, she scratched her nails over his
belly in a light, playful caress.  His limp
member stirred as she tested her newborn power,
coming awfully close with her warm fingers to
the wet, satiated muscle.  "As long as I can
stay here with you."

He grabbed the wandering hand and brought it to
his lips, watching the firelight flicker on the
ceiling.  "Deal."

After several minutes of quiet, he felt his
eyelids droop low as sleep threatened to
overtake him.  The gentle flutter into his side
made him start, but she shushed him, saying,
"It's just the baby.  He gets a little active at
night."

Gabriel felt all energy drain from his body into
the soft mattress, but he managed to murmur,
"He?"  He thought the doctor at the Ranch didn't
have the latest equipment - how could she know
the sex of the baby?

She moved her leg to snuggle between his, her
lips pressing a kiss to his chest.  "He...
she... whatever.  As long as it's healthy."

He nodded, giving in to the pull of sleep.

"Gabriel?"

"Mmm... later, Julia."  His words were slurred
with fatigue.  "Haven't slept in two days."

"Okay.  But I can't stay all night, you know."

He didn't think she would.  If a few hours was
all he could get, he'd take it.  "Wake me before
you leave."

"I will."  He felt her sidle up to give him a
kiss.  "Go to sleep."

He did, resting easy for the first time in days. 
Simply because he could hear her breathe beside
him.  The sweetest sound in the world.



End Chapter Fourteen



Gabriel
Chapter Fifteen


The Rocky Mountains
September 23, 2001
7:45 p.m.


His head was filled with her essence.  On the
pillow he rubbed his nose into, on his tongue,
especially when he passed it over his lips. 
Behind the dark cloak of his eyelids, he saw her
with the half-awake drifting of dreams... her
eyes, cool yet dark with passion, the arch of
her neck as she strove for completion.  The
sound of her simple cries and the feel of her
body wrapped around him like an inferno he had
no desire to escape.

Yeah, she was right.  Pretending was mighty
nice.  In fact, he felt like pretending again,
smiling to himself as he shook off sleep.

He rolled to his side, the feel of the cool
sheets and the sound of trickling water making
him open his eyes with a start.  She was gone;
his breath quickened with the onset of panic
until he caught sight of her standing before the
fire.

She'd moved the rocker out of the way and
replaced it with the table she'd used while
shaving him.  One of the kitchen chairs sat
facing the fire, but she wasn't seated; instead,
she stood on the towels she'd laid out on the
wood floor.  A small splash overflowed from the
porcelain basin as she dipped her hands low in
the water. Her hair was back in the ribbon,
pulled away from a face calm with concentration. 
A small hum reached his ears, but that wasn't
what mesmerized him.

It was the uncovered expanse of naked back.  The
straight spine, the round globes of her
backside, and slim, short legs glowed in the
light from the fireplace and he felt his body
harden under the blanket that draped across his
hips.  But he made no sound, content to just
watch her for a while.

She ran the washcloth over her shoulders slowly,
her head dropping back with a shiver as the
water ran in rivulets down the curves.  Over the
swell of her hips, he followed the teardrop with
his gaze, watching as it skimmed the outside of
her thigh before curling back in to caress her
muscular calf.  As it disappeared into the
terrycloth beneath her heel, he almost groaned
with the urge to steal it with his tongue.

It was torture to just lie in the bed and not
move, but he waited, sure the full view was just
around the corner.  And he wasn't disappointed,
as she dipped the cloth into the water again
before half-turning.  Her body was in profile
now and he felt his blood warm at the sight of
her breasts, still firm but full above the swell
of her belly.  The baby sat low in her abdomen
and, with a slow grin, he remembered the
maneuvering he'd had to do to get beneath the
jealous little kicker.  But the pleasant burn
that set up residence in his heart more than
made up for the wrung-out feeling of his
muscles.

God, she was beautiful, he thought, amazed again
at just how much she stirred his blood.  Other
women, past dalliances - they'd had the same
power over him, yes.  But none had ever touched
his mind as she had.  Her beauty was not just of
face and form.  It was of heart and soul.  The
absence of memory couldn't diminish the capacity
for love and acceptance she held within herself.

Lifting one arm, she ran the cloth down her
side.  In the warm glow of the flames, he could
see the little mole that dotted her skin, and
remembered her fingers moving so long ago, the
sad words in the tower leading to mutual
forgiveness.

<It was the only mark I had left that was me.>

That wasn't true.  Even oblivious to her true
self, the marks of Scully shone through.  In her
eyes, in her voice, in the way she loved Gabriel
like he was Mulder.  He supposed he should be
jealous; after all, she'd given her body to
someone other than Mulder.  Was it even possible
to be jealous of yourself?  No, he had no reason
to let that illogical emotion creep in.

Because she knew.  Pretense aside, she knew he
was her mate.  Embraced it before she even
touched him - gave herself to him because, while
her mind refused to acknowledge it, her heart
and body did.

She turned from him once again to bring the
chair over the towels.  Sitting, she bent to
wash first one leg, then the other, grunting
softly as if her back bothered her.  But her
slight grimace dissolved into a faint smile as
she straightened, dropping the washcloth on her
thigh to grab the back of the chair with both
hands.  Thighs spread, a slight *pop* blended in
the with crackle of the fire and her mouth
dropped with a satisfied sigh.

The urge to walk over to her ate at his gut, but
still, he didn't move, knowing the show would
end as soon as she knew he was awake.  And God,
he was glad he found a bit of willpower, because
what she did next made his skin quiver under the
blanket.

She glanced his way, like a child about to steal
a cookie from the kitchen.  But he knew she
couldn't see his barely-open eyes, as he was
sheltered from discovery on the dark side of the
bed.  A bite of her lower lip with indecision,
then she looked back to the fire, sighing as she
relaxed.

Releasing the chair, she let her hands move to
her belly, falling back until she slouched, her
neck fitting perfectly on the top slat of the
chair.  As if lost in her thoughts, she stared
into space, her hands coming up to cup her
breasts.  With light pressure, she rolled her
fingers over the fullness, subconsciously
mimicking the way he'd pleasured her.  Her sighs
became deeper and her eyes slipped shut as her
hands slid down the mound of her child; the leg
nearest him came up to sit on the bottom rung of
the chair, hiding the hands that disappeared
low.

He knew the exact moment she touched herself,
though he couldn't see it.  A small, "Ohhh..."
burst from her throat and she shifted lower in
the chair.

Slowly, so as not to disturb her, he let his own
hand creep under the blanket to grasp his cock. 
In time with her movements, he slid his hand up
and down, wishing he could stand before her to
do so.  They'd never done this... this solo
pleasure before each other that was, in many
ways, more intimate and revealing than
lovemaking.  It seemed she'd discovered that
part of herself in the last hours that teemed
with sexuality - he always knew it was there,
remembered it overflowing those few short weeks
in the bunker.  He reveled in the realization
that she would get to enjoy it once again.

But her mood changed in a few short seconds; he
saw it in the way her legs tensed, heard it in
the soft moans that hitched with frustration. 
Orgasm was far away for her and something wasn't
clicking.

He whispered her name, though it came out as
more of a groan at the sight of her wanton pose. 

Julia's head whipped in his direction and she
stiffened, turning on the chair with arms
crossed over her chest, giving him her back once
again.  Embarrassment tinged her shaky, "I
thought you were asleep."

Sliding across the sheets until he was partially
in the soft light, he smiled in an effort to re-
assure her, hugging the pillow close as he
shifted his legs to hide his arousal from her.
"I was, for a while," he answered.  "You were
right... pretending *is* nice."

She glanced quickly about the cabin, ignoring
his admission of feigned sleep.  "I would have
washed up in the bathroom, but I didn't feel
like sitting in the tub.  And it was too cold in
there."  Craning her neck to and fro, she
avoided looking at him while searching.  The
golden glow of her skin darkened to an
attractive pink and, if not so pleased by what
he'd witnessed, he would feel really bad about
spying on her.

He knew what she was looking for, and his hand
reached for it at the edge of the bed.  Her chin
settled over her right shoulder and she spied
the slip as he brought it to his chest.  "I'm
glad you stayed in here," he said softly,
forestalling her sure demand for the concealing
garment.  Together, their eyes shifted to the
dress on the rocker, but he knew it was too far
away for her to reach for it without having to
stand.

And he knew her discomfort wouldn't allow that. 
He forced a calm he didn't feel into his voice
as he asked, "Need any help with your... bath?"

She twisted at the waist and he caught a glimpse
of the mole again, peeking out from its hidden
place behind her breast.  He wanted to slide his
thumb over it, to put his lips on it and kiss
away her embarrassment.  Instead, he lifted his
gaze to meet hers, silently transmitting his
need to come to her, to take up where she left
off.

Blinking once, then twice, she pondered his
question, the discomfort in her face slowly
giving way to warm invitation.  "My... 'pretend'
bath?"

It hurt like hell, but he levered himself up on
his elbow, feeling his face burn with sincerity
as he growled, "Any kind of bath you want,
sweetheart."

The corner of her mouth lifted.  It was all the
encouragement he needed and he flung the blanket
away, swinging his legs to the floor, her slip
tossed into the sheets as an afterthought.  He
saw her eyes shift momentarily to the piece of
silk, then back up to him, taking in the
erection that stood proudly away from his body. 
Swallowing, she completed the turn in the chair,
her arms falling away as she said in a voice
that shimmered like white, flowing sand, "I'm
hot, Gabriel.  I need to cool down."

He walked to stand between her and the fire,
reaching for the washcloth to soak it in the
tepid water.  "Then let me..." His voice
dwindled to nothing as he knelt, spreading her
legs with trembling hands.

Her thighs shook beneath his fingers as she
scooted back in the chair, but he felt no
resistance as he watched her face relax. 
Starting with her shoulders, he passed the wet
cloth over her skin slowly, making his way down
her body.  She watched him through slitted eyes,
her hands coming up to grip his upper arms. 
When he teased the nipple of one breast with the
nappy cloth, she hissed, her knees clenching
around his waist.

He took the unspoken cue, lowering his head to
taste of her.  One hand came up to hold his head
to her breast, and as he worked the nipple taut
between his teeth and tongue, he felt her sigh
rumble through his lips.

"Gabriel..."

As he worked his sore arm around her hips to
pull her closer, he glided the cloth over the
smooth, tight skin of her belly.  Discovering
how good it felt, how unusual, he let the
washcloth drop to the floor, spreading his
fingers wide over the skin.  The little bumps
and ridges seemed to move with him as if
reacting to his touch.  It was amazing, but he
didn't want to stop the nurturing at her breast
to look.

"Gabriel... can you..."

He pulled away long enough to look at her face. 
"Can I what?"  Anything.  He'd do anything she
asked.

She cupped his cheek, running her thumb over his
parted lips.  "Can you..." Her eyes fluttered
closed, then re-opened, giving him a soft, moist
look.  "The baby... can we pretend it's yours?"

His breath caught; she didn't know it, but
already he half-hoped it was his.  Or at least,
he knew that because she was its mother, he'd
love it just the same, no matter how it was
conceived.  She didn't realize it, but the child
growing within her was the fulfillment of a
lifelong dream.  That she was wanted to share it
with him made him doubly happy.  Closing his
eyes against the stinging onslaught of tears, he
pressed a kiss to her palm, then lowered his
head to open his mouth over her belly.  "Yes,"
he said fervently, running his mouth over the
growing miracle.

A soft sob, followed by laughter, reached his
ears.  "Gabey, junior?  Or Little Slick?"

His tongue tickled the outie that used to be an
innie and he growled, "Neither.  I *hate*
nicknames, Julia."

"Spooky," she breathed.

He froze, finally lifting his head after a
moment of silence.  "What?"

"I said it was spooky.  I hate nicknames, too."

If he wanted to, he could have made his brain
click into 'hound on the scent' mode and
analyzed the workings of her mind, a mind that
was definitely sputtering out pieces of the
puzzle like a faulty roman candle.  But at the
moment, he had better things to do, and he set
about to his task, crouching on his heels as his
mouth descended further.

"Gabriel?"  She sensed his intent and stiffened,
one hand flying to his head, the other trying to
sneak under his face to cover herself.

"*That* I don't object to," he muttered, giving
her thumb a playful nip.

She tweaked his hair.  "That wasn't what I
meant."

"I know."  Between small kisses above the wiry
red hair, he whispered, "You can't reach, can
you?"

Her breath hitched over the, "No - but you don't
have to - to -"

"Yes, I do," he stated, nudging her hand away
with his nose.  "Just relax.  This is part of
the bath, remember?"  Before she could say
anything else, he ran the flat of his tongue
over her wet folds.

A sharp gasp accompanied the jerk of her legs,
but she didn't protest any further.  Emboldened
by the curl of her fingers into his hair, he
used his hands to inch her ass closer to the
edge of the chair, his shoulders spreading her
legs wider.

The musky scent of her body filled his head and
he drew deep of the sharp tang, darting into her
with his tongue.  This was something she loved
before, and her body reacted, overriding the
last tiny bit of reserve as her other hand moved
away.

For slow, easy minutes he worked her this way, a
gentle push into her passage with a rhythm
designed to make her want more.  After a while,
he chanced a look up, and his groan vibrated
into her when he saw her free hand busy at her
breast.  Her eyes were closed and an almost
constant stream of soft words bled from her
lips.

"Like that... so good... God, Gabriel... harder,
yes, harder..."

He doubted she knew what she was saying, given
her shyness of just a little while ago.  But he
wasn't about to stop to make her aware of
anything but what she was feeling.  In fact, it
pained him to have to pause, but his knees were
getting tired.

"Wha -?"  Dazed, she half-opened her eyes.

"Shh.  Just tired of pretending I'm Superman,
okay?"  With a wink, he stole a finger inside,
and her eyes slipped shut again.

Taking the opportunity, he sat, flattening out
his legs around the narrow chair.  A short
insinuation of his body - the fleeting pain was
quickly discarded - and he had her legs over his
shoulders.  Supporting her hips with his arm, he
resumed what she liked best, this time, using
the friction of his finger in and out to draw
her clit toward his waiting mouth.  It also gave
him the best view of the night.

She was gulping in air now, the mound of her
belly squirming above him.  Both of her hands
circled his head; her nipples stood out in the
glow from the fire as hard little points in a
ring of coral, supple flesh.  He wished he had
another hand, so he could reach out and touch
the gems, to pay homage to every part of her
that spoke of her reaction to his touch.

She was close; already he felt the tightening of
her flesh around his finger, the pulsing of her
clit on his tongue.  "Come on, sweetheart," he
murmured into the vee of her legs, inserting
another finger to gently pull the tense knot
toward his mouth.  She let out a hoarse cry, her
ass lifting from the chair to grind her pelvis
into his face as he nipped at her clit with just
a graze of his teeth.

As she slowly melted, he let her slide from the
chair, using his arms to lower her legs around
him until she sat in his lap.  Still shivering,
she went limp, nuzzling her face into his neck.

"God, Gabriel," she said, her voice husky with
the aftermath.

"Cool now?" he chuckled, running his hands up
her back, his kisses soothing the rapid pulse in
her neck.

"No - I think I'm hotter than ever," she
replied, smiling against his skin.

"In my opinion, you're *definitely* hot."

"So are you," she said, closing the small gap
between them, trapping his erection against her
abdomen with a small, upward thrust of her hips.

He saw stars - brilliant, white-hot flashes
behind his eyelids and he gulped, "Julia, I
don't expect you to - Jesus!"  His gallantry
flew out the window as she rose up, using her
hand to guide him in.

"Just not too hard, okay?" she asked, puffing a
bit as she began to impale herself on his
length.

God, but it was so difficult not to ram her hips
down on his, and his hands clenched around her
hips as he fought to regain control of his noble
intentions.  "Julia, payback is not required,
you know," he said raggedly, searching her face
with concerned eyes for any sign of distress.

"This is not payback.  This is pretend,
remember?"  As she hovered over him, she
peppered his face with kisses.  "Pretend you've
just made me gloriously happy and I want to give
you happiness in return.  Easy."

He closed his eyes, feeling so awful that he was
enjoying this.  Remembering her textbook
recitation of the semantics of pregnancy sex, he
tried one last time to dissuade her.  "Julia,
you make me happy by just being here.  We don't
have to do this."

"I want to," she whispered, planting her knees
beside his hips and easing down just a bit.

But it wasn't good for her, he could tell in
that instant.  She could not hide her grimace,
nor the small hiss of pain.

"Julia, stop," he commanded, lifting her from
him.

She hung her head, her small, "I wanted to do
this for you," wrenching at his gut as she sat
on his thighs.

"I know, sweetheart," he murmured, caressing her
flaming cheek with his lips.

"Sometimes... orgasm creates..." she stumbled,
"there's too *much* blood flow.  Makes
intercourse difficult.  I'm sorry, Gabriel."

Ah, he thought.  Another tidbit of information
she'd learned, but tried to keep from him,
wanting his pleasure as well as her own.  Like
he'd said, payback wasn't required - but he felt
as if he would disappoint her should he put a
total stop to their lovemaking.  She was still
not comfortable with the way she looked and she
wanted this moment in time to be as normal as
possible.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," he stated,
bringing her hips closer to his groin.  "We have
lots of options, Julia."

At that, she raised hopeful eyes to his.  "Show
me," she whispered.

He needed no other encouragement.  Pulling her
with him, he laid back on the towels, settling
her above him.  "This is real 'pretend', okay?"
he smiled, using both hands to cup her ass and
push her forward.

She caught on in a flash, smiling in return as
her belly trapped his erection between them. 
Her legs stretched outside of his and she
grabbed his arms, trapping them at his sides as
she moved.  "I like this," she said with a
wicked grin.

Already he was fast approaching the point of no
return, the weight of the baby pressing down on
the underside of his cock with delicious, mind-
bending pressure.  He squeezed his eyes shut,
groaning, "Not half as much as I do, Julia."

Lifting her upper body, she balanced herself on
his arms, her playful, "I have you where I want
you, you know," making him open his eyes.  Her
face swam before him as little prickles of
pleasure grew in his balls.  "All I have to do
is this and you're my slave."  Rubbing up and
down, she increased the strength of her
movements.

He raised his chin, letting his slitted eyes
drink in the sight of their almost coupling. 
His cock was flat against his belly, the head
peeking in and out as she slid up and down his
length.  In many ways, it was the most erotic
thing he'd ever seen.  She was right; he felt
like he was chained to her, enraptured and
hypnotized by the way she was using her body to
pleasure his.

With his feet, he kicked at the chair behind
them, shoving it with a crash to the floor so he
could bring his knees up.  Yes, yes... cradled
in his thighs, her ass brushed against his sac,
drawn up even tighter to his body by her pull on
his cock.  His head fell back to the floor and
his hips joined in, thrusting madly as he fought
for release.

Julia lowered herself once again, letting the
hard points of her nipples tease his chest as
she entwined her finger with his, drawing their
clasped hands close to his head.  He watched her
face with a narrowed, hot gaze, pinpointing her
lax lips in a wordless plea.  She answered,
closing the distance as he did, their lips
meeting in a hard, grinding kiss that set off an
explosion of feeling in his groin.

He didn't last long; the orgasm that quaked
through him was rocket powerful and blessedly
short-lived.  If he'd come any more, he would
have certainly lost all control.  As it was, he
cried out, throwing his head back as he mimicked
her earlier stream of words, not knowing
anything but the release that came in a tidal
wave, then quickly ebbed as he sagged under her.

Julia sat on his trembling thighs and reached
for the long-forgotten washcloth.  He hissed at
the feel of the damp coolness on his softening
penis.  She made quick work of their cleanup
before tossing the rag aside to lean down and
kiss his cheek.  Her hands cupped his face and
she murmured, "You said it again."

The feel of her cool lips against his hot cheek
was like a balm and he opened his eyes, purring
under her like a well-satisfied tiger.  "Said
what?"

"Scully.  You said Scully."  She pulled away to
meet his wide eyes.  "Who's Scully?  Is she the
one?"  Her fingers shook as she caressed his
face and she smiled, a teary, hopeful thing. 
"Is she me?"

God, he hadn't.  Had he?

"Miss Julia!"

The shout broke through the haze.  Dragging his
gaze from her face, he saw a far off light
through the crack in the alcove curtains. 
Someone was approaching the cabin.

"Miss Julia!"

Scrambling off his lap, she rushed about the
cabin as he struggled to rise.  In a second,
she'd retrieved her slip and pulled it over her
head, picking up the towels and washcloth to
bury them in the bed, pulling the blankets over
the stained sheets.  "That's Edna," she hissed. 
"One of the maids.  Something must be wrong. 
They never disturb me here."  She handed Gabriel
his clothes.  "Bathroom.  Quickly."  She righted
the chair and carried the basin to the sink.

Gabriel still reeled from his unintentional
disclosure, but he knew the situation now was
far worse than any worry of his about how much
she suspected.  Before he could let the evening
end, however, he needed to give her some faith
that all would be well.  Straightening, he held
his clothes close to his body and reached for
her hand, stilling her nervous search for her
dress.

Pulling her to him, he whispered fiercely, "It
doesn't matter who you are, or who I am.  What
matters now is that you're mine, you
understand?"  He laid her hand over his heart,
meeting her liquid gaze with one of his own. 
"And I'm yours."

She smiled and curled her hand around his nape
to bring his mouth to hers.  Their kiss was
heated and desperate, and he sought to prolong
it, moving his mouth over hers with urgency. 
But it was over all too soon, as she broke away,
giving him a push toward the bathroom.  "Go. 
I'll try to come back tomorrow, okay?"

At the thump of boots on the porch steps, he
started, releasing her with a nod before
escaping to the safety of the bathroom.  Julia's
greeting reached his ears as he sat on the
toilet to pull his jeans over first one foot,
then the other.  It wasn't easy; in fact, it was
slow going, the night's activities and the
sudden fright of the almost discovery making him
fumble.  It didn't help that he had to be as
quiet as a mouse, or that he couldn't even turn
on the overhead light.

"I told you I'd be back at nine," Julia was
saying.  "I needed some rest."

The maid's voice was bordering on harsh.  "Get
dressed.  Mr. Spencer is back and he wants to
see you."

Gabriel paused at that, his jeans halfway up his
thighs.  Grandpa was back?  He heard Julia's
voice move about the room, but she wasn't
arguing.  "I have to find my shoes."

"Here," Edna barked.  "And your cloak.  Be
quick.  There's someone else with Mr. Spencer,
someone important."

"I'm going as fast as I can."

The intrusion of cold air under the crack in the
bathroom door told Gabriel the maid had opened
the cabin door.  "Don't worry about the fire. 
It's almost out anyway.  We have to hurry,
Julia."

"Why?"

Gabriel heard the voices become muffled and he
knew they'd left the cabin.  Quickly, he pulled
his jeans up and tiptoed through the now dark
cabin to the alcove, pushing aside the curtain. 
With the cabin in almost total darkness, he knew
he couldn't be seen, but he was cautious anyway,
just opening the curtain enough to let his face
peek through.

The two women walked down the porch steps,
Julia's small figure a few feet behind the bulk
of the maid, who trained her flashlight into the
woods beyond the clearing.  Julia's voice was
overly loud, and he knew she was doing that for
his benefit.

"Just who is this *important* person?"

The maid stopped, turning with an exasperated
stare.  "Your husband, Miss.  He says he's your
husband."  She whirled and stomped off,
muttering at the uneven ground that slowed her
pace.

Gabriel felt his heart lurch to a stop.  In the
meager light of the quarter moon, he saw Julia
turn as if suspended on a string, her face pale
with shock and disbelief under the black hood. 
He knew she saw the same on his; he reached up
to touch the window with his hand, as if he
could wipe away her distress through the
separation of glass and untruths.

One slim, white hand came up to touch her lips.

It was a farewell.

"Miss Julia, come on!"

Lowering her head, she turned to follow the maid
into the forest.

He gulped in air, his face drawing together in a
pained denial, his whisper fogging the glass
before him.

"No."

Her cloak blended in with the darkness and he
watched until he could no longer see the beam of
light, his arms and legs numb.



End Chapter Fifteen

Gabriel
Chapter Sixteen


The Rocky Mountains
September 23, 2001
9:15 p.m.


When he finally moved from the window, it was a
half hour later.  He kept expecting her to walk
from the forest like some kind of sprite,
laughing and assuring him the last minutes of
their tryst had been a dream.  But he knew
better.  Didn't mean he ignored the hope; he
just squashed the pain with the fantasy until he
was ready to deal with it.

Deal with it.  That was impossible, at least at
the moment.  What he wanted to do was run up
that trail and take her by force.  God damn it,
he'd found her.  And fuck anyone who tried to
take her away from him again.

But the years of haring off on impulse had
finally taught him that he couldn't beat his old
man with rash action.  He'd fallen into one trap
after another, ending with the abduction in
Washington; the only reason he'd made it out of
that one was because of her resourcefulness and
unwillingness to give up on him.  And he'd
almost done it again, with the way he'd stumbled
upon the bounty hunter.  If it hadn't been for
her once again, he'd be dead.

This time, he was going to step carefully.  He
loved her too much to falter.  He turned from
the window and sat in the rocker, his mind
whirling with questions.

Her husband?  What did the old man have up his
sleeve now?  Maybe he'd sensed her drifting
away, moving into Gabriel's sphere.  It was
possible that Matthew had, in his delirium,
spoken of a stranger at the cabin.

No.  If Matthew had somehow spilled the beans,
the cabin would be surrounded by armed men, and
Gabriel would find himself hauled up that
mountain for a nice reunion with his father. 
That much was certain.

It was more likely that Julia had tipped them
off, though not intentionally, and certainly not
fully.  She was the independent sort, even
without a life of her own.  Strong-willed and
defiant, she'd probably approached the old man
when some of her memories began to surface,
asking about the circumstances of her rescue
from the streets of Denver.

He shook off the whys; the first order of
business was to make sure she was okay.  It was
time to do a bit of snooping around the Ranch. 
No way was he letting her out of his sight
again, at least until he'd had a chance to talk
to her, to tell her she was *not* anyone's wife.

Rising from the rocker, he still didn't know
exactly where he was going, or what he was going
to do.  All he knew was that renewed anger
fueled his blood, dispelling the numbness with
swift, sure determination.

There wasn't much to work with in the cabin.  He
dressed as warmly as he could, donning the
clothes she'd brought before wrapping himself in 
one of the blankets from the bed, a dull gray
woolen thing that had seen better days.  He let
the fire go out totally as he searched the
kitchen for a weapon.  He dared not turn on the
light, just made do with a candle, listening for
the approach of anyone in the night outside.

At last, he found a rusty steak knife, knowing
its edge was pitifully worn, but not caring.  It
was enough to give him some protection, as long
as he could get close enough to use it.  Just
*how* he was going to do that, he didn't know.  

He paced for another fifteen minutes, half
expecting the guards to show up.  Julia hadn't
said anything, he knew, though it occurred to
him that the maid was a snitch possibility.  He
didn't know how she'd overlooked the subtle
scent of sex in the cabin.  Unless she'd been
too pissed at having to trek through the woods
to get Julia to notice anything but her own
anger.  He hoped this was the case; after a
while with no visitors, he figured he was safe
for the time being, though he still didn't trust
turning on the light.

As he watched the moon set, he knew it was time
to leave.


**********


10:10 p.m.


Shivering in the night air, he crouched in the
brush at the edge of the tree line, gazing up at
the huge two-story house dubbed, 'The Ranch'. 
The trail had been easy to follow, but darkness
and unseen gopher holes had slowed him down,
especially since he had to move as quietly as
possible to avoid alerting the guards he knew
roamed these woods.

Even now, he saw sentries criss-cross the yard,
their guns ready.  He counted only two on this
side of the house, which he assumed was the back
of the place.  There were a few doors that
leaded to a sprawling patio, complete with
wicker furniture piled up in one corner as if
tucked away for the winter.

Several lights shown in the windows, both
upstairs and on the first floor.  A pair of
glass doors at the far left of the structure
revealed a massive room, one where he could see
a fireplace and dark country furniture arrayed
in a cozy array around the roaring fire.  This
room, a den of sorts, was well-lit, and he held
his breath at the sight of shadows just to the
right of the doors.  Someone was in there.

The skin on his face tingled; his suspicions
were confirmed when Julia passed before the
window.  Her hair was pulled away from her face
in a severe braid, the yellow ribbon wound
through it like a talisman.  She wasn't dressed
the same; this time, a black, long-sleeved
dressed covered her from neck to mid-calf.  She
paced with shoes that reminded him of his third
grade teacher - all laced up, even her ankles
covered by thick black socks.  He couldn't help
but grin at the way she'd protected herself. 
She wasn't giving an inch, not in body language,
anyway.

Neither in the spoken word, he could see.  He
was too far away to hear what she was saying,
but whatever it was, it was not without a bite. 
Her hands joined in the argument, clenched at
her sides as she faced her unseen opponent.

His father, he knew.  A waft of cigarette smoke
drifted over her and she grimaced, stepping
back, then turning to face the window.

"Not tonight."  He read her lips as she stared
out in the darkness beyond the window.  "I'm
tired."

Her eyes narrowed a bit, and he knew then she
was searching for him.  She wasn't buying into
the husband story, not yet, anyway.  She
expected him to come after her.

Damn it, he wanted to give her what she wanted,
to storm up that hill and take her.  But it was
too dangerous at the moment; the Ranch was alive
with activity.  He saw two more men walk around
the edge of the house to stand on the dark patio
and cursed under his breath.  A regular party,
he thought with a grimace.

His attention darted back to the den.  Julia
turned from the window and nodded at whoever she
was conversing with before walking away.  He
heard the faint slam of a door, then watched as
the light in the den was turned off.  A shadowy
figure walked to the fireplace, the glow of the
cigarette the only trail of light.  His back to
Gabriel, the man sat in the wing-backed chair,
his hand holding the cigarette over the arm
without concern as to ruining the rug below.

He had gray hair and a familiar, hated stance. 
Gabriel felt the usual tug of loathing at his
gut and wished he had a rifle.  This farce would
end if he only had one good shot.

A light came on in one of the upstairs rooms and
he jerked, moving to his right to see better
through the brush.  He gulped in relief at the
sight of her; apparently, her request to be left
alone for the night had worked.  She moved about
the room, killing the overhead light and turning
on a bedside lamp before standing at the window.

She looked down, caught sight of the guards,
then backed away just a bit, her hands coming
up.

<Gabriel.>

He smiled, feeling giddy at the communication. 
She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there.

<I remembered something else.>

How to use sign language? he chuckled inwardly,
though the immense relief at her deliberate use
of it to talk to him contributed to his grin
more than her awakening memory.

<And no, not how to use sign language.> She
smiled and he wanted to laugh out loud. 
Something was definitely clicking between them,
in a most welcome way.  It had nothing to do
with the physical, though their bodies weren't
ashamed to admit the attraction.  No, this was
the fine tune of their quick minds, remembering
how to snap in response to intelligence and the
comfort of knowing one person as well as you
knew yourself.

Then she turned quickly, as if someone was at
the door.  She said something to whoever stood
on the other side, then moved to answer it. 
After a few moments where he had trouble
stifling his panic, she came back to the window.

<Matthew's asking for me.> She chewed on her
lip, then nodded.  <Cabin.  Two a.m.  I'll be
there.>

But what had she remembered?  He cursed under
his breath and started to back away, then paused
when her hands moved once more.

<I remember - I think I told you once before -
you make me a whole person.> She paused, then
added, <If I didn't, then consider it said now.>

With a worried, yet hopeful smile, she touched
her hand to her mouth, then moved the kiss to
the glass, pressing her fingers in a lingering,
light caress that he could almost feel against
his lips.  Then she pulled the curtains closed; 
a few minutes later, the lights went out.

Oh, Scully, he thought, his chest tight with
emotion.  Though you never spoke it, I heard it
loud and clear.

Wanting to wait for her to sneak out, but
knowing it wouldn't be wise, he began to slowly
crawl through the brush.  He'd almost made it to
the dense cover of trees when a voice made him
stop cold.

"She doesn't seem to be too happy about you."

The soft, modulated tones of a man's voice made
Gabriel freeze; recognition skirted the edges of
his mind, but the exact name to put to the sound
eluded him.  The two men who stood on the patio
had moved to its edge, allowing Gabriel to
listen in on their muted conversation.

"But she'll get over it," the familiar voice
continued, soft and pleased.  Gabriel's mind
catalogued the slight accent, putting a more
gritty edge to the words as a mental exercise in
investigation.

Fuck.  He knew that voice.  Cover it with a
hard-ass, Mississippi twang and it was obvious.
A chill ran over him and he swallowed, shifting
to one knee before his legs gave out in swift,
fear-laced anger.

The other one said something under his breath,
something Gabriel didn't catch.  He was too
surprised at his discovery, his ears trained on
the one thing he did recognize.

They were both dressed in black, hunched in dark
overcoats against the cold night, their breaths
steamy as they spoke.  One of them reached into
his pocket as he stepped away to give the wind
his back.  "Yeah, you're a man any woman would
want, right?" he chuckled derisively, the flare
of his lighter illuminating his face.

Jesse.  Smiling and lighting up a cigar as if he
had the world in his back pocket.  Gone was the
good old boy slang and tattered work clothes. 
His teeth gleamed white as he rolled the cigar
around in his teeth.

Gabriel felt like throwing up.  Was that what
Jesse had been doing with the company?  Assigned
to stop him should he get too close to Julia? 
Or worse, lead him straight to the bounty
hunter; like a fool, he'd fallen for every lie,
every easy smile and friendly gesture.

"Smoke?"  Jesse walked back to his companion and
Gabriel tensed, watching the other man decline
with a shake of his head.

Damn.  The face was in shadow and Gabriel
squinted against the harsh glow of the outside
patio lights, trying his best to find out who
was with Jesse.  But all he could see was a head
covered with a dark knit cap, and a full beard
above the black-garbed figure.  The man stood
rigid, his hands deep in his coat pockets.

"Shit," Jesse growled, reaching for his lighter
once again.  "Damn cheap cigars."  He put the
tip of the lighter to it once again, puffing for
all he was worth.

Gabriel felt the breath leave his lungs; the
other man turned away from the smoke, but not
before Gabriel saw something that rocked him
back on his heels.

The cross.  Gleaming on the black turtleneck, it
mocked its wearer.  Gabriel wished it would burn
a hole through the sweater, right down to the
skin of the imposter who wore it.  It was only a
fleeting glimpse, as the man turned fully to
disappear around the edge of the house once
again, Jesse scrambling to follow.

God damn Jesse.  He flashed back to the accident
with the bounty hunter; he hadn't lost total
consciousness, he was sure of that fact.  But
with the stress and pounding his body had taken,
it would have been easy for the cross to have
fallen off onto the grass.  Jesse must have
picked it up.

If Jesse had been leading him to his father all
along, then it must have been quite a blow to
the old man's plans to lose Gabriel when he was
so close.  Of course, the cross made
identification of Julia's *husband* that much
easier - made it impossible for her to deny.

Gabriel wanted to scream.  He wanted to run to
them both and tear them limb from limb with his
bare hands.  A low growl rumbled from his chest
and he started to rise.

"Don't move."

The butt of a gun at his temple made him still. 
This was wonderful.  Just his luck.  His whole
world falling apart before his eyes.

"You're gonna have to shoot me, 'cause I'm
moving," he hissed.

The gun fell away with a surprised chuff of
recognition.  "For Christ's sake, Mulder, keep
still."

Gabriel snorted, hanging his head with a grin. 
Already?  Couldn't be.

"Frohike?"


**********


September 24, 2001
1:15 a.m.


"So, she has no idea who you are?"  Frohike
fingered the drawings, bringing the latest
closer to take a better look.  It was the one of
Gabriel she'd drawn the afternoon before; he
held it up, remarking, "From this, I'd say she
has a pretty good idea *what* you are to her."

Gabriel shook his head, leaning forward in the
rocker to get some warmth from the small fire
they'd started in the fireplace.  "She suspects,
but she knows the seizures are brought on if she
lets herself go too far."  He brought his hand
up to rub at his brow, the bittersweet memories
of their 'pretense' giving him aching pause.

Frohike sat back in the kitchen chair, the dim
light casting his camouflage garb with an eerie
orange glow.  "Sounds like you're up shit creek,
Mulder."

"Gabriel."

"Huh?"

"That's one thing that's gonna have to go,
*Colonel* - the name's not Mulder, it's Gabriel. 
Can't take the chance."

The Colonel nodded, falling silent as he sipped
the bitter coffee.  Gabriel lapsed into silence
as well; in the past two hours, he'd told his
friend about his stay in the cabin, leaving out
certain intimate details, of course.  What
little pieces of the puzzle he knew spilled from
him - Matthew, his 'Grandpa', seeing Jesse
tonight at the Ranch, the sudden arrival of
Julia's so-called husband.  Only one thing he'd
left out - her pregnancy.

For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to
speak of it.  It made everything seem so raw and
painful.  It was, of course, the reason she was
here.  But it wasn't of tantamount importance at
this point.  They all had to make it out of
there alive.  And Frohike would find out soon
enough, he figured.

"Langly and Byers arrived yesterday," Frohike
murmured.  "I got a room at a hotel, should do
nicely as a base of operations.  They're setting
things up while I come after you."

Gabriel grinned ruefully.  "Guess you're all
wanted men like me now, huh?"  He hated putting
his friends lives on the line this way.  Just
another load of guilt he'd have to live with if
any of them were hurt because of this.

Frohike stood.  "Actually, no."  He moved to the
coffeepot and gave Gabriel a smile.  "One of the
advantages of working in the company's computer
section.  One little tweak of the mouse, and
it's as if we've never even worked for the
company.  You either, by the way."

A ray of sunshine, which Gabriel embraced with a
small smile, standing as well.  "Hey, at least
we don't have to worry about that, right? 
Thanks, man."

His friend fingered his beard.  "And as soon as
this beard disappears, they won't be able to
recognize me - any of us, really.  We can adopt
our usual handsome faces and move about freely. 
No one's looking for the old Administration
anymore, you know.  Too busy digging for 'k'. 
Greedy bastards."  He huffed, gulping down the
rest of his coffee before asking, "So what now? 
Who's this husband, anyway?"

"I don't know," Gabriel replied.  "But whoever
he is, he has the cross."  Worry bit at his
words.  "I don't think she'll buy it, but with
that..."

"From what you've told me, she already knows who
you are to her.  Come on, Mulder - excuse me,
*Gabe* - she's still Scully.  Sharp as a tack. 
Surely if the intuition has survived, so has the
skepticism?"

Gabriel gave him a short smile.  "God damn it,
Frohike.  You should have come a couple hours
earlier.  We could have been long gone from
here."

Frohike set his cup on the table.  "If I had
arrived earlier," he said, giving the rumpled
bed a pointed look, "I probably would have been
very, very embarrassed, am I right?"

Gabriel colored, the memory of her body wrapped
around his making him suddenly very warm.  "Not
as much as *we* would've been," he muttered,
lowering his eyes.  Suddenly, his world seemed a
very unsure place, this cabin a fake shelter,
despite the harbor it was hours ago.  Raising
worried eyes to his friend, he asked softly,
"We're gonna get her out of here, aren't we?"

"If I have anything to say about it, yeah."  

Frohike's determination made shake off his bad
feelings.  Hands on hips, he smiled.  "Wait'll
you see her, man.  She's... she's..."  He wanted
to tell the little man of her pregnancy, and how
it made her glow, but the words still stuck in
his throat.  Inevitable questions would follow,
and she was due to arrive shortly.  Best not to
let her walk in on a discussion of implants and
alien clones.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Frohike waved him off. 
"Speaking of - I need to beautify myself before
the fair Agent Scully comes to call.  You
wouldn't happen to have a razor around here,
would you?"

Gabriel swallowed at yet another flashback, this
one filled with the tender scrape of the blade
across his chin, her eyes smiling with joy at
her fancy work.  Clearing his throat, he
supplied, "Bathroom.  Take your time.  Clean up. 
She won't be here for another half hour."

Frohike turned for the bathroom door, pausing to
ask softly, "I know I said she was still Scully,
and I believe it, Mulder.  But really... she's
still the same, isn't she?"  He asked as if his
whole world hinged on Gabriel's answer, his eyes
hopeful.

With a nod, he said what he was sure of in his
heart and mind.  "Still the same, Frohike.  She
may not know us, but nothing could change the
good person inside."

"Damn."  Frohike winked at Gabriel's surprised
stare.  "And here I was, figuring I might have a
shot with her at last.  She still has a thing
for your sorry ass, doesn't she?"

Gabriel spread his hands and cocked an eyebrow,
avoiding the bed with a roll of his eyes. 
"'Fraid so, buddy."

"Figures.  Why some women go for the brooding,
morose type when they could have a love god is
beyond me."  He chuckled, closing the bathroom
door behind him.

Gabriel's smile faded, worry setting in again. 
They hadn't yet discussed just how they were
going to leave this place.  With a stretch of
his muscles, he shook it off.  One thing at a
time.  First he had to set this 'husband'
business straight.

The cabin door opened with a blast of cold. 
"Gabriel?"

Shit, she was early.  He hadn't had time to
think it through yet.  But he couldn't deny the
relief that surged in him, and he stepped
forward from the shadows by the bathroom.

As soon as she saw him, she launched herself
into his embrace.  He held her tight, running
his hands over her cloak, nuzzling her face with
his.  "You okay?"

"I'm fine."  She burrowed closer, her cold nose
seeking warmth.  "I can't stay long."

Pulling back her hood, he settled his chin on
the top of her head, his hands rubbing up and
down her back.  "I know.  But I'm glad you came
back."

She was quiet for a moment or two, then she gave
his chin a kiss before pulling away, her eyes
downcast.  "I've seen him before," she said
slowly, bringing her worried gaze up.

Gabriel stilled, his hands grasping her upper
arms through the cloak.  "Who?"  Did she know
Jesse from somewhere?

"My hus - the man who says he's my husband."  A
sudden glimmer of tears filled her eyes.  "Oh,
Gabriel... he's got the cross."



End Chapter Sixteen

Gabriel
Chapter Seventeen


The Rocky Mountains
September 24, 2001
1:50 a.m.


"He's got the cross," Julia said again, this
time with more anguish than he'd ever seen
before on her face.

"That means nothing," he insisted, in a much
louder voice than he wanted.  "It's just a piece
of jewelry, you hear me?"  God, he was getting
caught up in her panic.  Quickly, he toned it
down.  "Anyone could have something like that."

"But I know him."

In spite of what she whispered, it was obvious
she didn't *want* to know this husband of hers. 
Hell, he thought - who *did* want to know this
usurper?  If not for the fact that this was
another strategic move on the part of his
father, he'd bundle her up this minute and steal
away.  But he knew they wouldn't make it far;
no, when they left, they had to be free of the
web of treachery forever.  He'd make sure the
old man couldn't follow, couldn't call her this
time.

As for the cross?  It would take more time and
effort to explain that than he had to spare.  So
instead, he offered a stern, "Just because he
has a cross, it doesn't mean he's your husband."

"I understand about the cross, Gabriel.  Really,
I do.  But you're not listening to me."  Sad
tears wound down her cheeks as she looked up at
Gabriel.  "I *know* him."

The breath left his lungs in an instant.  "He's
familiar to you?"  If he was one of the many
'associates' his father had employed over the
years, it would make sense.  One face jumped out
at him immediately - Jeffrey Spender.  He was
believed dead, but they'd never found a body. 
God, he wished he'd gotten a better look at the
man on the patio.

"One look and I knew," she answered.  "Just the
sight of him made me feel things I can't
explain.  I don't know if it was love or hate...
it unsettled me just the same."

The myriad of emotions that clouded her face
told him just how much this unexpected
development had disrupted her existence.  Guilt
warred with defiance in the swimming blue eyes; 
guilt because she'd let herself become intimate
with him, defiance because she still embraced
their union, despite this revelation.

"You've done nothing to be ashamed of," he said,
punctuating the sure statement with a small
shake as his fingers clenched around her arms. 
"*We* did nothing wrong."

"Gabriel, I could never regret that," she
replied, her small smile like a beacon, pulling
him in with warmth.  As quickly as it came,
however, it faded.  "I'm just sorry I had to
draw you into this mess."

His hands moved to cup her face.  "Julia, I'm
right where I want to be.  You believe that,
don't you?"

Her lips trembled over her shaky sigh.  "I
suppose if you weren't, you'd be long gone by
now, wouldn't you?"

Smiling, he answered, "Sc - sweetheart, if it
weren't for you -" He broke off, biting his lip
over the sentiment that threatened to gush from
him.  He'd have been dead many times over if not
for her, and he ached to tell her so.  "I'd
still be hanging from that tree, probably some
bear's feast."  He chuckled, trying to lighten
the suddenly somber mood, brushing his cool
fingers over her cheeks.  "A little marinade and
I can be as tender as the next guy."

She shuddered, apparently in an attempt to shake
off her distress, curling into him once again. 
"Be serious."

"I am serious.  You don't think I'm tender?"

Her arms tightened and her voice lowered,
muffled against his shirt.  "Sometimes I wish
you weren't."

He brought his lips close to her ear, confused
by her admission.  "What?"

She pulled away, challenging him with her eyes. 
"You heard me.  You treat me like I'm a fragile
piece of glass.  I won't break, Gabriel."

Hot anger bubbled up in him; yes, she was the
most resilient person he'd ever known.  He'd
never have been able to do all she did in the
past year.  But circumstances demanded that he
take the lead this time, and if it meant keeping
her in the dark, forcing her to take it easy,
then so be it.

"You're pregnant, God damn it," he growled.

"That doesn't mean I can't take care of myself,"
she shot back, reacting to his simmering anger
with some of her own.  "I'm fine."

The dark cabin swirled around him, the walls
transforming in his peripheral vision to the
bright corridor outside Skinner's office.  The
stark image, her concerned, sad face, the way
she'd hugged him and given him the cross - God,
it was too much.  The stress of the past months
burst into flame at the spark of those hated
words and he let her go, distress choking his
voice as he took a stumbling step back, hunched
over slightly with the pain of remembrance.  "I
can't risk... losing you again."

She stilled and he held his breath as she looked
up, mouth open and eyes wide. "Gabriel?"

Damn.  He was such a fool.  Quickly, he moved
ahead.  They needed to tread safer ground.  It
wasn't exactly the safest, but it was the most
urgent.  He avoided her searching gaze as he
cleared his throat, asking, "Did you speak to
him?  This 'husband' of yours?"

"No, not yet.  But I saw him... when I left my
room to see Matthew, he was speaking to Mr.
Spencer in the hall.  Gabriel -"

"What did he look like?"

She sighed, exasperation in the huff of breath. 
"Dark.  Looked at me like he could see through
me."  Her hand touched his arm.  "Gabriel, talk
to me."

"I am talking to you."  He spared a glance at
her, his arm tensing under her fingers.

"No you're not."  Walking away, she stood in the
kitchen with arms crossed and her ire up.  "You
said 'again' - tell me what that means."

"God damn it, Julia," he growled, anger at his
stupid mistake making him turn away.  "It was
just a -"

"A what?" she interrupted.  "A slip-up?  Like
the way you forgot to mention I had a husband?"

Shit.  He knew better than this.  He knew not to
pursue the conversation, especially with her
baiting questions sitting between them like a
bamboo-covered tiger trap.  But no... he put one
imaginary paw on the flimsy thing and just had
to test it, like always.

"You don't have a husband.  There.  Are you
satisfied?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw her fling her
cloak to the kitchen table in a fit of fury.
Suddenly, she was standing before him, hands on
hips.  "How do *you* know I don't have a
husband?  Tell me.  Explain this away."

He remained silent, clenching his jaw at her
prodding.

"It's not that you can't," she continued, "it's
that you won't.  You sit here, content with
fucking me -"

"Julia!"

But she didn't stop at his gasp of her name. 
"Happy because you have me back.  Yes, I said
*back*.  Just like you said *again*.  How do you
think that makes me feel, Gabriel?"

"Julia, I know you're confused..."

"Confusion?  You don't know the meaning of the
word," she almost sneered, and he felt like any
second he was going to start retreating like a
slapped child.  "Who's Scully?"

"Julia..."

"Who the *hell* is Scully?"

The trap collapsed beneath his feet.  "She's
*you*, God damn it!"  He sat in the rocker,
holding his head in his hands, his shout echoing
in the cabin, numb with release.

But he only allowed himself a second of pause;
he lifted his eyes to her, searching for any
sign of trauma.  She stood there, eyes closed,
swaying a bit, her face calm.  "Julia?" 
Quickly, he traded places with her, standing to
sit her in the rocker, warming her cold hands
between his as he knelt before her, anger mixed
with worry in his plea.  "Julia, are you okay? 
Answer me, dammit!"

He seethed with frustration; how the hell had
they gone from tender relief to this in under a
minute?  It made sense that she'd eventually
demand answers, but he hadn't been prepared to
square off with her just yet.  Damn it, he
wanted to get them all safely off the mountain
before dealing with her memories.

A deep breath filled her lungs as she slowly
opened her eyes.  Bringing a hand up to his
cheek, she whispered, "The baby?  Is it yours?"

For a brief moment, he let himself bask in the
hope shining from her glistening eyes.  With all
the lies he'd had to live these past few days,
one more really shouldn't matter.  But he was
unable to give it voice, lowering his head to
her lap.  So simple, actually.  Yes or no.  How
could he choose when even *he* wasn't sure?

Instead, he rubbed his nose into the soft black
material that draped her thighs, nudging the
crown of his head into the mound of contention,
sneaking his hands around her hips.  "God, I
hope so," he whispered fervently, clutching at
her like a drowning man.

He felt her stiffen, reading everything into
those few words, the good along with the bad. 
Under her hands, his back heaved with the
onslaught of emotion, and she melted over him,
her lips touching his curls.  "Shh... it's
okay."

He cried because he had her back, when he once
thought he'd never see her again.  Cried for all
the time they'd lost in search of one another,
even when they occupied the same office.  Cried
because things had been done to them both that
no human being should ever have to live through. 
Soft, silent tears that bled from him to her,
dampening the linen that covered her lap.  For
long, relieved seconds, she let him release his
fears and nightmares unto her, whispering
soothing words as she stroked his hair, her
kisses light and undemanding above his ear.

"Don't ask me anything more, Julia," he begged,
his voice muffled, his hands clutching at her
like she would disappear should he lift his
head.  "Please don't.  I can't... can't take the
chance."

"It's okay, I know," she said.  Gently, she
wrapped her fingers around his face, making him
look up at her urging.

Her smile was wondrous but subdued, her eyes
shining.  With slow, calming movements, she
wiped his face.  "You've told me everything I
need to know.  Thank you."  Her lips touched his
brow and they remained, open and soft, her
breath cooling his panic.

Okay.  She was okay.  No tremors, no shock to
her system, no eye-rolling, dead faint.  His
laugh was shaky, his eyes closed as he said, "Of
course you realize you're stuck with me now."

Julia let her lips skim over his temple. 
"Something tells me I've been stuck with you for
quite a while, Gabriel."

This time, his laughter was genuine and light
with relief.  A memory of her, fresh-faced
amidst the mold and dimness of the basement,
fielding his smart-ass attitude with snappy
logic made him remark, "Let's just say you
ticked off the wrong people a long, long time
ago."

Her mouth moved closer to his.  "And they gave
me you?"

All this time, he'd thought of himself on the
receiving end of that transaction; she'd been
given to him.  Slowly, he'd retooled his
thinking.  From the frustrated edge of her
unyielding professionalism, to the truce of
swapping theory, to the embrace of minds
opposite in reasoning, but similar in the quest
for truth... yes, he'd abandoned his resistance
to her long ago.

And he knew now that she'd not been given to
him.  He'd been entrusted in *her* care,
unbeknownst to those who'd orchestrated their
union.

"Yes," he breathed, lifting his chin to complete
the pact, his lips caressing hers.  "And if you
don't mind the re-gifting, you can have me
again.  You know, like the fruitcake no one
wants at Christmas."

He felt her belly shake with little chuckles. 
"Gabriel," she murmured, returning his light
kisses, "one thing you're *not* is a fruitcake."

"Contrary to popular belief, I'd have to agree -
the man's more of a pie... key lime, I think. 
Definitely an acquired taste."

Shit.  Gabriel let Julia go and stood up,
blushing like he'd been caught necking behind
the school gym.  He'd forgotten all about
Frohike.

"Um..." He wiped his hands on his jeans, looking
from Frohike to Julia, who remained in the
rocker in a similar state of embarrassment. 
"Julia, this is the Colonel."  How much had his
friend heard?  He supposed it didn't really
matter, because Frohike already knew all about
her memory loss, especially what happened when
she went too far.

From the shadows by the almost-dead fire, Julia
stood and held out her hand.  "Nice to meet you
finally," she said with a smile.

As she walked closer, Frohike's smile faltered a
bit, his eyes drifting to the swell of her body
before rocketing up to meet Gabriel's.  He
recovered quickly, however, extending his hand. 
"The pleasure is mine, dear lady," he purred,
bringing her hand up.

Gabriel could have laughed at the little man's
gallantry, in the way he touched his lips to the
back of Julia's hand.  But he didn't; in fact,
the longer it went, the more uncomfortable he
became, finally stepping in when he saw her face
begin to melt under Frohike's attentive charm.

"That's enough of that," he stated, taking her
hand away from Frohike to tuck it in his.  "The
Colonel's here to help us get out, Julia."

Frohike stood to his full height, tucking his
thumbs into the belt of his fatigues, his smile
beaming.  "At your service, Miss," he said.

Julia gave Gabriel a look, wriggling her fingers
in his tight hold until he lessened his grip. 
She smiled in return as she addressed their
guest.  "Colonel?  Is there something else I can
call you?  Something not quite so... formal?"

Before Gabriel could jump in, Frohike piped up,
"Melvin.  Call me Melvin."

Gabriel gulped, feeling her nails dig into the
back of his hand as their playful 'pretend'
foreplay of hours ago came to mind.  "Melvin,"
she purred, "you wouldn't happen to know a Max? 
Or a Morris?"

Frohike's face clouded with simple confusion. 
Oblivious to the undercurrent present between
Julia and Gabriel, he replied, "No... can't say
that I do."

"Julia..." Gabriel growled with faint warning,
forcing her to look up.

"All right, all right," she capitulated, giving
him an innocent smile.  Yeah, she was guileless,
all right.  About as naive as a ten-year veteran
of the Bureau - *that* certainly hadn't changed. 
"I've got to get back, anyway.  Before I go,
though - what's the plan?"

That made Gabriel's heart skip a beat - and not
the question about the plan, either.  He'd known
she couldn't stay, but just the thought of her
going back to that den of thieves was enough to
make worry set in.  He saw Frohike pick up on
his thoughts, and the little man moved forward,
instantly launching into what little they'd
discussed already.

"The plan?  Still in the formative stages,
Julia.  We're still waiting on my associates to
arrive."

"Your associates?"

"Fitzgerald and Samson.  Should be here shortly. 
You just sit tight."

"Sit tight?"  She looked up at Gabriel, who'd
managed to quell some of his fear at her return
to the Ranch.

"Don't let them take you away from the Ranch,"
he said.  "Stay close.  You still have access to
the computer?"

"Yes - it's in Matthew's room.  I can use it
while I sit with him."

"If there's any news, we'll post it there.  If
you need anything, send a message.  We may not
stay here in the cabin, but we'll be close by." 
He looked at Frohike, who nodded.  They both
knew the cabin probably wouldn't remain the safe
refuge it was for very much longer.  Bringing
her hand up, he gave her palm a brush of his
lips.  "Don't worry.  I'm not going anywhere
without you."

Frohike appeared out of the corner of Gabriel's
eye, cloak in hand.  With the utmost gentleness,
he draped it over her shoulders, saying, "And I
won't let him leave without you, how's that?"

Julia let Gabriel pull her to the door.  "You
leave without me, and I'll just find you.  You
both know that, don't you?"

"We don't doubt it," Gabriel chuckled, pulling
the hood over her head.  "Come on, I'll walk you
back."

"No you won't."  She was adamant, buttoning up
her cloak with a stern stare.  "I came here by
myself, I can certainly make my own way back."

"Julia -"

"No, Gabriel.  I'm pregnant, not blind.  And I
can take care of myself."

"No kidding," came Frohike's murmur.

Gabriel flashed him a 'you're not helping' look,
but Julia headed off his argument, circling his
cheek with her hand, forcing his gaze back to
her.  "I don't want you coming near the Ranch
until we're ready to go, you understand me? 
What you did tonight... getting that close.  It
was foolhardy.  But I knew you'd try it.  Just
don't do it again, okay?  I'm fine."  She
reached up and gave him a kiss, short but sweet. 
"See you soon."

Gabriel disregarded Frohike's presence, pulling
her into a tight hug.  "We're gonna get out of
here," he whispered.  "I promise."

Her breath against his neck was warm, as was
her, "I know.  I trust you, Gabriel."  She knew
his pronouncement was more for his benefit than
hers; her strength of will was stronger, and
always would be.  After allowing him a moment
more of their embrace, she let go, turning for
the door.  Before she left, however, she gave
Frohike a sidelong glance, her parting words
soft and probing.

"Wouldn't happen to be Max Fitzgerald and Morris
Samson, would it?"

Gabriel groaned at Frohike's acting, as his
friend snapped his fingers as if just making the
connection.  "Come to think of it... yeah. 
Small world, isn't it?"

As she opened the door with a laugh, she walked
out, Gabriel close behind.  "I told you I was
walking back alone."

"I'm just seeing my date to the door," he said,
closing it behind him.  The wind had picked up,
howling through the forest with the brisk
forecast of snow.  He gathered her to him with a
wink.  "How about a goodnight kiss?"

Tilting her head up, she murmured, "If I kiss
you, I won't leave."

He dropped a kiss on her nose.  "Would you
believe me if I said that was the plan all
along?"

"No.  I believe you and the Colonel have no idea
how to get us all off this mountain, am I
right?"

He wasn't giving her the satisfaction; besides,
why say it?  They both knew the days ahead were
scary enough.  And he had faith in his friends'
abilities - they'd proven themselves many times
over.  "We work best under pressure.  Trust me."

"I do."  Her statement was sure, then she cocked
her head to one side, a bare hint of curiosity
on her night-shadowed face.  "Michael?"

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow.  "Huh?"

"Well, there's a Melvin, a Max, and a Morris.  A
little voice is telling me you're Michael.  Am I
right?"

If he could just turn off his memories, he'd be
fine.  But the recollection of their pre-escape
couch conversation in the tower slid up from
nowhere.

//What would you choose?//

//For you?  Michael.//

So much for letting sleeping dogs lie.  "Julia,"
he sighed, "don't ask me -"

"Hey, I can guess, right?  It'll give me
something to do while I wait."  She smothered
his protest with her lips.  The kiss was
painfully brief, but intense.  He broke away
after a few seconds, the plea for her to stay
crawling up his tongue.  But she silenced him
with her fingers in a farewell caress before
turning to carefully take the steps.

"Julia?" he called, stopping her before she
reached the tree line.

"Yes?"  She turned and faced him again, hands
hidden in the folds of her cloak.

"Not Michael," he gave her with a smile,
shivering in the night air.

She grinned.  "As long as I never slept with
Melvin, Max or Morris, okay?"

His smile faded, his hands fisting in his jeans
pockets.  "Over my dead body."

"Thought so.  See ya later, Moe."  One second,
then two passed before she lifted the corner of
her mouth.  "Not that either, huh?"

Gabriel shook his head, hiding his astonishment
at the names falling like dominoes from her mind
with a rueful grin.

"Oh, I'll get it right one day.  Trust me." 
With a sly look, she was gone.

That, he didn't doubt.

He waited until she blended in with the trees
before going back inside.  As soon as the door
closed behind him, he was assaulted by a human
tornado, shoved up against the door.

"Pregnant?  Damn it, Mulder, why didn't you tell
me?"  Frohike barked into his face.  Gabriel
opened his mouth to reply, but Frohike turned
away to pace the floor, running a shaky hand
over his nearly bald pate.  "We're fucked.  Big
time."

Gabriel sagged into one of the kitchen chairs,
scrubbing at his bristly cheeks.  "I didn't know
how to tell you.  Damn it, it shocked me more
than it did you, you know."

"This is going to make escape difficult - on
foot, anyway."

"I know.  But it's not like we'd given our plan
any thought yet, is it?" Gabriel offered with a
snide look.

His dig went unnoticed.  In the now dark cabin,
Frohike looked ten feet tall, his boots almost
wearing a hole in the floor.  Suddenly, he
stopped.  "Is it yours?"

How many times had he asked himself the same
question?  Pondered the possibilities over and
over, only to come to the same dubious
conclusion.  He raised his head, solemnly
declaring, "I don't know."

Frohike sighed, his offended little rooster act
fading as he stooped to throw another log on the
fire.

"Not too much, man," Gabriel warned.  "Keep it
small."

"I know.  I just suddenly got very cold."

Gabriel swallowed, knowing the Colonel had
immediately drawn the same conclusions he had a
week ago.  There was no telling whose baby Julia
was carrying, or in what manner it had been
conceived.  He felt like screaming again,
tearing the cabin into little pieces in his
rage.

"Just so you know."  Frohike sat across from
him, folding his hands on the table.  "I'd do
anything for her - even claim that baby."

The chair almost toppled over as Gabriel rose,
fury tainting his cheeks.  "And I wouldn't? 
Fuck you, Frohike."

"Mulder -"

He leaned over the table, tamping down his voice
to a low, menacing growl.  "I don't give a shit
who that baby belongs to, understand?  It's
hers, which will make it mine.  Both of them are
mine, and I'll kill anyone who tries to take
them away from me again, got it?"

His friend slumped in his chair, folding his
arms with a grin.  "Just checking.  You never
were the poster boy for stability, you know."

"Asshole."  But he couldn't deny that Frohike
had a point.  And he didn't expect less from the
man who loved Scully as much as he did.

"Hmm... may be.  But I'm the one who's gonna get
your sorry ass out of here, hers too.  And this
little development - which you neglected to tell
me - puts a definite kink in the plan."

"What plan?" Gabriel huffed, hands on hips. 
"Unless you've got something you neglected to
tell *me* about."

"I figured we'd just nab her and haul ass.  I
was going to suggest it when I came out of the
bathroom, until I laid eyes on her.  Not gonna
be easy now, not in her condition."

Gabriel sighed, resuming his seat at the table. 
"Any kind of trek down this mountain on foot
would be impossible if we stay off the road, you
know that - even if she weren't pregnant. 
Besides, I want to make sure they can't call her
again.  Even if I have to kill every son-of-a-
bitch at that Ranch."

"That's not going to be easy, Mulder.  It would
make more sense to come at it from another
direction."  Frohike paused, giving his newly
shaven chin a scrape with his fingernails.  "You
think it's the chip Krycek gave her that's
keeping her under their control?"

"What else could it be?  It wouldn't be the
first time that fucker double-crossed us, you
know."

"I don't know, man.  He had Scully right there
in the bunker.  He could have led anyone to her
- to all of us, at any time.  Could havee had the
place incinerated and delivered Scully all nice
and neat to whoever wanted her.  But he didn't. 
Explain that."

"I've thought of all that, believe me.  I just
can't see it any other way.  It's got to be the
chip."  He raised his head, adamant in his
certainty, piercing his friend with anguished
eyes.

"Unless there's another chip."  Frohike
straightened in his chair, his grin lighting up
his face.  "Put in by your father in the
tower..."

Damn.  Could it be?  He leapt ahead, sudden hope
brightening his gaze.  "Able to call her at any
time... capable of erasing her memory..."

"But why wait so long to call her?"

Gabriel's mind raced; he dug deep, profiling his
old man, replaying their last dinner together
like a slideshow.

//"She can't have children," he'd insisted over
his rolling nausea.

And his father's smug, "She can now."//

"Maybe there was no need... at the time." 
Gabriel's whisper was soft, yet hopeful.

"So it laid dormant until her body began
producing human chorionic gonadotrophic
hormone..." Frohike continued.

Gabriel's smile was wide.  "Signaling a
pregnancy."

Frohike nodded, though his voice was still wary. 
"Thin."

Gabriel's smile faded just a bit.  "*Very* thin. 
It usually takes days for a woman's HCG levels
to rise to detectable levels."

"Ah, but we're talking very advanced technology
here, Mulder.  I've seen these chips.  Nothing
like them anywhere - who's to say what they can
do?"

It made sense, Gabriel had to admit.  So much
sense that he wondered why he hadn't thought of
this possibility earlier.  But the problems were
still numerous, including the fact that they
didn't know where the second chip was.  It could
be hidden anywhere under her skin, or worse -
deep within, where they'd never find it.

Could he live with her *never* remembering what
they were to each other?

Frohike noticed his lapse into introspection. 
"What is it?"

With a smile, he decided he could.  God damn it,
he could live with *anything* as long as he had
her with him.  Even this slim hope that the baby
was his; hell, he'd known from the moment he saw
her again that he would love that child as much
as he loved her.  But a small, selfish part of
him wished it to be true - smashed down the
intelligent part telling him it couldn't be his
child.

"Frohike, you just made my day."  His hand was
shaking as he brought it up to wipe at his
suddenly moist eyes.  "I hope."

"There's no *hoping* about it, if your
declaration a little while ago about them being
yours is true.  Doesn't matter."

"But it would be mighty nice, wouldn't it?"

"Damn right it would."  His friend stood and
held out his hand.  "Congratulations, Mulder. 
Name the kid after me, okay?"



End Chapter Seventeen

Gabriel
Chapter Eighteen


The Rocky Mountains
September 24, 2001
4:15 a.m.

Gabriel looked around the cabin one last time,
Frohike waiting by the door with a murmured,
"Come on, Mulder.  Gotta make it off this
property by sunup," as he finished buttoning his
coat.

They'd spent the last two hours letting the dust
settle, so to speak, on the mountain.  Still
fearful of running into any of the Ranch's
guards, they'd waited, listening to the night
grow still and cold.  Figuring the arrival of
Julia's so-called husband had stirred the guards
a bit, possibly even added more men to the
mountain's defenses, they'd tried to catch a
catnap in the cold, dark cabin.  It had been
impossible, in Gabriel's case, anyway.  He'd
kept watch by the alcove while Frohike had taken
the bed, doggedly tired after not having slept
since he'd stepped off the train early yesterday
morning.

Frohike had buried his nose in the pillow. 
"Smells like her," he'd muttered with a sigh of
contentment, then rattled the roof with his
snoring.

Gabriel had been more than happy to let Frohike
have the bed; he missed her already, and just
the smell of her on the linens would have made
him howl with her absence like a wolf mourning
the loss of his mate.  He'd been very uneasy
about letting her go back to the Ranch, but he
knew it was necessary for now.  Didn't make it
any easier to leave, however.  It felt like he
was abandoning the only home he'd known in more
than a year.

More so, leaving the battered walls and dusty
floors behind felt like he was severing his last
tie with her.

"Mulder?"

Frohike's urgent whisper snapped him back to the
present, and he gave his friend a, "Just a
second," before he walked to the kitchen table. 
The cabin was now mostly dark, but the dying
embers of the fire gave him just enough light to
see his way through the small pile of sketches. 
He found the most recent, the only one with a
face - his.  With gentleness, he folded it and
carefully put it in his shirt pocket, knowing
one day he'd return it to her - along with his
real name.

He turned and followed Frohike into the waning
night.


Denver, Colorado
9:45 a.m.


Fatigue dogged his every step, but he couldn't
stop, keeping up with Frohike by the sheer pump
of adrenaline through his body.  He shook off
the ache in his shoulder but there was nothing
he could do about the way his head pounded with
lack of sleep.  The trip down the mountain had
sapped his energy and he knew he made a sorry
figure, catching the worried looks from Frohike
only to pass them back with a warning stare not
to comment.  All he needed was coffee; he'd be
fine once they got into town and had some food
and caffeine.

They'd mulled over escape possibilities on their
trek to Denver, each suggestion of Frohike's
ending with Gabriel's adamant insistence that
his father had to go, which meant not just
escaping, but making sure they couldn't be
followed.  Frohike was certain there was a
second chip - he figured all they had to do was
remove it and Julia would be safe from Spender's
magnetic pull.  But despite his agreement,
Gabriel wanted to rid them of the old man's
treachery forever.  It wouldn't be easy, and it
would require delicacy, since they had no army
at their disposal.  He walked into Denver with a
sluggish, overtaxed mind, contemplating the odds
of success with a weary hang of his shoulders.

The sun was rising high over the bustling
streets of Denver as they made their way on foot
through the mess.  The morning was alive with
activity; miners and businessmen milled about,
handshakes and a few fistfights occupied equal
ground in front of the dilapidated buildings. 
The invasion and the ensuing resistance had
pretty much decimated the taller structures. 
New construction dotted the landscape, but it
was more on the order of smaller, two to three
story buildings.  Once again, Gabriel felt like
he'd been transported into the Gold Rush of the
old West.  Men of every size and shape spoke on
the street corners of riches and land;
transactions made and prices set dominated the
snatches of conversation he could hear as he
dodged the bodies.

Most unsettling were the company guards that
walked slowly up and down the streets, their
firearms strapped to their hips.  None of them
stopped to pass the time of day, not even with
each other.  It was as if they were soldiers
patrolling an occupied territory; narrowed,
watchful eyes and tense, black-garbed forms
whose faces were shadowed by equally dark caps. 
Gabriel didn't think he'd ever seen so many of
them in one place before.  Memories of his
father's Guardsmen not so long ago made him
shudder.  Combined with his exhaustion, it made
him jumpy and he forced himself to relax his
strides, giving Frohike a bump to get his
attention.

"What is this?" he muttered, lowering his head
as they passed the second company man in less
than twenty feet of walking.  "A convention?"

"Dunno," his friend answered, rubbing at his
face as they passed another.  "Something's going
down, looks like."

Unspoken was the addendum that they'd soon find
out.  Gabriel had no doubt that the Gunmen were
still very adept at worming into sources of
information and pulling out the smallest pieces
of the puzzle.

"Here," Frohike said, nodding at a fairly new
building a few doors down.  "Got a room
upstairs."

The clapboard sidewalk was dusty brown with
dried mud, but underneath, it smelled of fresh
pine, as did the lobby.  Sparse yet serviceable,
the big room had some comforts.  Sofas that had
seen better days were filled with dozing men,
and Frohike caught Gabriel's look.

"Ten dollars an hour," he explained.  "Or two
hundred a night for a room."

It was highway robbery, Gabriel thought.  Of
course, there were always men willing to feed
off a boom, no matter when and where.  He gave
the man behind the counter a snide look, then
quickly composed his face into a calm mask when
he spotted the clerk's suspicious glare.

"Hey - that makes four o'you," the desk clerk
threw at Frohike, stopping them both with his
brusque words.  "Gonna cost you extra."

Frohike glanced at Gabriel and nodded.  "Go on
up.  It's number fifteen.  I'll take care of
this," he whispered.

As Gabriel backed away, he saw Frohike walk to
the counter and heard the rasp of Velcro as he
dug under his coat.  "How much?"

Gabriel turned his back on the transaction,
making a mental note to ask about their finances
when they got down to the planning.  They would
probably stay off the beaten path on their way
to Canada, but some money would be needed along
the way.  He hoped they had enough, because he
damn well wasn't the best at taking small game,
nor fishing.  City boy all the way.  Survival in
the forest was Scully's forte.  And who knew
just how much she remembered of that.

He climbed the stairs quickly, head down,
bumping into several company men who looked like
they'd just awakened.  Stopping to let them
pass, he caught a few words that pricked his
ears.

"What I hear, the boss man ain't stayin' long,"
the first said.

"Maybe a day or two," another offered.  "Train's
getting re-fueled and re-stocked today."

The company boss was in Denver?  Gabriel let
them pass, then started upstairs once more, his
mind working.  Though no one really knew where
exactly the home base of the company was, he
wasn't surprised to hear that the boss man was
in town.  From what he'd learned in his time
with the company, the boss took a hands-on
approach, not trusting anyone but his top
regional managers.  'K' was much too valuable a
commodity to believe that your workers wouldn't
try to steal from you when they had the chance. 
The rules of the contract were strict for that
very purpose; pay the men well, but frighten
them with threats of reprisal should they get
caught skipping out or stealing.  Gabriel had
witnessed the swift sledgehammer of company
judgment first-hand, and he wanted no more of
it, staying well away from the men as they went
by.

At last, he stood before door number fifteen,
giving it two sharp raps with his knuckles.

"Who is it?" came the wary murmur from the other
side.

He didn't like the idea of broadcasting his
presence through the hall, but he figured his
alias was safer than his real name as he
muttered, "Gabriel.  Open the door."

"Gabriel who?"

"Open the God damned door - *Samson*."

It inched open and he slid through, only to be
caught in a bear hug as it slammed shut behind
him, the lock clicking into place.

"Mulder!"  Byers' arms nearly crushed the breath
from him, making his still-tender shoulder yelp
with pain.  "Good to see you."

Gabriel disengaged himself with a slight
grimace, giving Byers a smile as he pushed him
away.  "Good to see you, too.  Been working out,
eh?"  He eyed Byers' broad build with a wink.

"Busting rocks all day will do that to you."

"Yeah.  That and eating steaks."  A nasally
voice came from Gabriel's right and he blinked
at Langly, who sneered, "Some of us had to live
on beans."

Gabriel rubbed at his tender shoulder.  "Didn't
treat you too well up north, did they Ringo?"

Langly shrugged.  "Not all of us were assigned
to the company's better facilities."  He jerked
his chin at Gabriel.  "What's the matter with
you?"

He rubbed at his shoulder, his eyes darting from
one to the other. "A little run-in with the
company.  Just a bit sore still."  He quickly
scanned the mostly bare room, taking note of the
small table and chair, his gaze lighting with
interest on the laptop that sat upon it.  It was
folded shut, and next to it was a wicked Bowie
knife and a small pistol.  He wasn't surprised
to see they had weapons, but it dawned on him
they may have already had to make use of them on
the treacherous journey to Denver.  "You guys
okay?  No problems on the way out here?"

"No problems.  We suddenly got transfer orders
and a train ride out west," Byers answered with
a smile.  "Courtesy of Frohike, naturally.  Then
he conveniently wiped us all out of existence."

He managed to look the same, thought Gabriel,
despite being clothed in denim and flannel. 
Like them all, he sported several days growth of
beard, but his hair was long and wavy, falling
to his neck.  "Maybe we should start calling
*you* Samson," he said, as he moved to sit on
the cot.

Byers flushed, though he stood straight as he
replied, "It kind of grew on me, so I left it." 
His pun flew right over his head; not so with
Langly, who fumed by the door, arms crossed.

"Doofus."

Gabriel turned his attention to the shorn
Langly, giving him a nod and a grin.  "And
what's with the boot camp look?"

Langly's hand came up self-consciously to rub
his crewcut.  "It won't grow back.  Stress, I
think.  Probably related to malnutrition."  His
misery evident, he tossed a warning look at
Byers, who sheepishly moved to the opposite side
of the room.

"Cheer up, Ringo.  I hear everything grows in
Canada - even hair."  If they could only make it
there, he added silently.  All of them. 
Suddenly, he was bone weary.  But he didn't give
in to it yet, especially when there was another
knock at the door.

Langly moved defensively, his hand on the knob. 
"Who is it?"

"It's me."

"Who's me?"

"Open up, ya moron, or I'll shave off the *rest*
of your hair - get my drift?"

As Langly opened the door, he muttered, "Too
late.  That's gone, too."

Gabriel chuckled, then perked up at the serious
look on Frohike's face, all humor gone.  "What's
up?"

Frohike moved to the desk, sitting down to
position the laptop.  "Heard downstairs that the
boss man is in town.  Arrived yesterday evening
on a private train."

"Yeah - I heard the same thing on the stairs. 
So?"  Gabriel stood, moving in, as did Byers and
Langly.

Frohike worked furiously, connecting via the
unused cellular uplink they'd hacked into months
ago.  It took a few moments to gain access to
the satellite, and he took the opportunity to
ask pointedly, "You said Grandpa came home last
night?"

"Shit."  Gabriel knew that fatigue was dulling
his mind, but he should have made the connection
on the stairs.  "One and the same?"

"Possibly."  Frohike turned, waiting for the
connection to complete.  "Probably.  Who else
would have the resources for a spread like that
on that mountain?"

"Who the hell is Grandpa?"

Langly's confused question made Gabriel growl,
and he ignored it for now, urging Frohike on. 
"See what you can find.  I'm going back to the
Ranch."  He never should have left the cabin;
with the company's might behind him, Spender
could march through the streets of Denver with
Julia on display for everyone to see, with no
fear of reprisal.

"Whoa, Mulder, slow down.  We've got to think
this through."

"Fuck thinking.  I've got to get her out of
there."  He stumbled as he turned and was kept
from hitting the floor only by Byers' quick
intervention.  "Let go of me -"

"Guys, we got something," Langly interrupted,
leaning over the desk.

Gabriel's head snapped back to Frohike, who'd
turned to face the laptop once again.  "New
message on the group," he said.  In a second, he
had opened it.  "From Julia."

"What?  What does she say?"  Coming up behind
Frohike, he trained bleary eyes on the screen,
unable to see much.

"She's okay, she says."  Frohike scanned the
short message.  "Mr. Spencer says they're all
leaving for Helena tomorrow.  Seeking treatment
for Matthew.  He wants Julia and her husband to
accompany them."

"Husband?" This time, it was Byers who
interrupted, but his croaking question was also
ignored.

"Montana?  Tomorrow?  As in today, or tomorrow?"
Gabriel pressed, anxiety speeding up his
heartbeat to a panicked thrum.

"She says they're waiting for the train to be
made ready to accommodate Matthew - Mr. Spencer
told her to be ready to leave Tuesday morning. 
Tomorrow."

Gabriel sagged a bit with relief.  Maybe twenty-
four hours... not much, but at least it was some
cushion.  "Anything else?"

"'Tell Marty hello.'" The look on Frohike's face
was part confusion, part accusation.  "Marty? 
Just what the hell happened up there in that
cabin?"

Julia's guessing made Gabriel grin, but it was
Frohike's erroneous assumption that made him
chuckle as he fell back to the cot.  "Nothing I
needed *that* alias for, Melvin," he said dryly,
not about to elaborate that the hours spent with
her put all of his 1-900 fantasies to shame. 
Any time he made love to Scully was special, but
their reunion in the cabin would always shine in
his heart, because it meant the trust was still
there, still tantamount despite her amnesia. 
"Look, we've got twenty-four hours.  If you guys
are gonna think of something, now's the time."

"We've already given it some thought, Mulder. 
We just need to line things up."  Frohike took a
long look at Gabriel's drooping face and added,
"Get some sleep.  Couple hours and we'll be
ready."

"But -"

"But nothing.  When was the last time you
slept?"

He thought back, remembering the snatches of
sleep those three days he'd not seen her.  When
she came to him, it was as if his body would
never need sleep again, he was so pumped with
joy and relief.  "I can sleep later," he
insisted, with a dark, hopefully menacing look.

He must not have pulled off the threat, because
Frohike stood, his face adamant as he said,
"Later?  When we're all hauling ass through the
forest?  Or when the company goons catch up with
us?"  His voice lowered as he leaned forward. 
"Or when Julia gets so tired she can hardly
walk?  Who's gonna carry her, huh?"

The point Frohike was trying to make was lost on
him.  "We're *hiking* out of here?"  The room
had begun to spin, drunk as he was with
exhaustion.

"She's *not* going anywhere, Mulder.  And you
need to be rested if you want to be of any use
to her."

Though his mind was sluggish, he understood at
last, nodding.  It only took a nudge of
Frohike's finger to fell him like a redwood, and
he collapsed on the cot, mumbling, "Tell her..."

One boot came off, then another.  "Tell her
what?" a voice asked, though it sounded like it
was coming from the bottom of a well.

"Not Marty."  He was asleep as soon as his head
hit the sorry excuse for a pillow.


September 24, 2001
5:18 p.m.


"Mulder."

His name came to him through layers of cottony
sleep and he shifted, trying to make his way up
from dreamless slumber.  Must have been another
all-nighter at the Gunmen's, he thought.  He was
getting way too old to spend the night scarfing
down cheesesteaks and browsing the conspiracy
newsgroups.  Of course, there was always the
inevitable slide into the latest in free porn,
courtesy of Frohike.

"Mulder."  Stronger now, more insistent,
accompanied by a squeeze of his knee.

Eyes still closed, he murmured through dry lips,
"Mmm... a little higher."  He cracked open one
eye just in time to see Frohike snatch his hand
away as if burned.  Yeah, he loved tormenting
the homophobic little weasel.

Frohike cleared his throat before turning away. 
"Wake up.  Time to get busy."

His eyes were gritty and it took a couple of
seconds to focus on the bare walls of the room. 
When he realized where he was, he jack-knifed
into a sitting position.  "What time is it?" he
asked, rubbing the sleep from his face.

"A little after five," Frohike answered over his
shoulder, now sitting at the desk.

"Damn it, Frohike," Gabriel muttered, "why the
hell did you let me sleep so long?  And where's
Langly and Byers?"  He and Frohike were alone;
no wonder he'd slept so soundly.

"Because you needed it."  Frohike's tone brooked
no argument.  "And they're scouting out the
train station, doing a bit of reconnaissance."

"Train station?"  God, he needed something to
drink.  "Got any water around here?"

"Canteen's in my backpack under the bed."  As
Gabriel availed himself of the blessedly cool
water, Frohike continued, "From the railroad
maps I've pulled up, the train's route should
take it up to Cheyenne, then it skirts the
mountains into Montana.  We figure the best plan
of action is to just hijack the train."  He fell
silent and Gabriel sensed there was a qualifier.

"But?"

"But to do so in the middle of Denver is risky. 
Big time risky.  Too many company guards hanging
around.  We could plan to meet them out in the
middle of nowhere.  Between Cheyenne and Helena; 
we can cut across central Wyoming to make up
time.  Easy to stop the train - lots of
wilderness up that way.  We'll cut up a few
trees, make it look like there's been some
damage to the track from a storm."

"That reminds me, Frohike - you have enough cash
to finance this operation?"

"Sure.  Krycek had thousands tucked away, in
several locations."  He smiled.  "The other two
used to make fun of me hanging around old stumpy
all day, but I got some pretty useful
information from him.  Got a truck ready in an
abandoned farmhouse outside town.  All we need
is a few tools, and we're set."

"And the guards?"

"There can't be too many guards traveling with
the train.  From what I understand, it's just a
few cars.  A few canisters of teargas, some
automatic weapons - also courtesy of our well-
prepared, now deceased mercenary friend - and we
have ourselves a train."

"On its way to Helena."  It occurred to him that
he hadn't questioned its destination earlier,
and he did so now, wanting input from Frohike's
more alert mind.  "Treatment for Matthew aside -
which I don't buy for a second -  what the hell
is in Helena?"

"Far as I know, nothing.  Except for another
massive company digging site."

Gabriel sighed, letting go of the reason behind
the trip for now.  "All that matters is that
Scully will be on that train, and so will my
father.  That's all I need.  To nab her, to kill
him.  End of pursuit."  He stood, splashing a
bit of the water on his face.  "So, what are we
still doing here?  C'mon.  We've got work to
do."

At the sharp rap on the door, he stilled, his
eyes darting to Frohike.  His friend held up a
quieting hand and moved to the door, where he
barked, "Who is it?"

"Samson and Fitzgerald," came the reply.  In
moments, they were ushered in by Frohike, and
stood shivering in the middle of the room. 
Langly's lips were slightly blue, and he
muttered, "It's snowing."

Byers' face was pale.  "Unexpected development,
gentlemen."  His statement had nothing to do
with snow, that much was evident.

"What?"  Gabriel didn't like the sound of that,
nor the way Byers looked as if he wasn't sure
what type of reaction his news would bring.

"We can't be sure, but it looks as if the train
will be departing sooner rather than later."

"But Julia said tomorrow morning," Frohike said,
cutting off Gabriel's expletive.

"Before we left the depot - which was about
twenty minutes ago - it looked as though they
were gearing up to leave."

Moving closer, Gabriel asked softly, "Any
passengers arrive yet?" He narrowed his gaze on
the frozen men, feeling a lump of apprehension
bulge up his throat.

"Not as of twenty minutes ago.  But the work
crews left and company guards moved in.  Every
light, every bell and whistle - all on.  Even
the engine was fired up."

"Shit."  Gabriel swore, turning to don his
boots.  He had to do something; they weren't
prepared yet, and they needed at least a couple
hours head start.

"Where the hell are you going?"

Gabriel didn't spare Frohike a glance, picking
up the bag to rummage through its contents. 
"You boys get out of town and up to Cheyenne." 
He paused, lifting steely eyes to his friend
before donning the heavy black coat he found
draped over the end of the cot.

"Hey - that's mine," Frohike protested, then
seeing Gabriel's ignorance of his whine, added
angrily, "And just how the hell are you going to
get up to Canada? *If* you even manage to
disable the train without getting caught?"

"You got the knife in here?"  He knew he'd seen
one earlier, but he had an awful feeling Frohike
had hidden the damn thing, knowing Gabriel's
propensity for rushing headlong into trouble. 
Damn it, he shouldn't have left the cabin at
all.  But then, he wouldn't have known about the
upcoming trip to Montana, either.  Too late for
second-guessing.  "Give me the God damned
knife," he snarled, fisting the bag in his hand
as he pierced Frohike with a furious stare.

As he returned Gabriel's impatient look with one
of his own, he reached into his boot.  Handle
first, he handed the knife to Gabriel.  "You
know she's going to kill us if you're not there
when we meet the train."

Gabriel slipped the knife into his belt and
paused, his anger fading.  "But I *will* be
there," he said evenly, the idea that had been
taking shape in the back of his mind the last
few moments now fully realized.  He dropped the
bag, daring them with his eyes to try and stop
him.

Frohike's eyes widened and he stepped forward,
muscling his way past the other two, who'd
timidly backed off at the sight of Gabriel's
ire.  "You can't do it, man.  Don't do this."

Quiet resolution colored his voice as he grabbed
the doorknob.  "When that train leaves, I'm
already gonna be on it."  He never should have
left her on the mountain.  It was time to
rectify that mistake.

A firm hand stopped his flight.  "She wouldn't
want you to do this, Mulder."

"I can't let her get on that train alone,
Frohike.  If things... go badly," he faltered,
"then we won't make it out.  And I'm not going
to spend another day without her."

"All we have to do is stop the train.  We can do
this, Mulder," Frohike persisted.

"You don't have enough time to get ahead of
them, especially with this snow.  Unless I do
something to slow them down."  Exactly how he
was going to accomplish that, he didn't know. 
But he damned well wasn't letting her go without
him; if the Gunmen never showed, he'd think of
something.  Or die in the attempt.  She would no
longer live under his father's thumb, he'd see
to it.  Take care of the problem at its source,
that was the way to go.

And if she had to make it from here on alone,
then so be it.

"Mulder -"

"No, Frohike." His adamant statement put an end
to his friend's protest as he turned the
doorknob. "The ultimate goal is to get her out
alive, you understand?  I'll take care of that
son-of-a-bitch."  Even if it means my death, he
added silently.

It was heard by all, however, and they hung
their heads, a cloak of doom settling over the
room.

"Just do me a favor, okay?"

Frohike lifted sad eyes.  "Anything."

"If she insists on naming the kid after me, make
sure it's Gabriel, not Fox."  With that, he was
gone.


6:05 p.m.


By the time he'd made it to the train station,
the snow flurries had multiplied to an almost
blinding shower.  Soft, plump, wet flakes that
thankfully didn't sting his cheeks.  But his
gloveless hands were definitely feeling the bite
of the cold; Frohike's coat, while offering more
warmth than he had before, was woefully
inadequate in the sleeves.  His hands and wrists
stuck out.  He ignored their numbness and
stuffed them into the coat pockets, slinking
along the outside wall of the station in the
approaching darkness of the night.  The clouds
were heavy and the wind bit at this cheeks.  It
wasn't pleasant by any means, but he was
thankful for the inclement weather.  Visibility
was poor and the clouds helped usher in the
night, concealing his stealthy approach.

He hadn't encountered any goons with guns along
the now mostly deserted streets, though he
didn't really expect to.  If the boss was a
smart man - and he had to give it to him,
'smart' didn't begin to explain how he was still
alive - he'd have gathered his forces close.  As
he approached the train, he could see the glow
of lights, more numerous than ever, eerily
bouncing light off the snow that was beginning
to come down harder.  Yes, the train was
preparing for the trip, all lit up like a
Christmas tree.  The ominous hum of the
locomotive filled his ears; as he peeked around
the corner of the building, he saw the moist fog
of engine exhaust billow onto the platform.

Like the night before, he crouched low,
carefully moving the knife into the ankle of his
boot, then hiding it with the cuff of his jeans. 
He pulled the collar of the coat up around his
stubbled cheeks and waited, watching the two
guards who patrolled the platform make their
rounds.  He figured there were others on the
opposite side, and at least one inside each of
the four passenger cars.  Now was the time to
sneak on, before the passengers arrived. 
Picking his way around the crates stacked on the
platform, he edged closer.

Only to be stopped cold at the sound of several
vehicles approaching.  He swore under his
breath, knowing there was no way he was getting
on the train now.  Not before it started moving,
anyway.

He peered down the tracks; even with the blowing
snow, he could see an overpass about two hundred
yards away.  Hell, he'd done it before, he could
do it again.  Backing up, he slowly made his way
to the side of the depot once again, where he
paused to watch the passengers get out of the
trucks.

Guards.  Lots of guards, hovering around the few
civilians with guns and wary, defensive
postures.  Gabriel picked out Jesse instantly; 
he was a head taller than anyone else, and
still, he puffed on a cigar like he owned
everything around him.  Grinning, he muscled his
way through the protection with a snort and
boarded the car directly behind the locomotive. 
The lights within shined through the fall of
snow and Gabriel could easily see through its
curtained windows.  It was lavishly decorated,
with cushioned couches and a bar at one end,
which Jesse made for immediately.

Jesse didn't hold his interest for very long. 
Another Humvee came to a halt behind Jesse's and
Gabriel held his breath at the sight of a small
figure that emerged from its black depths.  She
blended in with the night most effectively, her
cloak swirling in the wind as she tried to hold
it closer.  In profile, her hood hid her face,
but he could see the agitated puffs of steam
from her warm breath float up into the sky.  She
kept her chin lowered as she paused.

Her husband.  Gabriel clenched his teeth as he
watched a man get out of the vehicle to stand
behind her, bundled up as she was against the
cold.  She stiffened when he placed his right
hand on her back; he didn't push her, however,
just let it fall away as she moved toward the
train.  Her escort guided her to the last car
and watched her climb in, then he moved to join
Jesse in the club car.  Corridor lights lit her
movement through the hallway on the side of the
car.  She disappeared into the last door, the
one closest to the tail end of the train.

Good, he thought.  Take care of the guards,
unhitch the car.  Besides giving them some
privacy for a while, it would take some time to
back the train up and fix that broken coupling. 
And it *would* be broken, he'd see to it.

As the last vehicle pulled up, he decided it was
time to leave.  Before inching away, he saw the
back of the newly arrived truck open; several
men offloaded a stretcher.  Matthew.  He felt
sorry for the kid, really.  He was a likeable
boy and didn't deserve to be raised by that
bastard.  But Gabriel didn't let sympathy cloud
his judgment... Julia was uppermost in his mind. 
He felt no real attachment to the boy, however
sick he might be.

The train had two more cars between the club car
and Julia's.  Gabriel figured that's where
Grandpa and Matthew would be making the trip. 
He was proven right when he saw the entourage
make for the second-to-last car, carefully
carrying the stretcher amidst muffled commands
from a bundled-up, bespeckled man.  The doctor,
obviously, though any defining features were
lost in the fall of snow.  No sign of Grandpa
yet, but Gabriel saw the lights of another
vehicle approach and he knew it was time to go. 
He didn't need to see Grandpa to know who he was
up against.

Not wanting to waste another moment, he left the
station, making his way down the street to the
overpass.  Hopefully, he figured the train
wouldn't have picked up too much speed in so
little time.  He didn't have long to wait; maybe
five minutes passed as he shivered on the road
above the tracks until he heard the train's
whistle signal its departure.

Before long, it lumbered below him, slowly
making its way out of Denver.  As the roof of
the last car approached, he took a deep breath
and jumped.



End Chapter Eighteen

Gabriel
Chapter Nineteen


En route to Helena
September 24, 2001
6:25 p.m.


He hit the roof of the car with a dull thud and
immediately began sliding around on its snowy
surface as the train picked up speed.  Muttering
a muffled, "Shit!" he flailed, his numb fingers
searching for purchase as he spread-eagled his
body.  The train's forward motion worked against
him and he began to move backward on the roof of
the car, moments away from falling off the end. 
At last, he felt something sticking up from the
metal and he grabbed hold, wincing at the pull
on his shoulder.  It took some effort, but he
brought his other hand up, reinforcing the clamp
on what he now knew was an antenna.  Dropping
his head against the biting wind, he said a
quick, silent thanks for the skinny piece of
modern technology, hoping it continued to hold
out against his dragging weight.

By the time his heart rate had settled down and
he was able to squint against the blowing snow,
he saw the train had left the outskirts of the
city.  Not that he could see anything, really. 
Other than the black walls of trees to either
side of the tracks.  But it was what he couldn't
see that told the tale - lights.  No more city
lights.  He estimated they were now moving at
about forty miles per hour; not as fast as these
trains normally moved, but prudent, given the
weather.

Squirming, he swung his legs around and faced
the back end of the car, still hanging on for
dear life.  Relief made his frozen face crack
into a pseudo-grin when he saw he was only a few
feet from the back edge.  Easy to drop onto the
platform below.

Except for one thing.  As he peered over the
edge, he saw the unmistakable glow of a
cigarette.  Damn.  He should have known they'd
post a guard at the back of the train.  Though
the man looked like he'd much rather be inside,
dancing from one foot to the other as he stood
huddled in the wind, his rifle slung over his
back.

Gabriel's hands were almost frozen to the
antenna and he knew they weren't going to be
much good, but he also knew he couldn't stay
where he was, either.  Taking the man out was
risky; besides the chance of discovery should
his battered body fail him in the attempt, there
was bound to be someone checking on the guard
now and then.  He didn't want to arouse
suspicion by tossing the man over the side. 
They wouldn't stop the train for such an
insignificant menial, anyway.  But they would
conduct a thorough search for possible foul play
involved and he needed time to pass before he
made his presence known.

It seemed the gods were smiling upon him... the
guard took a quick look inside, then reached in
his coat.  He stumbled back, bringing a flask to
his lips.  It suddenly occurred to Gabriel that
the guard's swaying wasn't due to the train's
movement, nor was it an attempt to stay warm. 
The man appeared to be well on his way to
drunkenness, slumping on the stool by the
railing as he downed the rest of the liquor.  He
threw the flask over the side and crossed his
arms, settling in for the ride.  It took only a
few minutes before his head lolled to and fro; 
he was lost to sleep.

His chance upon him, he hoped he had enough
feeling left in his frozen body to ease down to
the platform.  Taking a deep, bracing breath, he
scissored his legs and let himself slide over
the edge, not knowing where he was going to
land.  He hung like a rag doll in the wind for a
second or two, constantly looking at the guard
for any sign of discovery.  But there was none; 
even above the roar of the train he could hear a
heavy snore flooding from the man's open mouth.

As Gabriel's boots finally touched the platform,
he grimaced, biting back a bellow of pain. 
Hundreds of tiny needles shot up his legs and he
swayed, grabbing onto the railing as the tracks
below wavered under his queasy gaze.  Quickly
glancing at the passed-out guard, he held his
breath as the man stirred, but didn't open his
eyes.  Hurry, he told himself.  No time to waste
in getting inside.

Fighting the cold and his lethargic limbs, he
turned, taking the door handle with numb
fingers.  It slid easily and he crept in,
narrowing his eyes against the bright lights of
the corridor.  Blessed warmth hit him in the
face and he forced his legs to carry him the few
steps to Julia's door.   Glancing down the hall
with panic, he heard the flush of a toilet
coming from the front of the car.  But her door
was locked; quickly but softly, he knocked,
praying she'd open the door in time.

"Who is it?"

Unbidden, it rose from his lips. "Mu -" But he
stopped just short, instead offering with a
shivering murmur, "Gabriel.  Or Moe.  Or Marty,
or whoever -" Please open up, Scully, he begged
silently.

His words died a swift death as he found himself
pulled into the room.  The lock clicked behind
him and a human ball of scented warmth
surrounded him, squeezing tight.

"Gabriel - oh, Gabriel."  Her voice was choked
with tears.  "The guard outside..."

He fell back against the door and gently
enfolded her into his embrace, rubbing his cheek
over the crown of ribboned hair.  "Shh... it's
okay.  He didn't see me."

Her arms clutched at him with desperate relief.
"When they came and told me we were leaving
tonight," she hiccuped, burying her nose into
his chest, "God, I never thought I'd see you
again."

Her fright was palpable in the shaky words. 
Shivering like he was, though not from cold, she
held on for dear life, as if she thought he'd
disappear.  "It's okay, Julia." He pulled away,
dropping a kiss on her brow.  "You aren't going
anywhere without me."

Lifting her damp face to his, confusion clouded
her eyes.  "But how did you know?"

He smiled, brushing away the last of her tears
with his reddened hand.  "The Colonel has his
ways."

She nodded, complete trust shining in her gaze. 
"I should have known. Is he responsible for this
too?" Her fingers pulled at the pitifully short
sleeves.  Bringing one hand up, she lightly
touched his cheek.  "Your beard is growing
back," she said absently, then worry creased her
forehead.  "And you're cold.  Come, sit over
here by the heater."

As she pulled off his coat, Gabriel surveyed the
room.  It was bigger than the normal passenger
drawing room, twice the size or more.  With a
small bed at one end, a couch and low table at
the other, it was made for comfortable travel
and isolation.  A door to the left of the bed
most likely led to a tiny bathroom.  The whole
compartment was decorated with tapestry rugs and
soft, indirect lighting, and a built-in, small
electric heater glowed in the wall by the couch. 
It looked as though Grandpa had spared no
expense on his personal mode of transport.

The rush of adrenaline had not faded, and he
found he couldn't sit, instead standing before
the heater in an effort to warm up as she sat on
the couch.  "You okay?" he asked, watching her
lay his coat tenderly beside her.

"Now I am," she said softly, giving him a look
that helped warm him more than the orange glow
that crept up his back.

For a few moments, he let his gaze wander over
her.  The cloak had hidden her garb from him at
the depot, and he was gratified to see she'd
dressed sensibly for the trip.  Covered in a
bulky, deep green sweater and matching knit
pants, her small black boots laced up tight, she
looked like a Colorado native on her way up the
mountain for a ski trip.  He was glad she wasn't
in one of those thin dresses; her clothes would
definitely help keep her warm once they left the
train behind for good.  Even more exhilarating
was the cross that laid upon the shiny velour,
nestled above her breasts in familiar, happy
repose.

Noticing his pleased gaze, she let her fingers
come up to touch it.  "I told him I wanted it
back, that it was mine."  Standing, she crossed
over to him, unfastening it.  "But it isn't -
it's yours."

"Julia, no."  He tried to stop her; it wasn't
his, not really.  He'd been gifted with it long
ago, but it had always been hers, would always
be.  He longed to tell her that its rightful
place was with her, but that would involve an
explanation he wasn't prepared to give.

His body reacted to her proximity, stiffening in
spite of the thaw of skin and bone.  She didn't
relent, her hands coming up around his neck with
the chain.  "It looks better on you, anyway."

And it felt wonderful; he nodded, unable to give
voice to just how much it meant to them both. 
How much he loved her, needed her.  But she
knew, mirroring his bright gaze with one of her
own, a small smile gracing her lips.  A sudden
lurch of the train threw her into him, and her
hands fisted in his denim shirt as his grabbed
her waist.  Her eyes darkened, but her voice was
calm as she gave him the means to move past his
emotional pause.  "What's the plan?"

"Huh?"  What the hell was she talking about? 
God, he thought, she felt good.  All round and
covered with warm green that felt like silk
under his calloused hands.

"The plan, Modell."

"Modell?"  Jesus, even the name had the power to
scare the shit out of him.  Still, though it had
been years since their encounter with that
smooth monster.

Apparently, she felt his heart speed up under
her fingertips and she said, "Relax, Gabriel. 
Just fishing."

It still amazed him that the little tidbits
continued to make their way out of her
subconscious mind and he chuckled, "Definitely
not Modell.  What the hell kind of name is that,
anyway?"  He knew damn well it wasn't a name
*he'd* ever consider taking for himself, but he
didn't want her to see the memory of that case
in his face.

"A last name."  Her probing gaze was steady. 
"After all, Scully is a last name, isn't it?  It
occurred to me today that last names could have
been the norm, don't you agree?"  She dropped
her eyes to his mouth and licked her lips.

Great.  Inch by inch, she was getting closer to
the truth about him and he was powerless to stop
it.  A diversion was needed, and fast.

"The Colonel and his men are going to hijack the
train."

It was her turn to say, "Huh?"

"The plan, remember?"

"Oh yeah, right."  Clearing her throat, she
stepped away and he inwardly bemoaned the loss
of her in his hands.  "Hijack the train? 
Where?"

"Somewhere between Cheyenne and Helena."  He
smiled, knowing she was just as affected by him
as he was by her.  "We can take it up into
Canada.  Into friendly territory."  Lots of time
to explain later about the safe harbor Skinner
had hewn out in British Columbia.

When she reached the bed she turned, worry
etched upon her face.  "But what about Matthew?"

"What about him?"  He knew where she was going,
but he couldn't let sympathy for the boy get in
the way of their escape.

"We're going to Helena because Mr. Spencer has
found a doctor there who says he can cure him. 
Gabriel, we can't let him die."

Damn it, he knew she wouldn't want to leave the
boy behind to die.  "Julia, I feel sorry for
Matthew, really."  He followed her retreat, his
feet bringing him to stand before her as he let
his hands settle on her shoulders.  "But this is
our chance to escape."

"Escape?  You make it sound like I'm being held
prisoner, Gabriel.  I can leave any time I
want."

"Can you?" he pressed, knowing the path he was
taking was dangerous, but necessary.  "Julia,
did you tell Mr. Spencer you wanted to stay at
the Ranch, to not go on this trip?"

"Yes, but he insisted Matthew needed me.  He
said Matthew was scared and needed a friend for
the journey."

"Julia, Matthew is an innocent, caught in the
middle of this.  But Mr. Spencer is not the
benevolent soul he's made himself out to be."

It was inevitable, her, "How do you know this?"

"A husband?" he pointed out with a subtle sneer.
"Julia, I know damn well you don't have a
husband."

"That doesn't mean Mr. Spencer had anything to
do with his arrival. *He* gives me the creeps,
not Mr. Spencer."

"Julia, you know I can't explain all this right
now.  You just have to trust me on it, okay?" 
He drew her close; thankfully, her resistance to
his plan did not extend itself to his bodily
invasion, as she let herself sink into his
embrace.  "I'm sorry about Matthew, really.  But
if we let this train make it undisturbed to
Helena, there will be too many of Spencer's
guards around for us to get away easily."  A
little white lie followed, one he knew she'd not
question.  "The company is still looking for me. 
We have to get away as fast as we can.  You
understand, don't you?"

She plucked at the back of his shirt, regret
coloring her muffled voice.  "Yes.  Doesn't mean
I have to like the results of our plan, as far
as Matthew's concerned."

"We'll have a truck nearby.  Won't get them
there as fast as the train, but it'll get them
there, okay?"  Sans the old man, he added
silently.  No way was he letting that bastard
get off this time.

She sighed.  "I guess that'll have to do."

There was one thing he needed to do, something
he dreaded telling her.  Fact was, he wasn't
going to tell her.  Not everything, anyway.  But
he had to slow the train down, and it was sure
to get him captured in the end.  She wasn't
going to like it, but he had to rely on Frohike
to get them both out when the time came.

Not yet, though.  They were still too close to
Denver.  Another hour or two and they would be a
good hundred miles down the track.  Well enough
away from reinforcements.

He dropped his mouth to her ear, giving it a
playful nip.  "Got anything to eat in here?"

Her mood lightened instantly, as she shook in
his arms, laughter warming his chest.  "Besides
my ear lobe?"

"Mmm... on second thought..." He caught the
tender flesh between his teeth.  "This might
do."

Julia shoved him away and flashed him a
chastising look as she moved to the door.  "I
told them I wasn't feeling well enough to dine
with them, but I can get something sent back
here."  Her thumb hovered over the intercom
button.  "You're staying, aren't you?"  The look
in her eyes was hopeful and warm, tinged with a
subtle hint of desire.

God, he knew he had to kill some time, but would
he be able to resist the invitation he knew
would come?  It was foolish to succumb to the
siren call of her body, especially in the middle
of enemy territory, so to speak.  But he
couldn't deny he wanted it, just as she did. 
Hot food, the rolling lull of the train, the
slumberous pull of her mouth and eyes... it was
impossible to deny himself.

"Will they leave you alone?"  His question was
husky and hopeful as he swallowed hard in the
face of her beauty.  She knew as well as he did
that there was a good chance this plan may never
come to fruition.  That he'd get caught on this
train and imprisoned like a criminal; they'd be
separated forever.  And God help him, he wanted
to spend time with her before all hell broke
loose.  He hadn't come here for this, but damned
if he was going to deny himself - and her - the
possible last chance for intimacy.

"I'll tell the servant I'm turning in for the
night.  As long as I show up for breakfast, they
won't disturb me."

He felt like he'd been handed an unexpected
gift.  With a pleased lift of his lips, he
walked to the bathroom door, throwing over his
shoulder, "Then tell them to make sure it's hot,
whatever it is.  Soup would be nice... I think
my toes are frozen."

As he sought his hiding place, he heard her
murmur, "Not for long... Michaud."

Pausing, he stuck his face through the crack of
the bathroom door and met her inquisitive eyes
with a regretful shake of his head.

"Too French?"  At his nod, she sighed and turned
back to the intercom, pushing the buzzer with
frustration.  "I should know better - you can't
possibly be French."

"I can when I want to be," he whispered with a
leer, closing the door on her blush as the
intercom burst to life.

"Miss, can I get something for you?  Miss? 
Hello?"


**********


7:45 p.m.


The last of his dinner was swallowed down with
the remains of his finally cooled tea.  With a
grimace, he set his cup down on the coffee table
pulled the knife from his boot, placing it
beside the cup.  Ignoring her raised brow at the
sight of the weapon, he kicked off his boots and
leaned back on the couch, propping his feet. 
Toes wriggling in his socks, he looked up to
meet her somnolent gaze.  "Next time, make it
iced tea, okay?" he poked playfully, admiring
the way she lounged crossways the bed on the
other side of the semi-dark room.  Julia had
doused the overhead lights, leaving a single
lamp burning by the bed.  The night passed
through the windows, peppered with white
snowflakes, the only sound the hum of the
train's wheels beneath them.

Head propped in one hand, she'd watched him eat,
refusing to share in the repast when it had been
delivered, saying, "I don't think my stomach can
take the food.  This movement is not setting
well with junior here."  When he'd approached
her with concern, she'd waved him off.  "He's
just a bit excited, that's all.  I fear the
chili would explode above his bouncing - and I
don't feel like being sick.  I'd rather wait for
dessert."  She'd kicked off her boots and
winked, climbing onto the bed like Cleopatra on
her barge, lazily drifting down the Nile amidst
luxury.

Now, as one hand pulled at her braided hair, she
murmured, "I like my tea hot... I like a lot of
things hot.  At least I think I do."

Admittedly, she looked very much at home in
their opulent surroundings, her pale skin and
loosened hair reminiscent of a pre-Raphaelite
femme fatale.  Yes, his thoughts were definitely
beginning to wander into 'French' territory.

She shook her hair free, then tied it loosely at
the neck with the ribbon before grabbing a
pillow from behind her.  She laid her cheek upon
it with a purr of contentment.  "Gabriel?"

He slid into a slump, his hands coming together
atop his pleasantly full belly.  "Yeah?"

Her face mostly hidden in the shadows of the
back-lighting, he couldn't tell if she was
tiring.  Though her voice was soft as she asked,
"You knew me before, didn't you?"

He'd already said so, with his agonized
confession that she was Scully back at the
cabin.  But he knew what she was asking was
different; she wanted confirmation that they had
been more than just friends.  The baby was
hopeful proof in her mind, as well as their
stolen hours just last night.  What else did she
need?  "Julia."  It was a warning, albeit a very
weak one.

"Just say yes or no."

He looked down at his clasped hands, away from
the pull of her voice.  "Yes."

Long moments passed as he waited for the obvious
question to come next.  Should he tell her his
name?  Would it be the trigger that would set
off another seizure?  Resolute, he clamped his
jaw over the name.  No way was he taking that
chance.

"Give me something."

The tender plea brought his head up with
surprise; it wasn't what he'd expected.  "What
do you mean?"

"Give me a memory.  It doesn't have to be
detailed - I know you're wary of my reaction. 
Just give me something of *us.*" She paused in
the face of his hesitation, then began to pursue
with innocent questions.  "When we first met...
tell me.  Please?"

Squirming just a bit, he considered lying, then
thought better of it, deciding instead to be
vague.  At least she hadn't asked about the
first time they'd made love.  What a disaster
that had been, for her, anyway.  "You had on
this horrible plaid jacket and I had on
glasses."  That he had to remove so he could get
a better look at the little spy invading his
lair.  So young, so... pretty, even in that
awful suit.  So dedicated and honest.

From where he was seated, he almost missed the
way her mouth dropped open.  "We were geeks?"

Julia... Scully.  Whoever she was now, whoever
she finally evolved into, he liked this side of
her.  For years, her smiles had been fleeting; 
around him, anyway.  She'd been compassionate
and dedicated, willing to play now and then, but
never fully receptive - she always kept a part
of herself in check.  Had she ever been this
open, this easy in word and manner?  He had a
sinking feeling that she had been, before she'd
been assigned to him.  He'd seen flashes of it
their first few months together, but they'd
quickly faded as she'd built a wall of
protection around herself.  Against the horrors
of the job, the manipulations of the men behind
the scenes... even against him, and what she
wrote off as harmless flirtation.

He liked this Scully.  Of course, he liked the
old Scully, too.  And he wanted her back.  But
he dearly hoped she'd retain some of Julia's
happiness and carefree, loving nature.

"Gabriel, please tell me we weren't geeks."  She
was appalled, and he couldn't help the chuckle
that rumbled from him.

"No... well, yeah, I guess you could say that." 
By today's standards, they'd been the most
horrid dressers - he still cringed when he
thought of that sportscoat he'd worn to Oregon. 
Even the well-worn denim attire he walked around
in these days was more attractive than that
reject from J.C. Penney.  "But the room was
dark, so it didn't matter."

Her lips curled into a flirting smile.  "Two
strangers whose eyes met across a dim, smoke-
filled room?"

Considering the hand his father had most
probably played in their partnership, he nodded,
knowing even then the basement had been tainted
with imaginary cigarette smoke.  "You introduced
yourself, I shook your hand."

"Then you bought me a drink...?"

He moved in for the kill, now enjoying their
play.  "Actually, we bypassed the obligatory
drink and I showed you my etchings."

"What?!"  She rose to one elbow, aghast at his
implication.  "You're kidding me."

"Nope.  Very provocative pictures, really." 
Arms crossed, he brought to mind the first of
many slideshows, titillating her mind and
peaking her curiosity.  He congratulated himself
on the right approach back then; she stayed
because she was just as interested in the
unexplainable, though for different reasons. 
His wicked grin slashed above his stubbled jaw. 
"You threw yourself at my head, Julia.  Dropped
your clothes before me like you'd known me
forever."  In a hotel room in Oregon, afraid the
bites on her back were more than just hungry
mosquitoes in search of a sweet snack.

"You're not serious."  Her denial was a thready
whisper and she sat up, looking away.  "No
wonder I've forgotten my life.  I was a slut...
God, is that why I'm pregnant?  Did I ever use
birth control?"

Playing was one thing, but her mind was racing
out of control.  He stood, running into the
coffee table in his haste to get to her. 
Cursing under his breath, he gasped, "Julia,
no."

"If I slept with you on our first date..." Her
conclusions escalated rapidly, as did the tone
of her voice, the words choking from her lips. 
"You say I have no husband."  Frightened eyes
lifted at his approach.  "What if I do?  What if
I'm just a whore who decided she wanted someone
new?  This baby could belong to *anyone*."

Finally, he reached the bed, dropping to one
knee on the coverlet as he loomed over her,
putting a stilling hand on her cheek.  "Julia,
you are *not* a whore.  You have no husband, and
that baby is mine.  Damn it, we knew each other
for eight fucking years before I even kissed
you!"

Astonishment blossomed on her face, now inches
from his own.  "Eight years?  I mean - look at
you.  Look at *me*.  Was I blind?  Were *you*
blind?"

For a woman with no memory, she sometimes made
perfect retro-sense.  "No, just very
professional."  He ran his thumb over her
flaming cheek and smiled.

Sighing, she pursed her lips.  "Then I wasn't a
whore."

"Right."

"I was a prostitute.  And you were the cop on
the beat who felt sorry for me."

"No!  Damn it, Julia -" He broke off, noticing
the mirth she could no longer hide.  Despite his
waning anger, he decided he liked her very much,
indeed.  "Witch."

Bringing a hand around his neck, she pressed her
mouth to his chin.  "You're a bad liar, you know
that?"  Her lips wandered down his neck as he
planted his hands on the bed to either side of
her, stretching above her like a satisfied tiger
under her petting.  "Etchings?  I'm the artist,
remember?  And eight years?  Who would ever
believe we kept our hands off of each other for
eight years?  Gimme a break, Slick."

Groaning, he was careful not to put his full
weight on her as he followed her fall to the
bed.  This time, it was her slender throat that
enjoyed the nip of his kisses.  "That part is
true, you know," he muttered against her skin. 
"Eight long, frustrating, years where I took a
lot of cold showers and gave my right hand lots
of exercise."

"Amazing," she breathed, her hands moving to the
buttons on his shirt.  "Maleeni?"

Stilling, his mind insisted he ask, "Julia, are
you *sure* you can't remember anything but the
vaguest details?"

Giving his ear a shiver-inducing swipe with her
tongue, she whispered, "Are you sure you're not
French?"

Snickering silently, he pulled away, arching his
brow with a leer.  "Little girl," he purred,
affecting his best French accent, "want to see
me pull a lapin out of my chapeau?"

"Your French is horrible, Bullwinkle."

"How do *you* know, Rocky?  Besides, that's not
my best French.  This is."  He lowered his lips
to hers.

Her squirrely whine tickled his lips.  "Again?" 
As his tongue darted out to wet her soft, dry
lips, her voice became low, throaty, and
demanding.  "Again."



End Chapter Nineteen

Gabriel
Chapter Twenty


En route to Helena
September 24, 2001
8:13 p.m.


"Gabriel, make love to me."

Her pleading whisper and the brush of her tongue
over his lips made him shiver.  This was not
what he intended when he started this game of
'Remember When'.

"Julia, it's not a good idea."  It almost hurt
to say it.  He began to pull away, but she held
fast, her fingers clutching his half-open shirt
like talons.

"A locked train car, a snowy night, a nice trip
through the forest."  Seductive eyes of blue
flame challenged him, drew him in with a
magnetism he'd not seen in months.  He used to
be the tempter, enticing her with the lure of
mystery, giving her tidbits of information
designed to pull her onto a case despite her
skeptical misgivings.  Now, she unknowingly
ricocheted his words to him, though with
decidedly more amorous intentions.  "We won't
get caught, I promise."

Wrong, *wrong* - but he found himself saying it
anyway, opening the door just a crack.  "Are you
sure?"

"Everyone's either sleeping or eating.  I told
the servant when he delivered my dinner that I
didn't want to be disturbed for the rest of the
evening.  Satisfied?"

They shouldn't be doing this, his rational mind
screamed.  The plan... the plan should take
precedence over the pleasures of the flesh.  But
his skin, his hands, his heart - they all ganged
up on his brain and tamped down his fleeting
reason with one sure fact: they weren't far
enough away from Denver yet.  And she was in his
arms, moaning encouragement in his ear, speaking
to him with her hands and lips of her love and
desire.

Time.  Yes, he had hours to kill.  And while not
the safest course, he couldn't deny that
spending them in the soft haven of her body was
a boon impossible to refuse.  Combined with the
thrill of stolen sex beneath the very nose of
the man he'd vowed to destroy, it made their
tryst doubly meaningful, as if loving her on
this train signified a new phase of their
journey to freedom.

This time, when he pulled away, it was with a
burning, devouring gaze.  She saw it instantly,
and let him stand, following him to sway
slightly by the bed.  Her hands trailed down his
chest to loose the remaining buttons.  "Our
first date?"

Coquettish eyes and sly, soft words accompanied
the opening of his shirt.  His hands were busy
too, lifting the sweater.  "First date, huh? 
Let's see..."  She raised her arms to help him
out, a small, enigmatic smile disappearing under
the green fabric.  "I offered to buy you a
drink, you refused."  Of course, it *was* mid-
afternoon and unbeknownst to him, the first of
several shadowy informants awaited him in the
men's restroom.

"I did?"  She blew the wispy tendrils of hair
from her eyes as her sweater fell to the floor. 
Her camisole clung to her breasts like a second
skin and he sucked in a shaky breath at the hint
of a dusky nipple through the white satin.  "I
was a smart girl."

His eyes flew up at her statement, crinkling at
the corners as he caught her self-assured smirk. 
"Einstein had *nothing* on you, Julia."

"Hmm... I knew it."  Reaching for the belt of
his pants, she quickly freed him from the
restricting denim amidst his hiss, her hand
teasing inside.  "I must have been pretty smart
to stay with you, right?"

His mood darkened just a bit; for years, she'd
assured him she was her own person, able to walk
away if she chose.  Time and again, she'd
stayed, against the protests of family and the
machinations of men with too much power and so
little human compassion.  Even he himself tied
this wonderful woman to him with enticements of
intelligent conversation and occasional peeks
into his depth of feeling for her.

Clearing his throat, he forced light back into
the dark regrets that threatened to overtake his
mind.  No more.  From this moment on, they would
embrace each other as they'd embraced the work -
fully, with an eye toward their future.  "Nah. 
You stayed with me because I stole your car
keys."  Which was true, at least on one lonely
Christmas Eve.

"Hmm... I see.  You make a habit of theft, do
you?"

"Only when it's something worth stealing.  Like
your time."

The soft laughter that bubbled from her lips was
smothered by his mouth.  Enough talk.  Pretty
soon he'd be wallowing in his share of guilt
over her stolen memories and he wanted no more
of it.  He hurried with the rest of her clothes
in between soft, enveloping kisses and clinging,
greedy fingers, throwing back the coverlet and
sheet to burrow into the softness of the bed and
the heat of her body.  Despite the locked door,
he didn't feel secure enough to abandon himself
to total nudity.  It was best he keep his
clothes *and* his wits about him.  Sensing his
leftover worry she said nothing, just laid back
and pulled his jeans low on his hips, freeing
his erection.  It was enough and his arms shook
with anticipation as he lowered his torso, his
shirt tenting around her trembling form.

As he slid his naked skin over hers, he hissed
at the burst of triumph that took his breath
away.  In the next instant, he forced himself to
slow down.   Good intentions aside, as he
trailed wet kisses over her stomach, dim
thoughts of failure crossed his mind.  What if
the plan didn't work?  If she was forever lost
to him... it made him savor the taste of her in
what could be their last time together.

He wished he could cover her body completely,
could push into her as he watched her slide into
oblivion beneath his touch.  But for now, it was
not to be, and he pushed up on his hands and
knees, the command issued in a rasping voice.

"Turn over."

Without a word, she did as he asked, and he
shifted, watching as she slowly gave him the
strong, supple line of her back, her feet
curling around the backs of his knees like two
serpents.  He brought nervous hands to the
smooth perfection of her ass, rewarded with a
soft hitch of breath that accompanied the way
her hips rocked into his touch.  A gentle
squeeze of his fingers over the white
smoothness, then he stretched his body over her,
sliding his hands up her back and down her arms
to coax her from her grip of the pillows.

Chin resting on her shoulder, he closed his
eyes, fighting the pure jolt of animalistic
greed that tempted him into burying himself in
her immediately.  Rubbing his chest over her
back, he took a deep breath, smelling his sweat
and her clean scent mix in the heat of the room. 
It was almost his undoing, but he relaxed over
her, bringing his lips to her ear.  "Let go,
sweetheart," he said, insinuating his fingers
between hers.

Once again she complied, and he guided her hands
to the headboard.  In a second, she'd seen his
purpose, clamping onto the wood, her knuckles
white from expectation.  "Now," she whispered,
the only word from her lips since they'd fallen
to the bed.

Spreading her legs a bit further apart with his
knees, he straightened his back.  Reaching for
his aching member with one hand, he placed the
other on the small of her back, trying to still
the squirming of her hips.  He didn't want to
hurt her, but if her eager search for their
joining went unchecked, he was bound to cause
her some discomfort.

"Julia... keep still.  I don't want to hurt -"

"Gabriel," she whimpered, her head thrown back,
her hair trailing down her shoulder blades in a
fiery beacon that made him want to consume her. 
"Give me more.  Give me my name."

A wave of love pierced him and he bit down on
his lip, afraid of the consequences should he
give in to her demand.  Her name.  Such a simple
request, one easily given.  It wasn't as if she
hadn't heard it from his lips recently - like a
weak fool, he'd lost control only last night. 
Still, he hesitated.

"Please, Gabriel."

In answer, he slowly pushed into her, giving her
some part of what they used to be to one
another.  A distraction, to be sure - one that
made her thighs surge against his as she
countered his move.  He sank deep within,
spreading his fingers over the slender width of
her hips as he sighed with the overwhelming
sensation of fulfillment.  A guttural moan from
her throat reverberated through their joined
bodies... he felt it in his bones, strained
toward it with his first slow, heavy stroke.

The rhythmic rocking of the train spurred him to
faster pumping, but it was with some effort that
he tamped down the urge to rut.  Instead he set
up a steady slide in and out, his hips
culminating each stroke with a frictioned
grinding of his flesh into hers.  He opened his
eyes, staring at the wall before them with the
glazed absence of one who concentrated on
feeling, not seeing.

It wasn't what she asked for, but it was truth
mixed with fantasy, the words that spilled from
him.  Words designed to make her soul sing, her
mind believe.

"Our first dance," he said.  "I held out my hand
and held my breath.  I thought you'd say no." 
Slowly he thrust into her depths, the memory of
swaying with her, the way the world had narrowed
to just the two of them, walking in Memphis...

"I didn't... I wouldn't," she breathed, perfect
in her counterthrusts, urging him on with little
twists of her own.  "More."

God, it was getting difficult to sustain his
rhythm; he was beginning to feel the burn of
overused muscles, especially since his not-so-
nice introduction to the roof of this car.  But
she was nowhere near orgasm.  He'd been with her
enough to know, could feel it not happening. 
And while he wished for nothing more than an
endless hour of lovemaking, it wasn't wise to
linger.  His arms went around her and he sat
back, not breaking their union as he pulled her
away from the headboard to sit upon his lap.

"Oh!"  Her gasp blended with his as he literally
impaled her now, gravity forcing him further
into her slick, hot depths.

His penetration was deeper than it had been the
night before, and he worried it was too much,
growling, "Okay?" as he prepared to pull out
should she protest.

Head lolling against his chest, she let her
hands caress his thighs, her nails scratching
the denim that laid atop the gooseflesh beneath. 
"God, yes.  Go on," she purred.  From his
vantage point at her cheek, he saw her lick her
lips, mouth lax.  "First kiss."

His lips brushed the pulse that thrummed in her
neck.  "New Year's.  2000."  As he pushed up,
the weight of her made his strokes short but
forceful, and she caught her breath.

"E-eight years?"

He didn't waste time by laughing.  "Yep."  One
hand plucked at the pebble of a nipple as the
other drifted over their child, seeking the heat
of their joining.

"Did you..." At the touch of his fingers, she
arched, her vagina tight around his cock.

"Did I what?" he groaned, working her clit now
as he quickened the seesaw of his pelvis.

"Did you love me then?"

Releasing her breast, he cupped her jaw, turning
her head to look into her bright eyes.  "Yes,
Scully," he choked out, leaning in to give her
one kiss after another, his lips branding the
truth on hers with hot, greedy claim and words
of forever.  "I loved you... then and now."

Her hand cupped his face as she shattered around
him, tears mingling with the wet slide of tongue
against tongue.  Salty sweet, he consumed her,
his free hand spreading over her folds to hold
her still as he felt his completion near.  And
it came moments later, his orgasm shooting from
him in powerful, draining spurts.  He didn't
break from the kiss as he stiffened under her,
though his mouth only hovered now, his chest
laboring as he drew cool air in from the minute
space between their lips.

"God, Scully... I love you."  The last tremors
faded as he gave her what he never had before -
sober, honest, commitment.  Hands drifted over
every part of her he could reach in an effort to
reinforce his declaration.  Over the child he
prayed was his... over the fragile skin that
covered an unchanged, brave heart, wrapping his
arms around her until his fingers burrowed into
the soft flesh under her arms....

He stilled, his mushy brain firing as his thumb
glided over a rough patch, a sudden, swift
connection searing him.  She felt his body
tense, noticed his open-mouthed stare. 
"Gabriel?"  Gently, she lifted herself from him. 
Even the last arc of pleasure that knifed up his
gut at the pull of his flesh from hers made no
impact, only a small ripple in a mind alive with
possibility.  Settling on her knees before him,
she cupped his face with her hands, searching
his glassy eyes.  "Gabriel, what is it?"

It was there.  There all along.  Hidden beneath
a natural beauty mark... invading her mind with
insidious purpose.  Unseen, but not impervious
to touch.  Especially by one who had explored
every inch of her body, learned its most minute
differences in skin and texture.

Happiness at his discovery rocked him.  He knew
he was a mess; he could feel his face dissolve
into a thousand riotous cracks of emotion. 
Heavy, silent sobs racked him as he found he
could no longer look her in the eye, his chin
dropping as his hands fell away from her.

"Shh... it's okay."

He sat back on his heels, dimly aware she'd
moved her hands.  His heart mourned the loss of
contact, only to rejoice as she straddled his
lap, her arms going around him.

In a flash, his did the same, viselike as they
grasped her to him, his face falling into the
curve of her neck as his hands wound into her
hair.  "Scu - Scully."  It was all he could say,
all his mind could fashion as he struggled to
regain a modicum of control.  But his body,
needy as ever, tried to chain her to him - and
his heart, that which lived these months with an
aching, hollow existence, pounded with an
anxious plea for her to stay where she was.

He had her back.  For good... as soon as he
plucked that chip from under her arm.

"It's okay.  I'm still here."  Her hands
caressed the back of his neck, soothing the
tight tendons slowly.  "Gabriel, please tell me
what's going on."

Where to start?  One word rose above the
thousands clamoring for release and he wanted to
chance it, so badly he could taste it on his
tongue.   He tried to tell her, but his throat,
hampered by the raw slide of unshed tears,
choked off the name.  "Mu - Mul -"

"It's a good thing I'm not the jealous type."

Soft, snide words came from over his shoulder,
startling them both.  Gabriel turned, hiding her
behind his back as he fought off the blinding
tears and darkness by the door.  Couldn't be. 
No....

His knife, where was his knife?  From the corner
of his eye, Gabriel spied its shiny metal edge
on the coffee table and he cursed himself for
letting down his guard as he fought the
strangling linen around his feet.

Silhouetted in the back-lighting from the hall,
the intruder stood in black relief, his right
hand pocketing the keys that jingled around his
fingers.  "Come to bid my wife a good night and
this is the thanks I get?"

He froze as his feet touched the floor.  He knew
that voice.  Scrambling to pull up his jeans, he
squinted against the bright corridor lights,
disbelief edging his whisper. "Krycek?"

"Oh my God." Behind him, Julia keened with
distress, reaching for the sheet.  "Gabriel -"

"Gabriel?" Krycek's snort was typically cynical. 
"You think you're some kind of angel, Mulder?"

At the name, Julia's fidgeting ceased. 
"Mulder?"

Gabriel turned, fright and an impending sense of
doom making him slow.  "Julia..."

But it was too late.  She swayed, the sheet
clutched to her breast in claw-like fingers. 
"Mulder," she said again, as the blood drained
from her face and her eyes rolled back in her
head.

"No!" Gabriel's anguished cry was lost in the
eerie whine of the train whistle, his hands
inches from her as he crumpled under the blow to
his head.



End Chapter Twenty

Gabriel
Chapter Twenty-One


En route to Helena
September 24, 2001
9:02 p.m.


Swimming up through the red-black waves of
unconsciousness, he first noticed the awful
taste of chili peppers in the back of his
throat.  The hum in his ears and the side-to-
side swaying of his body worked his fragile
equilibrium.  Eyes closed, he jerked his head
up, swallowing hard - he hated to be sick. 
Throwing up only seemed to make him feel worse. 
The smell, the immediate rush of sweat to his
pores, the weakness in his limbs... God he hated
it all, though Scully always told him it would
make him feel better if he just gave into the
nausea.

Scully.  Scully!

This time, he cried out at the piercing white
light that seemed to sear his aching head as his
eyes flew open.  Instantly, he squeezed them
shut, his yell making his head feel like it was
split open with an axe.  But he didn't care,
letting it loose with lightning fury.

"Krycek!  You motherfucker!"

He twisted against the ropes that tied him to
the chair, trying in vain to crack open his eyes
again.  Something sticky clung to his lashes and
the warm iron smell was his undoing as his
stomach heaved.  The cold bite of metal cupped
his chin as his dinner came up in horrid, acid-
laced bursts.

"You always were a pussy, Mulder."

Close enough.  Estimated forty-five degree swing
of his head to the left and...

"Shit!"

Gabriel opened his eyes in time to see Krycek
spring back, dots of tomato-red bile sprinkling
his pants.  He shoved the pail behind him, his
hiss dripping with venom.  "I ought to throw
this shit back in your face."

Gabriel's satisfied grin was cut short at the
approach of a huge shadow.  He jerked, preparing
to be the recipient of another blow, but this
hulk wasn't bent on getting any closer.  It
simply took the pail from Krycek's hand,
grimacing at the smell.  With a snarl, Gabriel
narrowed his eyes, uncaring if he *did* provoke
more violence.  Krycek wasn't the only lying
bastard in the room.  "You want some o'this too,
Jesse?"

"You're a total dick, you know that Gabe?" 
Jesse rolled his cigar between his grin, an
almost admiring glint in his eyes.

"Better than being Krycek's fuck buddy, don'tcha
think?"

Jesse's grin faded as he stepped forward.  "You
little prick -"

"Enough!"  Krycek's command stopped Jesse cold. 
"Take that away and get me a towel.  Now!"

One more menacing look, then Jesse disappeared
into the bathroom.  Silence reigned for a few
seconds as Krycek hovered, his mouth drawn into
a disgusted line as he brushed at his pants. 
Gabriel forced his wavy vision to focus; this
room was very much like Julia's.  Could she be
right next door?  He sighed, his will to fight
gone for a moment as concern for her returned in
a flash.

"Scully?" he whispered, hanging his head.  "Is
she okay?"

The sound of a flushing toilet and running water
almost drowned out Krycek's soft reply.  "I
don't know.  The doctor's in with her now." He
sounded apologetic and Gabriel almost spit at
him; it was Krycek's fault she'd had another
seizure.  Then again, he'd almost made the same
fatal mistake.  Another second and he would have
blurted out 'Mulder' just as Krycek had.

Lifting solemn eyes to the man he hated, he
said, "I want to see her."

A brittle laugh escaped Krycek and his teeth
gleamed white as his bearded face cracked into a
nasty smile.  "You're joking, right?"  Jesse
came back into the room, wet towel in hand. 
Krycek took it from him and wiped off the specks
of vomit, his eyebrow raised in a leer.  "I'd
say you've seen enough of her for one night,
Mulder."

"You -" He strained against his bonds amidst
Krycek's laughter.

"Or maybe we should just stick to Gabriel. 
Seems better for Julia that way.  In fact, I
could guarantee that your *total* cooperation
would benefit her.  Immensely."

*Could* guarantee.  It was obvious Gabriel
wasn't speaking to the man-in-charge, despite
Krycek's threat.  Changing tactics, he homed in
on the reason for this whole mess.  "Where's
your boss?"

"My boss?  I'm my own man, Mulder.  Don't you
know that by now?"

"You sell yourself to the highest bidder,
Krycek.  A whore of the worst kind."  He
realized now there was blood on his forehead; he
blinked away the warm trickle and grimaced.

"Every one is a whore, Mulder.  To money, to
sex, to love... to the truth."  He paused at
Gabriel's sudden silence.  "Even you.  You think
you're some kind of hero.  Jumping this train in
an effort to save her... face it, you don't care
about her.  You never did."

Gabriel's head snapped up, his bloody face
burning.  "That's a lie.  I came here only for
her."

"You came here because she was stolen from you,
like some valued toy.  Because she is part of
that always elusive 'truth' - something you've
wanted, but can never have."

Once upon a time, that may have been true.  He'd
always cared for Scully, but never let himself
give in to it.  The work was more important. 
All the times he'd pushed her to remember the
details of her abduction, prodded her to join
him on one false lead after another... he had
been selfish.  Until the day the aliens came for
him and the bees came for her... and proved to
them both that all they had was each other.  The
truth didn't matter anymore; the world had gone
to hell around them.  Sure, they'd made it out
of the tower alive, and she'd not given up on
the vaccine.  But though he let her fight for
the truth once again, his heart hadn't been in
it.  For once in his life, he was truly happy in
that bunker.  Simply because they were together.

He wanted that back.  Chin dropping, he didn't
even dignify Krycek's very old rhetoric with a
reply.  The truth had ceased to exist for him
long ago - it lived now in her, and only her.

Krycek threw the towel at Jesse and moved
closer, his fake arm swinging in his jacket
pocket as he bent to add, "You don't even know
what you've stumbled into here, do you?"

Though he knew it was useless to ask, he did
anyway, the bite of Krycek's assumptions eating
at his gut.  "Then tell me."  Not that he really
cared; he still vowed to stop this train, to
meet up with the Gunmen.  Now that he knew where
the chip was, its removal would guarantee their
safety from that moment on.  How he would
accomplish the delay, he didn't know yet.  It
was best to play along until then.

"All in good time," Krycek murmured, removing a
pistol from his pocket.  The barrel of the gun
trained on Gabriel, he nodded at Jesse.  "Cut
him loose."

"What?"  Jesse eyed Krycek with an incredulous
stare.

"You heard me.  Do it."  To Gabriel, he added,
"You're gonna be a good boy, aren't you?  I'd
hate for my wife to suffer because of your
undying need to play Superman."

As Jesse sliced through the ropes at his hands
and feet, Gabriel hissed, "She's not your wife."

"Who says?  You?  Her?  She's missing several
weeks of her life... who knows what she was up
to then?"

Krycek's baiting was nothing but lies, Gabriel
was sure of it.  But he didn't even nibble at
the lure, the rush of blood to his hands and
feet a welcome signal that he'd gained one thing
in the past few minutes - the ability to move. 
The first step toward ultimate freedom.

Jesse backed away, folding his knife as Gabriel
stood.  His wrists were red, but the skin wasn't
broken.  Rubbing at the itchy skin, he asked,
"What now?  After-dinner drinks and cigars? 
Maybe a game of poker?"

Krycek jerked his head at Jesse, silently moving
the man to the door of the bathroom.  "You'd
lose, Mulder.  You never could quite master the
art of bluffing."

That's what *you* think, Gabriel's mind growled.

With a snap of the gun, Krycek waved him over. 
"Clean up, Mulder.  You're a fucking mess. 
There are clothes for you in the bathroom."

Grabbing at his sagging shirt, Gabriel lifted
sneering eyes.  "What for?  You want me dressed
for my funeral before you kill me?"

"I'm not going to kill you.  Though a bullet in
the leg would seriously hamper your escape
efforts, now wouldn't it?"

Krycek wasn't a fool.  Gabriel knew his old
nemesis figured he'd still try something, he
just didn't know when and where.  "Escape?  But
why?  I have all the comforts of home on this
train, Krycek."

"Cut the bullshit, Mulder.  Just get in there. 
We have an appointment to keep."

"An appointment?"  Maybe he'd get to see his
father after all.  Wrestle the gun from Krycek,
make quick work of them all... his mind whirled
with new possibilities.  He walked to the
bathroom gingerly, his legs stiff as he spied
the clock by the bed.  9:30.  Still time to do
what he needed to do - maybe even more than he'd
thought possible when he got on this train. 
"Don't tell me - an impromptu barbecue in the
club car, right?"

Krycek snickered mirthlessly.  "Yeah, your balls
on a silver platter if you don't get moving.  Go
ahead, close the door.  Take a shower if you
want.  There's nothing in there for you to use.
Not even a razor.  Be my guest."  His voice
lowered.  "If you're not out in ten minutes,
you'll attend that barbecue with Jesse's knife
up your ass.  Got it?"

"Mmm... shish kabob.  Yummy."  Grinning snidely,
he shut the door behind him.

Immediately, he scanned the small room.  One
drawer under the sink - empty.  A small shower
cubicle and toilet.  Even the innards of the
tank were made of plastic, of no use at all as a
possible weapon.  Stilling, he saw the stack of
clothes folded in the corner.  Nothing there,
either, just a pair of black jeans and a heavy
black sweater.  At least he'd be warm.

"How nice," he muttered to the airless room. 
"Even socks and underwear."  He didn't remember
the last time he'd worn either.

Finally, he decided to take advantage of the
shower.  Shedding his worn, dirty clothes, he
glanced in the mirror over the sink.  Krycek had
dealt him a good blow; a purplish bruise was
already forming beneath the inch-long gash.  It
had stopped bleeding, but it was very tender to
his touch.  He was lucky they hadn't cracked his
skull wide open.

Quickly, he washed himself under the spray of
warm water.  Despite the unlucky turn of events,
he couldn't deny the water sluicing over his
skin felt good.  He rinsed out the taste of
vomit from his mouth, scrubbing at his teeth and
tongue with the washcloth as his mind worked.

So, it looked like he *was* going to meet the
boss man after all.  Funny how the meeting took
a back seat to his pressing concern for Scully. 
There wasn't much he could do now, but sudden
resolution made him rush to complete his
cleanup.  He wasn't going anywhere without at
least seeing if she was okay first.  Krycek
could fuck off.

Shutting the water off, he listened for a moment
through the shower door, but heard nothing other
than the low din of the two men outside.  He
couldn't hear what they were saying, but it
wasn't of any great importance.  As soon as he
could, he was going to stop this train.  All he
had to do was get the gun.  They'd do anything
he wanted if he held the old man at gunpoint.

Leaning in the opposite direction, he pressed
his hand to the shower wall.  She was just on
the other side, he felt it.  Hang on Scully, he
silently pleaded, lowering his aching forehead
to the wet tile.  I'm going to get us out.

A sharp knock made him jump upright.  "Two
minutes."

Gabriel wondered at their accommodation.  What
did they need him for?  Krycek could easily have
just thrown his sorry ass off the train. 
Something else was definitely afoot, and despite
his vow moments ago that he didn't care what
revelations awaited him in the meeting, he felt
a prick of curiosity.  Still, the fact that they
wanted him alive gave him the upper hand, no
matter how much Krycek threatened him.  For now,
anyway.  And he damn well was going to exercise
a bit of control over the situation.

He dressed quickly, almost forgetting the sketch
in his haste to exit the bathroom.  Picking up
his tattered shirt from the floor, he gently
transferred it to the pocket of his jeans, the
familiar feel of it reminding him of her. She
was close by and she needed him.  Nothing else
mattered at the moment.

With grim determination, he flung open the door. 
"I'm not going anywhere until I see her." 
Muscling his way past Jesse, he sat in the chair
once again and reached for his boot laces, tying
them quickly.  "You're gonna have to shoot me,
Krycek... because I'm walking out that door and
into hers."  He stood, hands fisted at his sides
as he held his breath.

For a few tense moments, Krycek stared him down,
Jesse fidgeting by his side.  Then, with a
chuckle, he cocked the gun.  "Who am I to stand
between lovers, eh?  I'm just the poor,
cuckolded husband."

"As you so eloquently put it - cut the bullshit,
Krycek.  And get the hell out of my way."

Jesse stepped in the tense space between Gabriel
and Krycek, fists raised.

"Stop."  Krycek's command halted the near
confrontation, but Jesse didn't back off. 
Gabriel stood firm as well, his jaw clenched in
the face of Jesse's human wall.  Krycek relented
with a snort.  "Guess it couldn't hurt.  A few
minutes, got it?  Nothing funny, either...
*Mulder*."

Krycek's bold use of his name told Gabriel he
wouldn't hesitate to use it against Julia again. 
Sidestepping an angry Jesse, he nodded.

His earlier assumption proved correct, as the
trip down the hall, sandwiched between Jesse's
bulk and Krycek's ready weapon, was a short one. 
They were still in the last car, Julia's door a
mere ten feet from Krycek's.  Nausea threatened
again, this time at the realization that it was
very possible Krycek had heard, if not their
conversation, then the rhythmic rocking of the
bed against the wall.

"Yeah, that's right," the whisper in his ear
confirmed as they stopped before Julia's door. 
"Who knew there was free porn on this trip?"

Ignoring Krycek, Gabriel pushed open the door. 
The room was still in semi-darkness, but his
gaze immediately picked up her small form
swathed in the sheets of the bed.  The sound of
running water from behind the bathroom door told
him the doctor was probably just finishing up. 
Good.  He could speak to the man before he left,
find out about these seizures of hers firsthand.

But before anything else, he had to touch her. 
Jesse grabbed his arm, but at Krycek's nod,
released him to approach the bed.  Julia laid
unmoving in the middle of the pillows and
Gabriel sat beside her, leaning over to touch
her face.  "Julia?"

God, she was pale, her face bloodless against
the white pillowcase, her limp hair damp from
the overexertion of her seizing body.  The only
sign of color was the plum red of her lips; they
looked as though they were slightly swollen. 
Had the doctor found it necessary to pry open
her mouth?  Surely they didn't do that anymore
for epileptics, did they?

Not caring that he had an audience, he swallowed
down the sadness at her exhausted appearance and
brought one trembling hand to her face.  His
mouth brushed the smooth expanse of her forehead
in a gentle kiss.  "Julia, wake up.  Please," he
whispered.  She smelled of panic and fear, and
his chest tightened with misery.

"Back off, Gabe."  Jesse's warning drifted over
his shoulder.

Gabriel's lips lost all heat as he touched them
to her clammy skin.  He sat up, reaching for the
blanket.  "She's cold.  And I'm staying until
she wakes up."  Tucking the blanket under her
chin, he took her hand in both of his, rubbing
it against his shower-warmed, stubbled cheek.

Krycek's voice broke into Jesse's soft curses. 
"No way -"

Another, more breathy voice cut him off.  "You
gents planning on keeping vigil?  Because she's
out for an hour, at least."

Gabriel turned, amazement dropping his jaw. 
This train was full of surprises.  Giving
Julia's hand one last kiss, he tucked it under
the blanket and stood.  "Kurtzweil?"

The doctor's face slashed into a grin and he
discarded the towel he was using to dry his
hands, stepping forward with an outstretched
hand.  "I've been informed that the name of the
day is Gabriel," he said softly, raising a brow
at the sleeping woman behind them.

Gabriel took the proffered hand, a dozen
questions fighting for freedom from his lips. 
"But... how?  I thought you were dead," seemed
like a good place to start.

Kurtzweil shook his hand heartily, his cheek
crinkling with the curl of his mouth.  "Not
dead, more like... semi-retired into private
practice. *Very* private."

"Enough.  We have to get going.  He's waiting." 
Krycek put an end to the reunion with his
statement.

Kurtzweil half-turned, noticing the gun.  "Is
that really necessary?"

"For now." Krycek signaled to Jesse, who came to
stand at Gabriel's side.

"Just a minute," Gabriel rushed out, piercing
Kurtzweil with a fevered stare.  "Is she okay? 
The baby?"

The doctor's face darkened and he sighed.  "I
had to mildly sedate her this time.  I haven't
seen an episode this bad since she came to be
with us."

Gabriel hung his head, biting his lip against
the scream that rushed up his throat.

"But I think she'll be all right," Kurtzweil
added softly.  "She probably won't remember what
set it off.  The mind has an amazing capability
to heal sometimes."

Jesse grabbed Gabriel's arm and shoved him to
the door.  He resisted, turning his head to beg
the doctor, "You'll stay with her, won't you?" 
He didn't like the way she looked, as if her
whole life had been drained from her.

"Until it's time to check on Matthew, yes. 
Don't worry, Gabriel.  She'll be fine."  His nod
spoke of certainty, of reassurance.  "So will
the baby."

He had to trust the man.  He had no choice,
considering he was caught between a gun and a
hard place named Jesse.  "I'm gonna be back," he
promised, giving Julia one last, longing look. 
"If - *when* she wakes up, tell her I'm coming
back."

Maybe not until all hell broke loose, but he'd
be back for her.  All the guns in the world
wouldn't stop him.

As he was ushered into the hall, the door closed
on Kurtzweil's slow nod.



End Chapter Twenty-One

Gabriel
Chapter Twenty-Two


En route to Helena
September 24, 2001
9:45 p.m.


They walked quickly past the snowy, frozen
windows, from one car to another, Gabriel taking
note of each with an eye toward future plans. 
Once past the sticking door of the last car,
they entered another just like it.  A harsh-
faced woman peeked from the rear door, giving
them a glare of caution.  He assumed that was
Matthew's room; the warmth that bled through the
cracked door was medicine-laced, tweaking his
nose with unwelcome memories of hospitals and
disinfectant.  He couldn't get a good look
inside, but no matter.  The only use he had for
Matthew was as a possible bargaining tool.  If
he couldn't get to the old man like he wanted,
he'd use the boy somehow.

He paused for a moment outside the next room,
fully expecting to go inside.  It had to be
Grandpa's.  But no, they didn't stop, the nose
of Krycek's gun prodding him to continue.  Once
inside the next car, they stopped before a
solitary door about halfway down the corridor.

Krycek let Jesse have the lead with a firm nod,
and Jesse knocked twice.  "Sir?"

"Yes?"

Gabriel looked up from his scrutiny of the dim
hall at the mild reply.  Was that his father? 
If so, he must have been worse off than he'd
ever seen him.  His voice was not his own, more
distant and hollow than he remembered.  He hoped
the old bastard was well on his way to death
this time.  If not, he'd take care of him soon
enough.  But any suffering his father had
endured would be most welcome in Gabriel's eyes.

"He's here, sir."  Jesse was timid in his
approach, a most unusual side of him emerging in
the face of the boss.  Gabriel could sympathize; 
he'd seen men of all sizes and arrogance cower
before that cold gaze and trickle of smoke.

"Come."

Gabriel straightened as Jesse pushed the door
open, his face hardening in preparation to see
the man who continued to make his life hell. 
Krycek shoved him in, but Gabriel didn't give
his father the satisfaction of a loving embrace
hello, stopping just inside the door as Krycek
and Jesse flanked him.

This car was luxurious - what little he could
see of it, anyway.  It was so dark, with just a
smidgen of light that bled from the cracked
bathroom door to light the floor in front of
him.  But he could tell it was different from
Julia's, much more spacious, certainly.  No
dividing walls, just one massive room, with a
huge bed at the far end and a couch and chairs
arranged around a round, squatting table at the
other end.  The smell of smoke curled through
the air and Gabriel lifted his chin, narrowing
his eyes as he tried to pinpoint its source.

"Leave us," the rasping whisper commanded.

Bingo.  Gabriel's spine stiffened as his hackles
rose; the voice came from a low, deep chair
nestled in the far corner by the bed.

"I don't think that's wise," Krycek protested,
moving closer to Gabriel, his gun poking him in
the side.

Gabriel shrugged away impatiently, giving Krycek
an exasperated glance before focusing again on
the man in the corner.

"I said leave."

The tone brooked no argument and Gabriel's two
guard dogs dispersed, though he had no doubt
they waited just outside the door, listening for
any sign of distress from the boss.  When the
door clicked into place behind them, Gabriel
stepped forward, stopping in the meager light,
hands in his pockets in an attempt at
nonchalance.

"Nice digs," he commented. "Amazing what the
blood and sweat of desperate miners will buy
these days."  No reply, just the clinking of
glass against glass.  In the shadows, he saw his
host take a drink, then heard him clear his
throat before speaking.

"If you're implying that I run a slave trade,
Mr. Mulder..."  The voice lost its paper-thin
quality, becoming cultured and refined.  He took
a last drag on his cigarette before snuffing it
in the ashtray on the bedside table. "I assure
you the company was formed many, many years ago. 
Using my own finances.  If anyone's blood was
sacrificed in its prosperity, it was mine."

What was this?  That wasn't the voice of the man
he'd never wanted as father, the man he despised
more than anyone on the planet. Gabriel drew his
hands from his pockets, wanting to get a better
look at this man by taking another step forward. 
"Who are you?" he asked, stopping when the
figure slowly rose from the chair.

"My name is Spencer.  Always has been, always
will be.  Though you've not known that until
now."  A cane materialized from the shadows by
the chair, clutched in one gnarled hand.

Gabriel's breath left him in a whoosh as the man
came into the light.  God, he'd been so stupid,
certain his father was the one who held Julia at
the Ranch.  He didn't know what to make of this
development, eyeing the English gentleman with
wide eyes as he staggered back a step.  Though
this one-time crony of his father's didn't look
quite the same as when he'd seen him last in the
plush confines of a limousine on the DC streets. 
He'd aged, his once stately physique drooping as
he shuffled forward.

"You survived," Gabriel breathed, putting the
pieces together one by one.  "But how - I saw
the explosion."  At Spencer's pointed silence,
he breathed with realization, "Jeremiah... or
one of them, anyway.  It was *you* who kept him
safe, you who had him infiltrate the tower, who
financed his operations."

A pleased nod accompanied Spencer's reply.  "I
was badly burned.  He healed me... as best as he
could.  My body may look the same, but believe
me, it isn't.  There's only so much a healer can
do when one's feeble body has been practically
torn apart."  He paused, leaning on the cane. 
"Though his work in the tower for me was all for
naught - much to my dismay - you and the
hundreds saved from the trains should thank him. 
If he ever shows his face again."

"And Kurtzweil?"

"I told you then he'd come and gone, Mr. Mulder. 
Or should I say Gabriel?"  Spencer gestured
toward the couch.  "Please, have a seat.  I fear
we have lots to discuss and I tire very easily." 
He moved past Gabriel with the slow gait of one
handicapped by dysfunctional bone and muscle,
collapsing onto the chair across from the couch
with a sigh.

As he did on that summer night so long ago, he
warily circled the man, finally perching on the
end of the couch farthest away, his first
questions bit out through lips very tired of
asking for answers.  "What do you want with her? 
Why take her from me?  Do you work for my
father?  Is that it?"

"Work for your father?" A sneer lifted the
paper-thin cheek. "Why in heaven's name would I
want to associate myself with that piece of
filth?"

"You have before."

"Not by choice, I assure you."

Gabriel wasn't about to be drawn into a
discussion of conspiracy semantics.  "Just
answer the question... why take her from me?"

Spencer reached inside his jacket, then stilled
as Gabriel sat up straighter with the tense
onslaught of anxiety.  "Easy, Gabriel."  He
pulled a small radio from the inside pocket. 
"I'm in the mood for brandy.  Care to join me?"

Relaxing just a bit, Gabriel stood, pacing the
room as he worked out the kinks of his
confinement.  "No thanks."  Spying the light
switch, he flipped it on, ignoring Spencer's
grimace.  It was obvious Spencer had a long,
involved tale to tell and he was going to take
his own sweet time about it.  Reminding himself
of his vow not to stumble into mishap, he
decided not to prod the old man, instead willing
his whirling mind to slow down, to process each
revelation with careful consideration.

Gabriel took the opportunity to look around, one
ear trained to Spencer's terse conversation with
Jesse.  Really nice, though not quite as
luxurious as he'd first thought.  The
furnishings were expensive but not overtly so. 
Spencer was dressed in serviceable denim
clothes, his jacket made from fur-lined
deerskin.  A single photo sat on the table
beside the bed, the smoke from Spencer's dying
cigarette marring the features of a smiling boy.

Matthew.  Very much younger, without a hint of
fear or hesitation, sitting upon a horse with
noble elegance.  As he heard Spencer kill the
radio, he turned, nodding at the boy's picture. 
"Matthew.  He's your grandson, isn't he?"

Spencer nodded.  "My only living relative.  His
parents, his sister Muriel... all lost to the
bees.  Even Matthew was lost to me, for a long
time."

Gabriel moved to sit again, this time not quite
as uneasy as before.  "Lost?  What do you mean?"

"Your father, Mr. Mulder.  Stole Matthew from a
hospital in London the day before I saw you
last.  Held him over my head in return for your
demise.  I knew that evil bastard would never
keep up his end of the deal. The explosion
presented an opportunity to disappear, to seek
out my grandson in one of the many experiments I
knew the Project had scattered throughout the
world.  It was only when Alex managed to break
into the New York offices shortly before the
invasion began that I discovered where he was
being held... and what had been done to him."

The soft tap on the door interrupted their
conversation, but only momentarily.  Gabriel
caught a glimpse of Krycek's stare as Jesse
quickly deposited the tray on the table beside
Spencer, then poured two snifters half full
before exiting again with a warning glance at
Gabriel.  "Have some?" Spencer asked, raising
the glass to his lips with a shaky hand. 
Gabriel declined with a purse of his lips,
urging the old man to continue by his silence. 
He did, balancing the glass on one knee.  "Delta
Glen, Wisconsin.  Do you recall that little
hellhole in the midst of cattle country, Mr.
Mulder?"

The name was familiar, and he had a flash of
wiping barbecue sauce from the corner of
Scully's mouth, the taste of the best ribs he'd
ever eaten still alive in sensory memory. 
"Experiments on kids.  With Purity Control -
alien DNA injections resulting in rampaging
hormones and sudden growth spurts."

"Exactly.  One of the earliest versions of the
vaccine, actually.  Very potent, with high
concentrations of alien DNA, but regretfully
ineffective at fighting the virus."

So that's why Matthew had the body of a young
man, when he should just now be approaching the
lanky height of a sixteen-year-old.  "They gave
Matthew the same injections."  At the old man's
sad nod, he added, "And without them, his immune
system becomes seriously compromised."

The kids in Wisconsin had all developed
influenza within days of the cessation of weekly
alien-tainted treatment.  He hadn't done a
follow-up, but he'd bet his bottom dollar those
children had developed more serious diseases. 
He wondered if they lived out the year.  "But -
Jeremiah?"  Surely the hybrid was able to help
the boy.

"Could only do so much.  Which was very little,
actually.  He could not rid Matthew of the alien
DNA that lives within him now.  Kurtzweil keeps
him alive with daily doses of antibiotics and
anti-virals in an effort to keep his immune
system functioning."

Just like the bounty hunter could not heal his
father, Gabriel realized, Jeremiah could not
heal Matthew.

"Julia told me you were going to seek treatment
in Helena.  What kind of treatment?"  Spencer
had never answered his first question about
Julia, but Gabriel hadn't forgotten; the
explanation would come, he was sure of it.

"It didn't take long to discover that
Kurtzweil's treatment of Matthew is only
palliative.  I needed to find a cure."  He set
his jaw, dipping his chin to level Gabriel with
steely blue eyes.

Piece by piece, it was all falling into place. 
"My father."

Spencer nodded.  "You realize he survived the
collapse of the tower?"

"I suspected as much.  Krycek?" It was the only
possible avenue of escape for his father.

"For God's sake, no," Spencer sneered, breaking
off into a fit of coughing.

Gabriel hesitated, then walked to the pitcher of
water by the bed; his charity in bringing the
old man a glass of water was only to keep him
talking.  He waited until Spencer had downed a
few sips, then took the glass away, setting it
on the table with a splash.  "Go on," he stated
through thin lips, barely holding on to his
temper as he faced Spencer, hands on hips.  "If
Krycek didn't get him out, who did?"

"Your father has more lives than a cat - how the
hell should I know?"  Spencer glared at Gabriel,
then relaxed a bit as he added, "Alex was under
orders to find the cure.  He was to kidnap your
father, to bring him to me."  A deep sigh, then,
"Alas, your father had disappeared by the time
Alex made it upstairs.  When we intercepted the
data downloaded to West Virginia, we didn't find
anything of any use to us.  You and your
friends, Mr. Mulder, were no longer of any
interest to me."

"And my father?  Where is he?"

"We kept an eye on the bunker.  When he made his
move to take Miss Scully, we followed."

But didn't move in to help, the bastards.  And
Spencer, Krycek, Kurtzweil - they all knew she
would someday become pregnant and lead them to
Spender.  Gabriel tamped down his fury at their
own selfish motives and jumped on the opening
instead.  "He called her, didn't he?  Because
she was pregnant."

Spencer set his empty snifter down on the table
next to him before leveling Gabriel with a
truthful stare.  "It is my understanding that
the second chip sensed the moment her hormone
levels began to rise.  You'd have to speak to
Kurtzweil for the particulars. Congratulations,
Mr. Mulder.  You're going to be a father."

Dropping onto the couch, Gabriel scrubbed at his
warm cheeks, fighting off the relieved rush of
tears.  Frohike had been right.  Raising his
chin once again, he set his shaking hands on his
knees, searching for control as he whispered,
"But something went wrong.  She never made it
there."

"Alex and his men tracked the helicopter out
west; it made several stops along the way, but
only for a few hours at a time.  It went down
just inside the Colorado border - a mechanical
malfunction, possibly.  There was a trading of
gunfire as Alex tried to get to her.  By the
time the last of your father's men were killed,
she was nowhere to be found."  A small smile
curled his lips.  "Her resilience is amazing. 
Somehow, she made it to Denver, with no memory
of who she was or why she was there."

"But why didn't she follow the call of the
chip?"

"She may have been.  We still have no precise
location of your father's home base.  She was
pretty banged up when Alex found her; half-
starving after several days alone, covered with
bruises and scratches.  Dr. Kurtzweil's theory
is that, though the chip still functions as a
memory blocker, it was damaged somehow in the
crash and no longer has the ability to summon
her."

"She hasn't been called again?"

"No, though you've witnessed first-hand the
results of taxing her memory."  Spencer paused
at Gabriel's regretful silence, then he added,
his voice laced with fatigue,  "I suggest you
speak to Dr. Kurtzweil about all this, Mr.
Mulder.  There's so much more he can tell you
and I really don't have the energy -"

Gabriel stood, looming over the table with a
furious face as he bit out, "I don't give a shit
what you have the energy for," keeping his voice
softly controlled so as not to alert the
watchdogs outside the doors.  "You used her from
the beginning.  Krycek was nothing but your
errand boy - offering her the means to get to
me, only to have her body violated once again."

Spencer's eyes narrowed, his hands clasping over
the handle of his cane.  "Miss Scully and those
computer-hacking friends of yours presented a
most convenient opportunity to find and bait
your father, Mr. Mulder.  Would they have done
all they did if I'd come forward and begged for
the life of my grandson?"

He had a point, albeit a moot one.  What's done
was done, but Gabriel wasn't finished, the
anguish of the past year seeking to find a
scapegoat.  And this feeble leftover from a
cadre of power-hungry men, while not the
ultimate source of his and Scully's pain and
suffering, would do nicely in a pinch.

"Men like you never ask, you just take."  The
new scar around his neck was more than enough
proof of that; Spencer may not have been the one
to call Julia from the bunker, but he had his
hands in just as much spilled blood.  "Just like
the bounty hunter you set up to nab me.  And I'm
fucking tired of it."

"That, I'm truly sorry for," Spencer mused. 
"But that was not my doing; none of us had any
idea the shapeshifter was in Denver."

Taken aback, Gabriel asked, "Then who -"

"Another one of your father's tricks, I presume. 
My guess is he suspected Julia was in the area; 
he knew you'd come sniffing around.  And the
Ranch was too well-guarded for any penetration,
even by the alien.  I believe he planned to use
you to draw Julia out."

There were so many unanswered questions, but
Gabriel grew weary of all the games.  He turned
for the door, intent upon fighting his way off
this train, Julia in tow.  Now that he knew
about the chip, she could never be used again. 
"And you - in your extreme benevolence - sat
back and let that green-blooded fucker take me. 
Proves my point.  Now, if you'll excuse me... I
have better things to do with my time than
listen to your justifications."

"Such a paragon of non-culpability.  It was not
I who set the chain of your father's greed into
motion, it was you."

Gabriel could have walked out the door and into
a fracas with Jesse, but he stilled, facing
Spencer with a stony expression.  "Just what the
hell does *that* mean?"

"Krycek told me your father was well on his way
to dying, Mr. Mulder.  Until you stepped right
into the path of that UFO in Oregon, handing him
the means to survive... and the initiative to
begin colonization."  A sneer coiled Spencer's
face into a grotesque mask.  "Once the aliens
delivered you, there was no one left to foil
their plans.  You fool... always chasing that
which you could not possibly capture.  Including
Julia."

"You saw to that.  The bounty hunter wasn't
successful in stopping me, but Jesse would have
been, wouldn't he?"

"I admit that Jesse works for me, yes.  And he
was assigned to keep you from the Ranch,
initially."

"Initially?"

"You know that Julia has seizures."  Off
Gabriel's silence, he continued, "They were
frequent in the beginning, but mild."

A chill ran down Gabriel's spine.  "In the
beginning?  She told me they were going away."

"They're not as regular, that's true.  But when
they did happen - when they *do* happen, as they
still do - they're more powerful, longer
lasting.  Kurtzweil warned us about the possible
harm to the baby; he noticed her restlessness,
her intent to regain her memory.  She needed
stabilization."  Spencer sighed.  "Jesse knew
you were Mulder - the 'one' Julia so eloquently
muttered about in her sleep.  Unbeknownst to
him, I'd decided to send for you the very day
you disappeared.  We thought you were dead, you
know.  He apologized profusely."

"I'm sure he did," Gabriel muttered, sarcasm
knifing through his words as he began to pace
the room.  This protracted conversation was
making him antsy; the time to make his move was
fast approaching.

"We never had any intention of harming you,
Mulder - you or Julia."

"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."  He
touched the tender gash on his temple, then
resumed his pacing.  "So you drafted Krycek in
the role of dutiful husband."

A small grin accompanied Spencer's dry, "A part
that doesn't sit well with Alex, though I'm sure
he's taken great pleasure in throwing their
supposedly blissful marital status in your face
at every opportunity."

He ignored Spencer's attempt at catching him
off-guard, instead replying, "Still doesn't mean
you're doing all this for her safety."

"I don't mean Julia any harm, or her baby. 
Though you must know by now I can't let you just
take her away from me.  Not until I'm finished
with her."

It didn't surprise him that Spencer had ulterior
motives.  This was no friendly disclosure
leading to their possible release.  But what
could he possibly want with Julia?  His mind
raced, the inescapable conclusion he reached
causing frightful nausea to build in his throat
once again.  "You son-of-a-bitch."

"I see your intuitive reasoning has finally
kicked in," Spencer purred.  "We're on our way
to meet with your father now.  With Julia and
her baby, I can bargain for Matthew's cure."

Don't do it, his mind screamed.  You're so
close.  Just walk away and tackle Krycek.  You
can take him, take his gun and lock yourself
inside the locomotive.  The train would be yours
to command at will.

But the half-hour of holding his temper had come
to an end.  More than a year of physical and
mental torture, of manipulations of him *and*
her... the anger welled up in him, threatening
to overflow into a frenzy that would tear the
old man apart as it drove his bare hands to
murder.

"Over my dead body," Gabriel said softly, moving
like a madman as he knocked over the table
beside Spencer, his hands wrapping around the
clammy, wrinkled neck.  "Better yet, yours." 

It was so easy; a matter of moments and the
fragile bones beneath would crack under the
strength of his grip.  The old man gasped, his
eyes going wide as he fought to speak.  "Stop -"
he wheezed out, his cane hitting Gabriel in the
knee as he squirmed.

So what if he got caught?  Slowly, he applied
more pressure, the feral flush of triumph making
his face burn.  No way were they going back to
his father.  He'd see everyone on this train
dead before that happened.  Including himself
and Julia.  Enough was enough.

The beefy hands grabbed him from behind,
wrenching him away from the old man, who doubled
over with asthmatic gulps of air.  Gabriel
struggled against Jesse's hold, but was
effectively pinned like a butterfly under glass,
especially when the manhandling tugged on his
sore shoulder.  His knees buckled at the scream
of his muscles and Jesse let him slide to the
floor.

"I ought to kill you right now."

Gabriel looked up into the barrel of Krycek's
gun.  Grimacing, he rubbed at his shoulder and
lowered his head, ignoring Krycek's fury as he
listened to Jesse tend to Spencer.

"You're a stupid motherfucker, Mulder.  You
always were."  The hammer clicked back, echoing
in Gabriel's ears like a death knell.

The swift blossom of defeat rose in Gabriel's
chest.  Once again, he'd let his heart rule his
head; any second, his brain would ruin the fine
carpet of the boss man's suite.  And Julia would
continue on to Helena.  He was such a fool.

"Alex."  Spencer's sandpaper voice was almost
lost in the hum of the wheels beneath the floor.

Gabriel held his breath, counting the seconds
until oblivion.  Then he heard the leather of
Krycek's jacket shift and crackle; when he
raised his head, the gun was averted, Krycek's
face tight with disappointment.  "Get up," was
all he said, his eyes glittering with warning.

There was no doubt in Gabriel's mind that one
false move on his part would put a bullet in him
faster than he could blink.  Slowly, he got to
his feet, cradling his sore arm in one hand.  A
chuckle bubbled forth, the little smart-ass imp
who lived within him not quite cooperative. 
"And you always were a coward, Alex."

The gun flew up in a flash, Krycek's jaw so
tight it looked as though his teeth could crack
diamonds.

"Enough."  Spencer breathed easier now, waving a
hovering Jesse away.  However, he didn't send
the two men from the room as he'd done earlier. 
Looking at Gabriel with wary, red-rimmed eyes,
he said, "You hothead.  Nothing like your
father."

"I take that as a compliment, sir."  He grinned,
which infuriated Spencer, who slapped at Jesse
with his cane.

"Sit him down," he ordered.  Jesse complied,
none too gently, forcing Gabriel to the couch
opposite Spencer, who rubbed at his neck as he
addressed Gabriel.  "If it were just you
involved in this, I'd have you thrown from this
train.  But Julia knows you're here now.  Still,
why I'm bothering to explain myself to you is a
mystery."

"A conscience?  Forgive me if -"

Spencer cut him off, leaning forward to say
softly, "But it's not only my grandson who needs
your father's assistance... Agent Scully's life
also depends on the success of this trip.  You'd
be wise to hear me out, Mr. Mulder."


*******


10:29 p.m.


They didn't hold him back as he rushed from
Spencer's car.  Stumbling, really, fighting the
sway of the train, his heart pounding in his
chest with every murmur of disbelief.

"No, no."  Over and over, his litany of denial
forced his weak legs forward, Spencer's words of
a few moments past reverberating in his brain.

<It was gone when we found her.>

His fingers slapped against the icy glass that
lined one side of the corridor over and over,
seeking purchase to help him remain upright.

<It's only a matter of time.>

God, he'd never make it to her room.  Once
again, the nosy nurse gave him a glare as he
passed Matthew's room.  This time, he smelled
not only hospitals, but death.  It turned his
stomach, but he kept moving.

<She'll be lucky if she survives the birth.>

He had to see her, to believe this wasn't true. 
A doubting Thomas, his fingers itched to touch
the unmarred expanse of her skin - in this case,
hoping to find no scars.  To find the little
bump under the skin she'd had the Underground
doctors make perfect; to smile at its security,
at the beauty and the complex, valuable life it
held in its grip.

At last, he made it to her door, flinging it
open amidst Kurtzweil's quieting shush.  His
gaze flew to the bed; Julia was sleeping.  More
peacefully than when he'd seen her last, curled
on her side in a normal, relaxed clutch of her
pillow.  He saw the lace edge of a white
nightgown peek above the blankets.  She looked
warm.  She looked safe.

"She woke up a few minutes ago," Kurtzweil
whispered.  "I think she didn't want to say much
in an effort to protect you.  But I asked her if
she remembered what happened and she told me no,
so be careful what you say."

Gabriel slowly brushed past him, unable to take
his eyes off the smooth face that had regained
some color.  Slightly pink now in the glow from
the lamp, her skin looked healthy, her lips open
as she took in slow, deep breaths of warm air. 
It couldn't be, it just couldn't.

"Is it true?" His question hung in the room.

Kurtzweil sighed behind him.  "I'm afraid so."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Gabriel grated out,
"Are you sure?  Did you actually look?"  Though
Spencer had told him so already, he wanted to
hear it from Kurtzweil's lips.

"I did.  Went deep, as Alex instructed, knowing
she'd buried it when she went Underground for
the plastic surgery."  Behind him, he heard
Kurtzweil move to the door.  "I'm going to check
on Matthew, then I'll be in the club car.  I'll
tell you anything you need to know, Mulder." 
Light sliced across the floor at Gabriel's feet. 
"I'm sorry."  With that, he shut the door behind
him.

Like a thief, he stole to the other side of the
bed, gently settling behind her.  The warmth of
her crept through his sweater and he inhaled
deeply, his breath hitching with a strangled sob
as he laid his head on her pillow.  Sudden
fright at what he'd find gave him pause; not yet
- he wanted to be certain there was a toomorrow.

In the lamplight, his knuckles were dusky with
the onset of bruising, his fingers stiff from
clinging to the roof of the car.  They slid over
her covered arm, coming to rest over the child
as he sighed, his eyes closing with the
reprieve.  It still moved.  She still lived.

Julia stirred with a sough of breath, her legs
stiffening before she relaxed, a contented smile
curling her lips.  "You're here.  Dr. Kurtzweil
must have left."

Gabriel pushed the cobwebs down with a swallow. 
"Yeah."

"I didn't say anything." Her sluggish words
betrayed her; she obviously didn't know she'd
had another seizure.  "The doctor came to see
me... is that why you disappeared?"

This time, his, "Yeah," was whisper soft as his
throat ached around the word.  He curled around
her, giving her cheek a kiss as his hand
entwined with hers.  The memory of the calm
before the storm in Oregon so long ago made him
long to turn back time, to stop the chain of
events that led them both to this sorrowful day. 
But it was not to be, no matter how hard he
wished it so.  "You okay?"

"Mmm... I'm tired." Her eyes remained closed as
she scooted her backside into the cradle of his
hips.  "What happened?"

Careful not to give too much away, he replied,
"Too much me."  Nuzzling her hair with his nose,
he added, "I've never had a woman faint on me
before while having sex, Julia.  I don't know
whether to be flattered or dismayed."

Ignoring his attempt to make light of the
situation, she asked solemnly, "I had another
seizure, didn't I?"  Her tone implied that he'd
better not try to lie to her.

So he didn't.  Although he did prevent her from
turning to face him when she made to move,
saying, "You did.  Scared the shit out of me."

She tensed in his hold.  "The doctor - did he
see you?"

There was no way to get around the question. 
Now was not the time to explain all that had
happened in the past hour.  But she knew enough
to suspect he'd been discovered - in her mind,
by the doctor alone.  He hated lying to her
again, but it must be done.  Until he had a
chance to figure out what course he'd take next. 
"I buzzed his room, yes."

"Oh, Gabriel..." Her voice trailed off in a
watery sigh.

"It's okay.  Believe me, Julia - it is.  I made
myself scarce until he left."  It was a lame
explanation and he knew it, hoping she wouldn't
ask for details.  He forestalled her weak
argument by squeezing her hand; she was about to
drift off to sleep again and soon, her protests
would fade away.  Bringing her palm up, he laid
a kiss in its soft depths before he said,  "The
most important thing is that you're okay...
you're fine."

She tilted her chin, sighing as she said, "I
told you, Gabriel - they're nothing to worry
about.  It just exhausts me, that's all."

<It misfires.  As a backup, it will soon cease
to function.>

He crammed Spencer's ominous words into the dim
recesses where the slim dregs of hope clamored
for release.  Maybe they were wrong.  Maybe it
was still there and undetectable by touch.  He
hadn't felt it in his inspection of her in the
tower.  Maybe they were all lying to him still -
they'd hadn't even looked for it.

<We've looked for it.  Nothing.>

But he knew better.  She wasn't fine.  The
seizures, her fragile posture, despite the round
weight of his child.  His lips trembled as he
nodded, words escaping him.

A broad yawn preceded, "The plan is still on,
isn't it?"

This time, he couldn't stop the hot drop that
bled from his eye to trail down his nose.  It
was with a husky voice that he answered, "Yeah. 
You just rest, okay?"

"Stay a while longer?  Just 'til I fall asleep
again?"  Her words were slurred, the grip on his
hand easing as she gave in to the pull of
fatigue. "An' wake me before the Colonel...
takes me time... get dressed..."  She trailed
off.

"Okay."  Giving her cheek another kiss, he
whispered, "I love you, Julia."

"Love you," she echoed, though in the next few
seconds she was gone from him, lost in a deep
sleep.

Proof was necessary, but it was with dread he
decided to look.  All his life, he'd believed
with just snatches of debatable evidence.  But
this was different - as long as it wasn't seen,
it wasn't to be believed.  He took a breath,
then two, summoning the strength to continue.

Slowly, he pulled his arm from around her,
drawing back just a bit to sweep the hair from
her neck, uncovering her skin.  The scar was
slightly longer than before, pink with new
growth, her skin not unblemished as it was in
the tower.  The pad of his thumb brushed over
it, pressing down over... nothing.  He even
pinched the skin between his fingers.  Still
nothing.

<Without that chip, she *will* die.>

As he cried, he pressed his mouth to the
emptiness.  And he believed.



End Chapter Twenty-Two

Gabriel
Chapter Twenty-Three


En route to Helena
September 24, 2001
11:34 p.m.


An hour's worth of precious time.  It was all he
would allow grief to cloud his mind.  He'd never
let himself cry with concern for her in her
presence except for another bedside breakdown as
she laid oblivious to his sorrow.  Thank
goodness she'd never had to witness either
instance.

With a last kiss to her cheek, he rose from the
bed.  Still asleep, she turned with some
difficulty, rolling over with an unconscious
grunt as her belly presented an obstacle.  He
waited, watching her maneuver the pillows even
as her eyes stayed closed.  One was shoved
between her knees, another two pushed against
her back as she landed on the opposite side,
burrowing into the warmth he left behind.  With
a deep inhale of his leftover scent, she drifted
again.  Problem solved.

A short, watery chuckle burst from him and a
grin blossomed on his tear-stained face.  There
was nothing - *nothing* she couldn't overcome,
not even in her sleep.  Somewhere in that
suppressed memory, the physics of her solution
was scribbled, the white chalk letters
whispering in hushed tones to her sleeping mind. 
Like always, she prevailed.

He would do the same.  For her.  For his baby. 
It wouldn't be easy, and would require an aplomb
once better left to her graceful social and
tactical skills... be he could do it.  He had
to.

A quick wash of his face and he left her room,
this time walking with long, purposeful strides
to the club car.  He would no longer be
detoured, no longer be harassed.  There was no
need; they had his cooperation and they knew it. 
But there was no way he was letting those two
ancient, greedy kings dictate their strategy
from here on out... he had a few aces up his
sleeve, too.  First order of business - position
those aces around the 'man with the axe' in
Helena.  The 'suicide king', taking them all to
hell with them on this train,  probably wouldn't
want his help, but he damn well was going to get
it.

As he entered the club car, three sets of eyes
looked up from a table by the windows, the
liquor in their half-full glasses rippling along
with the steady momentum of the train.

"I need a computer," Gabriel announced.  "And I
need it now."

Krycek leaned back in his chair with a snort. 
"I don't see that you're in a position to demand
anything, Mulder."

Krycek may have thought he cornered the market
on menace, but Gabriel had been hiding in the
guise of hard-assed miner for months now.  In
fact, he'd gotten very adept at intimidation -
you had to, when every man around you would slit
your throat in your sleep for your socks.  He
lowered his voice and steeled his face.  "I
suggest you give me access, Krycek - or this
trip is going to come to an abrupt end in a few
hours."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"  Despite
his bravado, Krycek's face had a definite tic of
anxiety, somewhere below his left eye.

"Just what I said.  If you don't allow me to put
a stop to it, we won't make it to Helena."  That
the roadblock involved a few geeks with
chainsaws made no difference; Gabriel spoke as
if an army awaited the train just around the
next bend.  But instead of pressing the issue
with rash anger, he softened his voice to a
lazy, yet commanding purr.  "Look, I've got just
as much at stake here as Spencer.  And no way
will I give you any more trouble.  But you've
got to let me send out a message.  Even an
hour's delay might mean an interruption my
father will not sit still for."

"I could just *make* you stop whatever it is
you've planned, you know.  Then kill you where
you stand."

"And have Julia wake up to find me gone?  Do you
really want to risk a seizure that could kill
her?"  Just the words made his throat catch, and
he cleared his throat, adding, "So close.  It
would be a pity to have that cure so close with
nothing to bargain with.  And my father's not
known for his freebies."

It worked; he could see the way the men before
him reacted to his name-dropping.  Kurtzweil
shifted in his chair, suddenly interested in a
speck of lint on his sleeve.  Jesse stared at
Krycek with a silent, lock-jawed plea to listen
to the deal.  Krycek downed his drink in one
gulp, standing to say, "You fuck with this,
Mulder and I'll skin you alive, got it?"

Gabriel nodded, giving in to the relief that
broke out under his sweater.  He had to stop
Frohike.  But that didn't mean he was totally
diverting the Gunmen; a little seed of
inspiration germinated in his mind and he
pursued it, going for broke.  "You realize my
father is going to double-cross you?"

Krycek walked around the table, telling Jesse
softly, "Get the laptop from Matthew's room." 
As Jesse quickly left to do his bidding, he
approached Gabriel, almost standing toe-to-toe
as he murmured, "That's why you never could beat
me, Mulder.  I'm always one step ahead of you. 
If you'd bothered to be a bit more polite...."

Polite?  Gabriel sneered, the no-so-gentle
reminder of Krycek's greeting back in Julia's
room a second away.  But Krycek didn't miss a
beat, finishing with, "You'd have found out that
we had no intention of handing her over.  This
is more than a search for a cure.  It's a means
to take care of the thorn in our collective
sides once and for all."  Chuckling at Gabriel's
surprise, he left the club car.

Could it be Spencer really wanted no more of his
father's business?  Yes, the old man wanted his
grandson's cure.  But Gabriel knew that the men
of his ilk cared nothing for no one else - at
least, that's the way things used to work.  Was
it possible that he'd finally grown weary of the
selfishness of his ways?  Spencer was obviously
not well.  Maybe he wanted to leave his grandson
a legacy not of greed, but of old world
nobility.

And what of Krycek?  What was his interest in
all of this?  His involvement made no sense at
all; he was just a mercenary.  Despite Spencer's
easy flow of money, Krycek could have thrown in
with the Appointing Authority and lived at the
top of the world forever.

"He's telling the truth, you know."  Kurtzweil's
statement pulled Gabriel from his incredulous
thoughts.

"Krycek?" Gabriel huffed.  "You're telling me
they won't trade Julia for the cure?  I don't
believe it."

"Sit, Agent Mulder."  At the use of Gabriel's
former title, Kurtzweil dipped his chin. 
"Though I suppose I can't very well address you
that way anymore, can I?"

Gabriel hesitated, then, with a sag of his
shoulders, realized Kurtzweil was offering to
tell a different side of the tale.  One that
he'd very much like to hear, considering that
which was once black and white had turned a
confusing shade of gray.  "Gabriel will do."

Kurtzweil lifted his glass.  "Care for a drink? 
Something to eat?  Jesse's not the best cook,
but he'll do in a pinch." He gestured at a door
at the opposite end of the car; apparently a
small kitchen.  Gabriel could smell the faint,
spicy scent of chili and he declined with a
shake of his head, his stomach still not on the
best terms with the knot on his head.

"I'd rather have some answers."

"I'm just a small cog in the machinery, Gabriel. 
I don't know how much I can tell you."

"Let's start with Spencer's sudden Santa Claus
act."

Kurtzweil sighed, leaning back in his chair. 
"He's told you Matthew was taken from him."  Off
Gabriel's nod, he continued, "He saved me, you
know.  Spirited me away to the Ranch to await
his grandson's retrieval."

"Why you?  Matthew, unless thousands of years of
evolution have suddenly taken a hike, isn't
likely to ever give birth."

"I once worked for the Project.  With your
father -" He broke off with an apologetic tilt
of his head before clarifying, "With Bill
Mulder, but I told you that already.  Although
not in direct contact with Dr. Bonita Charne-
Sayre, I studied her work.  Spencer knew of my
familiarity with her research - I was one of the
only ones left he could trust.  Besides, a dead
man can't exactly consult a specialist openly."

Gabriel commiserated with a nod, remembering the
way he'd slunk around the Pentagon in search of
Scully's cure so long ago.  Being dead may have
been freeing in that regard, but it made it hell
when he rushed to the hospital and had to fight
off Skinner to see her.  And it didn't exactly
endear him to her mother and Bill Scully when
he'd pleaded his case the next day.

"Do you believe my father has a cure for
Matthew?"

"If anyone does, it's him.  What really matters
is - he's willing to part with it in exchange
for Julia."  There was no doubt about that, in
either of their minds.  Gabriel's old man was
nothing if not a master strategist; especially
when his life was on the line.  "We are under no
illusions, Gabriel.  He knows we've got Julia,
and that we've been stalling, hoping to make
Matthew well on our own.  The last thing Mr.
Spencer wants is to give your father the means
to survive.  My guess is, he's going to make the
trade, then send Alex after her again.  This
time, to take care of your old man for good."

"And Krycek?  Spencer I can maybe cut some
slack, but Krycek?  Scully told me he'd pushed
my father down a flight of stairs - tried to
kill him.  Why the hell would he do that if he
was trying to get his hands on Matthew's cure?"

"From what I understand, a fit of frustrated
temper.  Alex may appear to be made of stone,
but believe me, he's not.  Quite possibly the
Russian in him."

Gabriel ignored Kurtzweil's small smile and
snorted, "Still, there's no way in hell he
doesn't have an angle in this."

Kurtzweil pondered the question for a moment,
avoiding Gabriel's gaze as he fingered his glass
on the table.  "That's not for me to divulge."

"Then you know?"

"Yes." As Gabriel began to huff, he added
quickly, "But it's not what you think.  Believe
me, you have nothing to fear from these men."

They were interrupted by the flustered arrival
of Jesse, laptop in hand.  "Couldn't figure out
how to get the damned thing unhooked," he
muttered, placing it on the table in front of
Gabriel.  He hovered as Gabriel powered it up. 
"Listen man, I was just doing my job -" he
began.  Gabriel wondered how long it was going
to take before Jesse tried to apologize.

"Don't worry about it," he answered sharply,
more intent on getting where he needed to be
than to give Jesse a smiling, sweeping
forgiveness.  He waited as he connected to the
satellite uplink, and from the corner of his
eye, he saw Jesse sag into the chair at his
right.

"That ain't good enough," he pressed.  "I can
see how much that woman in there means to you. 
And if I could make it up to you, I would."

"Save it," was Gabriel's terse reply.

"C'mon, Gabe.  I know you think we're all like
your old man, but it just ain't true.  Mr.
Spencer, he started the company years ago,
waiting for the chance to keep your father from
getting his hands on every piece of 'k' he
could."

Gabriel snorted, not looking up as he accessed
the newsgroup.  He hoped Frohike had the sense
to keep his laptop up and running on their
journey north.  "And making millions had nothing
whatsoever to do with Spencer's motives?"

It was Jesse's turn to huff.  "He don't *need*
the money, man.  Every bit of 'k' he digs up is
destroyed.  I've seen it done."

At that, Gabriel looked up from the message he
was composing.  "Destroyed?  How?"

"If Jesse will let me, I think I can best answer
that," Kurtzweil interjected.  Jesse and Gabriel
both fell silent, looking to him as he said,
"The 'k', as it's so erroneously named, is
highly unstable in the presence of iron.  It can
be absorbed by the purest form of the element,
which is itself highly reactive.  What Jesse saw
was a melding process, carried out at one of
several facilities throughout the country."

"But why?  From what I've seen it do, it's an
amazing discovery.  Could revolutionize the way
we live."

"It can also destroy what little we have left in
this world, Gabriel - if it falls into the wrong
hands."

His father's hands, in other words.  He went
back to his message, shaking his head with a
slight chuckle. "I still find it hard to believe
Spencer isn't stashing some away somewhere.  It
would be very difficult not to give in to the
temptation to hold the world at your mercy." 
Realizing he needed a bit of information, he
changed the subject, addressing Kurtzweil. 
"What time are we due to arrive in Helena?"

"Around six tomorrow evening - why?"

Gabriel ignored the question and asked another. 
"And the exchange?  When and where is it taking
place?"

Kurtzweil backed off with a wave of his hand. 
"That I don't know.  Sometime tomorrow night, I
think.  You'll have to consult Alex for the
details."

Oh joy, Gabriel thought.  Just what he needed. 
Another run-in with his best buddy.  Quickly, he
finished his message, instructing Frohike to
meet him at the Helena station at 6 p.m.  But he
didn't send it, not yet.  With narrowed eyes, he
leaned back in his chair, giving Jesse a soft,
"Jesse knows, don't you, Jesse?"

"Whoa, wait a minute."  Jesse sat back, fear
lacing his voice.  "I ain't supposed to tell
anyone, Gabe."

"You said it yourself - you owe me."

"But I ain't crossin' Krycek.  Besides, we got
plans of our own.  Mr. Spencer is gonna have
company guards around every corner.  We ain't
gonna let Julia get away from us, Gabe."

"Let's just say I'll be there as backup."  He
lowered his voice, leaning forward with a
pleading look.  "Please, Jesse.  I need to be
there.  You understand?  I can't take the
chance."  On losing her again, he added
silently.

Jesse clenched his jaw with frustration,
swinging his head to look at Kurtzweil, who sat
nearby with an amused, knowing grin.  Don't look
at me for help, his eyes told Jesse.  After a
moment of Jesse's consternation he said, "You're
dealing with a man who chased this woman all the
way to Antarctica, Jesse.  Do you really think
he's going to let Alex and his men stand in his
way?"

Jesse turned again, bemused surprise on his
face.  "Antarctica?  Are you nuts?"

Gabriel showed him just how 'nuts' he could be
by growling, "If you don't tell me, Jesse, I
won't call off the dogs.  I'll take Julia off
this train in the blink of an eye.  Or we'll
both die trying... along with anyone who stands
in our way.  Spencer can go fuck himself."

The cursor hovered over the 'cancel message'
button as Jesse's eyes riveted to his hand. 
Finally, after several tense moments, Jesse
backed down, rising from his chair to mutter,
"Okay, okay.  Canyon Ferry Dam, nine o'clock. 
But I'm tellin' you right now, Gabe - don't get
in the way.  Mr. Spencer don't wanna kill you,
but he will if you mess this up, got it?"  With
that, he turned and left.

After Jesse made his exit, Gabriel quickly typed
in the location of the exchange and instructed
Frohike to scout out the location before sending
off the message.  Several moments later, he
began pacing the club car as Kurtzweil retreated
to the kitchen.  One thing was certain - he
wasn't known for his patience.  He wanted
nothing more than to get back to Julia, but
stopping Frohike was number one on his 'to do'
list at the moment.  Surely the guys would
monitor the group for any abort messages?  Damn. 
He should have taken the time to set up a cancel
code with Frohike.  But he couldn't have
foreseen the way things had evolved.  It was a
mess he still didn't totally understand - one
that he'd just have to live with for now.

"Coffee?"  Kurtzweil returned from the small
kitchen, mugs in hand, to sit once again at the
table.  "Looks like you're gonna need it."

Gabriel scratched at his beard, giving the
doctor an incredulous, "You really think Spencer
is legit?" before sitting to reach for the cup
of the strong brew.

Kurtzweil sipped at the steaming liquid.  "None
of us is without sin, Gabriel.  Or blameless."

His soft words echoed Spencer's of hours ago. 
Hanging his head, he said, "She is."

"True.  The one person in this twisted web of
lies and betrayal who can hold her head up with
honor.  But the rest of us are getting there."

He looked up into Kurtzweil's calm face.  "Do
you believe a man can change?  Leave behind all
the wrongs he's done and do something simply
because it's the right thing to do?"  He applied
the same reasoning to himself; back in the
bunker, he'd tried to rid himself of the horror
he'd helped perpetuate - the thousands of
innocents he'd been unable to save.  No.  It was
wrong to think of it that way.  He'd sent those
people to their deaths, with the stroke of a
cowardly pen.  It still haunted him, when he let
himself think of it.  Something he didn't let
happen often.  But he knew one day it would grab
hold... and he prayed for the strength to live
on.  And only Scully could help him do that.

"I've seen it happen.  I've done it myself. 
Spencer's done it - so did your father."

"My father?" Gabriel snorted.  "Spencer's
laundry may be spotless these days, but my
father will always -"

"I'm speaking of Bill Mulder.  This man we're
going to deal with... biologically, he sired
you.  But he's not your father, Gabriel."

"I know that." Gabriel faltered, his jaw
working.  "Doesn't mean a thing.  Bill Mulder
was just as self-serving and cold."

"And he was also man who thumbed his nose at the
Project after they took your sister.  He was
powerless to stop them, yes.  But he refused to
help them any longer.  Spencer took another
route."

Once again, he found himself pondering the
unbelievable - that a man like Spencer could
change his ways.  "Spencer once told me that my
father chose hope over selfishness.  You're
telling me now he has finally chosen hope as
well?"

Kurtzweil shook his head, lowering his cup of
coffee to the table with a serious gaze.  "I'm
telling you that he finally chose to fight back. 
In the only way he knows how - by using strategy
learned from the most evil men who ever walked
the earth.  You can't ask a man who's lived his
life in the sewer to suddenly be squeaky clean. 
He's doing the best he can."

Gabriel fell silent, refreshing the screen on
the laptop.  He started at the new message, then
heaved a sigh of relief.  Frohike didn't waste
time asking for an explanation why the hijacking
was aborted; he simply confirmed receipt and
said they'd arrive in Helena a few hours before
the train.  The trip by truck was slow, but they
were making good time so far.  Major roads were
still in good shape.

Not so with the train; it seemed they'd slowed
down a bit.  As Gabriel looked out the window,
the snow seemed to be falling harder than ever. 
Turning back to Kurtzweil he asked, "Will we
make it on time?"

"We should.  Spencer probably allowed a cushion
of several hours.  Did you contact your men?"

"Yes.  They'll meet us in Helena.  I'd
appreciate it if you'd keep that under your hat
for a while."

"No problem.  May I make a suggestion?"  He
watched Gabriel power down the laptop.

Standing, Gabriel shook his head with a chuckle.
"I think I've had more than enough advice given
to me this evening, thanks."  He was anxious to
leave, to catch a few hours sleep.  Preferably
with his arms around Julia.  "I have to get back
to her."

Kurtzweil stood as well, halting his exit with a
soft warning.  "Don't reveal too much to Julia
when she wakes up.  She probably won't remember
anything but vague images of me tending to her. 
I'm guessing you told her I hadn't seen you?"

A flush of guilt suffused him;  he hated lying
to her again.  "She's going to know our plans
have changed when the train isn't stopped."

"Make something up - tell her anything."

Through clenched teeth, he replied, "I can't
keep lying to her.  She's not stupid, you know."

Kurtzweil was insistent, waving off Gabriel's
protest with an impatient hand.  "Listen to me.
Do you really want to answer her inevitable
questions?  Her body is still reeling from
tonight's episode, still very much vulnerable to
another.  And her baby can't possibly stand the
stress, neither can she."

Gabriel knew the doctor was right, but all the
lies didn't sit well with him.  He longed for
the day he could tell her everything.  "Then
what the hell do I tell her?"

"Tell her everything's going to be fine.  That
you're going to save her."  At the roll of
Gabriel's eyes, he added, "The desolate ice
fields of Antarctica didn't stop you... why
should the mountains of Montana?"

Easier said than done, he thought, as he walked
from the club car.  This time, her salvation
wasn't mile-high security of a syringe - it was
the vastly smaller, much more fragile chip no
bigger than her pinky fingernail.  And this one
didn't lie in wait in the catacombs of the
Pentagon - it laid in the palm of his father's
treacherous hand.



End Chapter Twenty-Three

Gabriel
Chapter Twenty-Four


En route to Helena
September 25, 2001
6:45 a.m.


It was pure bliss, the way she snuggled into
him, all sleep-warmed and sighing as she drifted
up from her dreams.  "Mmm... what time is it?"

She hadn't woken when he'd crawled back into bed
with her after his midnight cup of coffee with
Kurtzweil.  It was a small blessing, one he'd
embraced as he did her, shedding his top clothes
to burrow under the covers, bringing her body
into close, relieved contact.  Though the
caffeine had temporarily jolted his nerves
awake, it hadn't been long before he'd slept,
the familiar feel of her more relaxing to him
than any sleeping pill.

Lifting drowsy eyelids, he eyed the clock on her
night stand.  Pulling her close, he watched her
eyes flutter as he tucked her sleep-tousled hair
behind her ear to expose a cheek that begged to
be kissed.  "Almost seven.  Hungry?"  He brushed
his lips across that soft slope, careful not to
abrade the skin with his beard.

"Yeah." Suddenly, she stiffened in his arms and
her eyes flew open as the last cobwebs cleared. 
She drew back, almost panicked as the alert blue
orbs searched his face.  "Gabriel!  The doctor -
I remember hearing him last night - God, did he
see you?"

So much for Kurtzweil's assurance of a
convenient memory lapse.  "No," he murmured,
reassuring her with the caress of her cheek. 
The lie didn't come easily, but he forced it
through his lips anyway.  "I buzzed for him then
high-tailed it to the room next door."

"My husb- his?"  Her worry increased tenfold,
her brow wrinkling with distress.  "Oh, Gabriel,
please tell me you didn't -"

"Nothing happened, Julia."  Firmer now, his
voice pressed her into relaxing.  It was with
regret that he added, "No one did anything." 
Including himself.  He was beginning to think
that 'ineffectual' should be his new middle
name.

Shaky fingers came up to touch his battered
forehead.  "What's this?"

"A little run-in with your door.  Nothing."

"Gabriel, don't lie to me.  Something happened,
didn't it?"

"No, I promise."

"Gabriel -"

Only one thing to do, he thought sadly.  But it
wasn't taxing - no, not at all.  Infinitely
satisfying was more like it.  She hummed under
his mouth for just a second, her anger still
simmering beneath his touch.  He felt the moment
she capitulated, her lips opening like the
petals of a flower, her hands sliding down his
chest to curl around his waist.

With a sigh, she pulled away.  "That's not fair,
you know."  Sprinkling kisses down his chest,
she turned him easily to his back.  "I had a
good head of steam going."

"I know you did."  His eyes closed as he allowed
her to mold his body to her will, falling back
like a lazy cat under her scratching.  "Believe
me, Julia.  Everything's fine."

Except it wasn't.  As he laid under her
caresses, last night's sorrow returned and he
bit his lip to keep from crying out at the
injustice of it all.  Oblivious to his pain, she
happily hummed against his skin, her hands
drifting down.

No, he thought.  They couldn't do this.  He
couldn't make love to her - let her make love to
him - with so many lies between them.  But it
was so dangerous to tell her the truth.  And it
was so selfish of him to want to use her body -
her dying body - in an effort to ease his
sadness.  He willed his betraying flesh to
settle down as he gently shrugged her off,
swinging his legs to the floor.

"Breakfast?" Hunched over, he steeled himself
against the inevitable touch of her fingers. 
When it came, he stiffened, moving slightly
away.  He didn't want to arouse her suspicion by
totally shutting her out, but neither did he
want a repeat of last night's episode.

Behind him, he heard her sit up.  "Gabriel?" 
Calm and soft of voice, she slid her hand up to
his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  "What's
wrong?"

"Nothing, I told you.  Nothing."  Slipping out
from under her touch, he stood and reached for
his jeans, carefully avoiding her searching
gaze.  It had been so easy as she slept to
imagine himself saving the day.  Riding up to
his father on a white horse and demanding what
was stolen from her; presenting it to her as
some sort of Holy Grail, with himself as
deliverer.  But in the cold light of day, his
frustration and impotence came back to cloak
him.  Binding his arms and chest with oppressive
ropes that bit into his skin with every move he
tried to make.

"I know something's wrong, Gabriel.  I can
tell."  From the corner of his eye, he saw her
leave the bed.  He turned to the windows,
fastening his jeans as she continued, "These
clothes.  Where did you get them?"

Half-turning, he saw her walk forward, sweater
in hand, her question tightening her brow.  "Kr-
Arntzen.  Found them in his room."  Please don't
ask me anymore, he begged silently.

Her steps brought her around to face him.  After
bringing the sweater to her nose, she flung it
at him, her eyes flashing.  "And you took time
to bathe?"

He fisted the black material, his explanation
faltering.  "Julia..."

"Don't even bother, Gabriel."  Arms crossed, she
was all fire and fury, determination steeling
her jaw.  "They know you're here, don't they? 
Arntzen, the doctor, Mr. Spencer?"  At his
silence she demanded, "Don't they?"

He caved under her accusing stare.  "Yes."  With
anger at his failed resolve not to upset her, he
turned, pulling the sweater over his head.  "I'm
going to ask you not to pursue this, Julia. 
Please.  I can't say anymore."

A soft sigh blew across his back and warm,
slender arms sneaked around his middle.  "The
Colonel's not meeting us, is he?"

Gabriel closed his hands over her wrists,
hanging his head.  "No.  We're heading to
Helena.  We have to get there by six... lives
depend on it."  It was way too much to have let
slip out, but it was too late.  He just hoped
she'd understand and let it go.

"I know," she said softly, her cheek rubbing
against his back.  "Much as I want to leave with
you, I'm glad you decided to let Matthew reach
Helena without delay."

She thought he'd had a change of heart about the
boy; his use of the plural had escaped her for
the moment.  Matthew and his grandfather meant
nothing to Gabriel.  The only lives he cared
about were the ones trying to melt into his
back.  Mother and child, both dependent on the
chip no bigger than the head of an hat pin. 
Swallowing back the aching in his throat, he
turned to fully embrace her, his hands pulling
her as close as he could.

"Mad at me?" he whispered, settling his chin
over her mussed, bright hair.

"Me?" Disbelief made her chuckle as she returned
his hug.  "Nah.  But all you had to do was tell
me the truth.  That's all I ever ask, Gabriel. 
I'm so tired of people tiptoeing around me."

"And risk hurting you?" he countered.  "I don't
think so."

"This little tidbit of information didn't even
make a wave in the pool," she huffed.  "What I
don't understand is why Mr. Spencer felt he had
to procure a husband for me."

Gabriel leaned back to look her in the face, his
words solemn.  "Because he was worried about
you.  As we all are."  It wasn't entirely the
reason for Spencer's drafting of Krycek, but it
did contain some truth.  "Now, let's see about
some breakfast."

Julia smiled, one eyebrow raised.  "In here?"

The offer was tempting, but unwise.  He never
thought he'd see the day he'd turn down intimacy
with her.  But he was still wary of her reaction
and there were other advantages to seeking out
the other passengers on the train.  Besides the
opportunity to dig a little deeper, there was
the most compelling reason to seek out an
audience - they couldn't very well throw him off
the train in her presence, now could they? 
She'd guarantee that he'd make it to Helena.

Shaking his head, he released her and sat on the
bed, reaching for his boots.  "In the club car. 
I hear the view is spectacular from there."

As he dropped his head to tie his boot laces, he
felt a hand stroke his hair.  "You're going to
have to touch me again one day, you know," came
the soft warning.

Stilling, he realized she could see right
through him.  One thing that had never changed,
never would.  Without looking up, he wrapped his
arms around her, dropping his cheek to her
round, firm belly.  "I'm touching you now," he
whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Her other hand came up to tweak his ear. 
"That's not what I meant and you know it."

For long moments, he held her tight, fighting
the return of his tears.  Unable to answer her,
he simply nodded, basking in the warmth of her
body and the caress of her fingers.  Spencer
implied last night that he was after a cure for
Matthew *and* Julia.  But what if things didn't
go as planned?  He'd have to make a decision
soon.  God, he felt so alone, despite having her
with him.  She was part Scully, part Julia...
and he'd give anything now to have the Scully
part of her step up and present him with the
solution to their problems.  What would you do
Scully? he wanted to ask.

He knew what he wanted.  That chip back in her
neck and their baby born healthy.  Easy.  But
what if the chip Spencer got from his father was
just like the one she now had?  One thing he had
control over was his father's presence.  It
didn't matter if she could be called then,
because there wouldn't be anyone left to call
her, he'd see to it personally.  But could he
live with her never remembering who she was? 
Who he was?

Damn straight he could, he thought, nuzzling the
thin cotton with his nose.

"Julia?"

"Yes?"

"If this was all we had..." He tread lightly,
picking his words carefully.  "Just Julia and
Gabriel..."

"And our child," she pointed out with a chuckle,
her belly moving beneath his cheek, her fingers
tugging at his hair.

"Yeah," he agreed with a hitching breath, his
lips cracking into a grin.  "Sorry, I'm still
getting used to it."

"It's okay," she murmured, "so am I.  And the
answer is yes."

Lifting his head, he looked into her soft,
smiling gaze.  "Are you sure?  What if you can
never -?"

"Never what?  Remember what my life was like
without you in it?  Remember the time before I
met you?"  She dropped a quick kiss on his
forehead, then straightened to declare, "There
is nothing else I need to know, Gabriel."

But there was, his mind insisted.  The Scully he
knew would want to know everything about
herself, about the world she'd lived in.  Her
family, her work, the way she'd been used by his
father... the way her life hung in balance
because of it.  "But -"

His words were smothered by her fingers.  "But
nothing.  Gabriel, I've lived these past months
wondering who I was, where I'd come from... if
there was anyone out there looking for me."  A
sheen of tears accompanied her smile.  "I don't
need to look anymore.  I don't need to ask, to
try to fill the blanks in my mind.  You did that
when you found me.  You filled all the gaps. 
When you found me, I found myself."

He smiled as well, choking back the onslaught of
emotion.  "Are you sure, Julia?  'Cause I'm one
step up from a bum right now.  Not much of a
catch, I'm afraid."

She gave him another all-too-brief kiss, this
time on the lips, before moving away to the
closet.  "Well, I'm a homeless, pregnant,
married-then-not amnesiac.  I'd say that makes
us about even, doesn't it?"  Winking, she drew
her robe from the closet.  "I'll even let you
use my toothbrush before I hog the bathroom.  If
that's not true love, what is?"


*******


7:15 a.m.


He left her in the shower, groaning with regret
at her invitation to share the hot water with
him.  At the look on his face, she'd relented,
but not before teasing him by parading around
the room stark naked.  Even now, as he made his
way to the club car, he brought a hand to the
front of his jeans, grumbling at his dick to
settle down.  She'd assured him she would no
longer press the issue of her former life,
telling him it didn't matter.  But, like someone
burned, he wanted to back off from the fire for
a bit.  Besides, there were other matters to
tend to before she made an appearance at
breakfast.

Thankfully, Jesse and Kurtzweil were the only
two partaking of eggs and ham in the club car. 
Kurtzweil looked up with surprise, immediately
launching into a warning.  "I thought I told you
not to tell her anything.  What the hell are you
doing in here?"

Ignoring the doctor's stern look, Gabriel sat at
the table, facing Jesse with a level stare. 
"Has anything changed?  It's still on for Canyon
Ferry Dam?"

With a mouthful of eggs, Jesse looked up from
his plate.  "Shit, Gabe.  Can't a man eat in
peace?"

Gabriel wrapped his hand around Jesse's wrist,
stopping his fork in mid-air.  "Don't fuck with
me, Jesse.  Tell me."

The arm under his fingers tightened a bit, then
relented, slowly lowering.  "Weather's bad, but
right now we're runnin' about an hour ahead of
schedule.  Passed Cheyenne a couple of hours
ago.  No change in plans, not that I know of." 
He shrugged away from Gabriel's grasp with a
snide grin.  "Satisfied?"

Canyon Ferry Dam.  Gabriel sat back, unease
settling over him.  He wasn't familiar with the
landmark, but if it was typical of similar
structures in the area, it was isolated and very
open.  Impossible to hide any force of men
because of its stark construction and little or
no adjacent buildings.

"He told Mr. Spencer to come alone," Jesse said,
speaking of Gabriel's father.  "Naturally, Julia
will go, too.  Along with me and Alex.  We're
gonna have some men hidden there, Gabe.  You
know we ain't taking no chances."

Still wasn't good enough, Gabriel decided.  Not
that he planned on letting Spencer know that. 
He hoped Frohike had an idea, because he sure as
hell was tapped out at the moment.

Kurtzweil took his silence as an opportunity to
butt in, grabbing Gabriel's arm.  "What did you
tell her?"

Shrugging off the hand, he flashed Kurtzweil an
annoyed look.  "As little as possible.  She
knows Krycek was just a bid to keep her quiet; 
she accepts me as - " As what?  Her mate?  It
sounded so trite and he found he couldn't give
it voice.  Instead, he swallowed it down,
continuing, "She thinks we're still going to
Helena to help Matthew.  And after that, she and
I will strike out on our own."

"And you?  Does she remember you?"

"No."  Thank goodness Kurtzweil was partially
right about her blocking out last night's
events.  "I don't think she remembers my real
name."

"Good." Kurtzweil finished his coffee.  "Let's
keep it that way."

Gabriel turned to him, mirroring his grasp of a
few moments past, shaking his arm.  "Did Spencer
tell my father the chip under her arm is
failing?  Is he bringing it with him?"

"I believe so - that's part of the deal. 
Spencer's not handing Julia over until your
father shows him the chip.  And Matthew's cure. 
Proof that your father has what they both need."

"And this chip - can you insert it and remove
the other one?"

"Of course." Kurtzweil gave him an affronted
stare.  "Do you think I'm incapable?"

Gabriel released him, hanging his head to say,
"No.  I'm just..."

"Overwhelmed, I know."  Soft and assuring, he
added, "Mr. Spencer has been good to me,
Gabriel.  To all of us.  And he's had a soft
spot for Agent Scully since the beginning.  He
admires her, more than he does you, I think."

"Don't I know it," Gabriel snorted.  "She's my
better half."

"Don't worry, okay?  Everything will work out -
I'll have a small surgery set up in Matthew's
quarters.  Fifteen minutes, that's all I need." 
Kurtzweil stood, cup in hand.  "You can tell her
everything after this is all over." He gave
Gabriel a nod before retreating to the kitchen.

Yeah, but would she understand?  Would she even
want to know all that she'd been through, all
that had been taken from her?  If he could, he'd
wrap her in cotton and spirit her away to a
place untouched by human hands.  That farm they
spoke of back in the bunker; just the two of
them and baby makes three.  Happily ever after.

"How do I get some breakfast around here?"

Julia's light tones disturbed the heaviness that
surrounded the men.  She'd arrived early; 
dressed in a suit of clothes similar to last
night's, this time a deep gold velour.  Gabriel
and Jesse both stood, and Kurtzweil poked his
head out from the kitchen.

"Julia, how are you feeling?" He gave her a
smile, stirring his coffee with slow
nonchalance.

"Fine, sir," she answered, moving away from the
door to approach the table.  "Though I can't
really remember all that much about what brought
it on.  I thought the seizures were going away."

Gabriel held out his chair for her, meeting
Kurtzweil's swift glance over her head.  She
didn't even remember speaking to him last night
in bed.  It must have really done a number on
her, he thought.  Worse than the one back in the
cabin.  Back then, she recovered fairly quickly.

"Good morning, Jesse."  She looked up at the big
man with wary eyes, smoothing her sweater over
her belly.

"Miss Julia," he answered softly, downing the
rest of his coffee in one gulp as he pushed his
chair back in.  "I - uh - I gotta go see if Mr.
Spencer wants some breakfast."  He made a hasty
exit and Julia raised a brow at Gabriel, who
hovered to her right.

"Something I said?"

Gabriel smiled and leaned closer, taking her
hand.  "He thinks pregnancy is contagious."

Laughing, she squeezed his hand.  "If it is,
it's news to me - though I wouldn't mind palming
off some of its less desirable symptoms."

At that, his smile faded as he dropped to a
crouch beside her.  "What?  You feeling okay?" 
Short words from a tongue suddenly stumbling
with fear.  She looked healthy and, in the midst
of his concern about the chip, he realized he'd
lost sight of the obvious stress a woman's body
gains with pregnancy.  Not to mention any number
of complications she could encounter along the
way.

"I'm fine, Gabriel," she murmured, easing her
hand from under his grip to give his cheek a
swipe of her thumb.  Closing the distance
between them, she whispered with a playful look
from beneath lazy lashes, "That's the second
time I've seen that face, you know.  I'd assumed
it was panic." One eyebrow rose with such
familiarity it took his breath away. "Or could
it be sudden intestinal distress?"

His stiff neck gave way at last as he dropped
his chin with a chuckle.  "I guess last night's
chili didn't sit well with me."  Lifting his
gaze, he forced his stomach to settle; his worry
for her had gotten to the point where it showed
in every move he made, every look he gave her. 
And one thing she didn't need was to take his
anxiety upon herself.

Thankfully, she laughed along with him, though
it was short as her reply was laced with mild
concern.  "Think you can handle breakfast? 
Because I'm starved and I'd like some company."

A plate of eggs and toast materialized between
them and they drew apart to face Kurtzweil's
smile.  "Eat, Julia.  You need to give that baby
his breakfast."

"His?" Gabriel asked, his eyes darting from the
doctor to Julia with curiosity.

Julia picked up the fork and ignored his
question, looking at Kurtzweil.  "Can we get
something for Gabriel, Doctor?"

"An answer to my question?" He stared at
Kurtzweil, who shook his head.

"Eggs I can manage, Gabriel." He moved back to
the kitchen, adding, "I think you'll have to
wait another few months for the other."

At the amused curl of Julia's lips, he stood,
giving her bright hair a light kiss before
turning to follow Kurtzweil into the kitchen. 
"Hey - I can ask, right?"

The swift press of fingers on his ass made him
jerk and turn with a drop of his mouth.  Did she
just -?

She sat, bringing her glass of juice to her lips
as she murmured, "I *like* that face.  What do
you call it?"

He swallowed, feeling the heat of her caress him
as he bent low, one hand on the back of her
chair, the other reaching for a bite of her
toast.  "Christmas morning."  Popping the bread
into his mouth, he straightened, giving her a
grin.

"I can't be sure, you know.  We may have to
actually research this in December."

Turning, he felt the certainty of success return
in the face of her vitality.  His waking doubts
fled in an instant, and he knew at that moment
that all would be well.  Lots of Decembers
loomed on the horizon for them; he'd make sure
of it.

"It's a date," he said, giving her a sure smile.



End Chapter Twenty-Four

Gabriel
Chapter Twenty-Five


En route to Helena
September 25, 2001
2:18 p.m.


He left her sleeping, the pregnancy demanding an
afternoon nap, she'd explained.  All morning
long, he'd itched to see Spencer one last time,
to warn the old man not to pull a fast one. 
Despite Spencer's assurances and Kurtzweil's
faith in his motives, Gabriel couldn't rest
easy.  Julia had been a pawn in the Project's
games too long for trust in anyone to take hold.

They'd watched the snow-covered plateaus of
Montana give way to rolling hills as the train
lumbered ever closer to their destination. 
Julia spoke of the future, drawing from him the
admission that their days ahead would most
likely be spent in Canada with the Colonel and
his friends.  She'd smiled at that and her
cheeks had bloomed with color as she'd remarked,
"This may sound crazy... but I think the Colonel
has a little thing for me."

Rolling his eyes, he'd refrained from saying
that Frohike worshiped the ground she walked on,
instead remarking playfully, "You always had a
thing for military men and he knows it."  One
day, she'd be able to embrace the memory of her
father without reservation.  Just another reason
she needed to be Scully; their child deserved
the untainted ancestry she could provide.

With a pucker of her lips, her brow raised as
she hinted around.  "Oh really?  Were you ever
in the military?"

Chuckling, he replied, "Does being an Indian
Guide count?"

Without missing a beat she snapped back, "Did
you ever wear a loincloth?"

Shifting beside her on the couch, he answered
her with a tentative, "Yes," his mind filled
with the image of himself clad in that awful
fringed vest, feathers sticking up from his
Brylcreemed hair.

"Then I'd say it definitely counts."

Dropping his chin, he gave her a sidelong
glance. "I was eight."

"Hmm... well, one of these days we'll have to
test my theory."

Dread filled his chest as he slowly asked, "What
theory?"

"That besides being attracted to military men,
I'm also turned on by men in loincloths. 
Something tells me there's a correlation.  After
all, a uniform is a uniform."  She dissolved
into laughter at his groan.

It had been a blissful, carefree morning,
harkening him back to days and nights spent
discussing everything from baseball to the
nuances of subatomic particles.  Cramped
quarters, eating day-old doughnuts and drinking
stale coffee as they sat in a Bureau sedan, or
in the dive across the street from the center of
their latest case.

Taking care not to let her delve too deep into
their past, he let her explore, only giving her
a cautionary glance when she tiptoed into a
potential minefield.  They spoke of light, airy
things... how she never let herself laugh at his
lame jokes, though he knew all along she wanted
to.  How her apartment was her haven, filled
with scents and overstuffed furniture; how he
considered it more of a home than his own sparse
living quarters.  Not fully explaining what they
did before, he told her they traveled quite a
bit on business.  Government work, he said with
a downplaying grimace, as if they lived with
boredom every minute of the day.  At that, she'd
not pursued it any further, buying into the old
'deadhead grunt' scenario with ease, though her
eyes had told him she knew he wasn't being
completely truthful.  He knew she'd get around
to digging more eventually - she wasn't one to
let an issue slide, not even as Julia.  It
hadn't taken him long to find that out, as he
recalled the first day in the cabin.

Time had flown that morning; before long they'd
found themselves eyeing each other over a light
lunch of chicken soup and crackers.  All that
was safe to say had been said, at least in his
mind.  Seeing her drooping eyelids and
suppressed yawn, he'd made her climb into bed,
gently extricating himself from her efforts to
entice him into the soft cocoon.  With a promise
to linger while she slept, he gave her a kiss
and watched her breathing become deep as she
gave in to her fatigue.

Now, as he walked the corridor to Spencer's
room, he noticed the snow outside had stopped,
though the day was still dismal, with no hope of
clearing just yet.  The sight of Jesse blocking
the corridor gave him pause momentarily, but he
forged ahead, resolution steeling his jaw.

"I need to speak to him."

Jesse crossed his arms.  "He's not in there."

Gabriel felt anger flood him.  "Like hell he
isn't."

Jesse grabbed his arm, preventing him from
barreling through the door.  "He's in the boy's
room, Gabe," he said softly.  "The kid took a
turn for the worse last night."

He saw the truth in Jesse's eyes, but felt
nothing other than slight sympathy.  The days
had long gone where he let the innocent alter
his goals.  Visions of the Lucy Householders,
the Marty Glens, the Richie Lupones... he
squashed them in an instant, knowing Matthew had
the power to sway him.  To sway *her* as well. 
All that mattered was her safety.

Turning from Jesse's solemn stare and stifled
curse, he made his way back to Matthew's room. 
Shrugging off Jesse's grip he entered the
shadowy, hot quarters, immediately assaulted by
the same smell of sickness he'd sensed last
night out in the corridor.  The room was lit
only by a lamp beside the bed, and Spencer sat
by it, his wrinkled hand clasping the boy's limp
fingers.  A shadow appeared at Gabriel's side
and he stiffened at the low warning.

"Raise your voice even a hair and you die right
here.  I don't care if we have to sedate her the
rest of the way, you understand?"

Gabriel shifted slowly, lifting his gaze to
Krycek.  His long-time adversary stood firm, the
shadows under his bloodshot eyes speaking of
hours, possibly even days since he last slept. 
But other than his haggard face, there was
nothing about him that betrayed a lack of
alertness.  The hand that held the gun was
steady, his jaw clenching as he bored Gabriel
with his strong, daring gaze.

Over the years, he'd seen Krycek present him
with many faces, depending on which side of the
fence he stood at that particular moment in
time.  Intimidation courtesy of a handgun, calm
deception with purred, cool lies.  Hell, he'd
even seen squirming fear quite a few times when
Krycek was caught straddling that same fence,
with nowhere to turn but to his old friends in
the FBI.

But this - this quiet, unflinching desperation -
this was different.  Yes, he was armed.  And
from his stance, definitely ready to blow a hole
in Gabriel's chest in a second, despite their
company.  It wasn't the threat that surprised
Gabriel, it was the motive behind it.

Concern.  Gabriel had missed it when he first
confronted Krycek last night.  But then again,
Krycek's face hadn't been hollowed and haunted
by lack of rest as it was now.  Try as he might
with his icy voice, his eyes gave him away.  For
an instant, the dark pupils darted to the bed as
if to check on the grandfather and grandson,
then they slammed back to Gabriel as he
repeated, "Do you understand?"

With a nod, Gabriel answered, "How's Matthew?",
making a silent promise to himself to get to the
bottom of the unspoken undercurrents in the
room.  Then again, maybe he wouldn't.  Mentally,
he shook off his curiosity, remembering the
purpose for this trip - and his own personal
goal of getting her out of the web of deceit
once and for all.

"Leave us, Alex."  Spencer didn't even turn
around, didn't hesitate in his vigil by the bed. 
If possible, he looked older this morning than
he did last night.  Hunched over the boy like an
ancient stone statue, the only sign of life the
slow arch of his back as he drew in breath.

Krycek was just as stunned as Gabriel, maybe
even more so, as he stepped forward.  "I don't
think -"

Spencer cut him off with a brusque, "Do as I
say, boy.  Go get some rest.  You're no good to
me if you can't see straight."

Stiffening, Krycek pulled up short, pocketing
the gun with a short sigh.  As he turned, he
gave Gabriel one last glance, his eyes narrowing
with silent threat.  Hands in pockets, Gabriel
gave him a defiant stare in return, though he
took a step back in an effort to show he wasn't
after a confrontation.  Not yet, anyway.  That
depended upon Spencer's believability in the
next few minutes.

After Krycek left the room, Gabriel let things
quiet down for a few moments.  The only sound
besides the roll of the wheels beneath them was
the rhythmic beep of Matthew's heart monitor. 
The kid was either asleep or unconscious;
Gabriel figured it was the latter.  He laid
still as death in the bed, his face pale and
almost yellowish with ill humor.  A twinge of
sympathy for the boy rose in Gabriel and he
asked again, "How is he?"

Though he didn't face Spencer fully, he could
feel the man's lips purse with annoyance.  "I
don't see how you could possibly care, but he's
not doing well.  Not well at all."

Old, familiar guilt clouded Gabriel's face.  The
hard edge he'd honed over the last year had
devoured any semblance of compassion left in him
and he didn't like it at all.  It seemed as
though Mulder had truly died when he melted into
the Oregon forest and a new, selfish man was
born.  Though still wary, he decided to let a
smattering of concern surface, if for nothing
more than to pander to the old man's temporary
hold over them.

"Julia's worried about him," he said, which was
true.  She'd wanted to visit Matthew, but
Kurtzweil deemed it unwise, given the boy's
compromised immune system.  Gabriel had agreed
earlier this morning, telling her he'd check on
the boy.  He neglected to mention he had another
agenda; she didn't need to know everything.

Spencer finally turned, releasing Matthew's hand
to raise disgusted eyes to Gabriel.  "And you
are obviously not.  It's not the first time
you've used a child for personal gain and it
probably won't be the last, will it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Gibson Praise.  Ring a bell, Mulder?"

Gabriel felt himself pale just a bit but he
stood firm.  "I wasn't the one who sliced his
head open like a watermelon."

"No, but you knew what he could do.  How he
could communicate with them, just as we - just
as my former associates did.  Though no longer a
part of their evil agenda, I was kept informed."

"By Krycek."  Of course, it made sense.  If
Spencer's tale was to be believed.  He still
didn't trust the man not to lie to him.

Spencer nodded slowly.  "Alex told me how Agent
Scully had a soft spot for the boy.  And how you
wanted nothing from him but your proof.  So
spare me your feigned concern - it's insulting."
He let the words hang in the air a moment then
added with a sigh, "What do you want, Mr.
Mulder?  I know you're not here to check on my
grandson."

True.  And, as much as he longed to deny his
single-minded treatment of Gibson, he knew he
couldn't.  If not for Scully's intervention at
the motel, he would have dragged the boy back to
the nuclear facility with him.  But it ended
badly, anyway.  It was no use rehashing the
past.  He took a step forward, face hardening. 
"We have unfinished business."

"What?  Afraid I'll hand Julia over and not look
back?"

"Forgive me if I still don't quite believe
you'll let us go."

"This from a man who once believed in everything
but God."  Spencer's face sagged.  "There is a
God, Mr. Mulder, believe me.  He's taking great
pleasure in making me pay for the sins of my
past."

Impatience flared, dispelling Gabriel's
lingering sympathy.  "I don't think God cares
enough about you to make you suffer."  A
philosophical discussion wasn't something he was
prepared to enter into, especially with a man he
held just as responsible for the world's demise
as his father.  "It's beside the point.  You're
just like the others... just like my father. 
Just like Krycek.  God gave up on you long ago."

"You're right.  I am just like your father.  In
more ways than one."  Narrowed eyes stabbed at
Gabriel with swift surety.

Spencer's soft words grabbed him in a fearful
grip.  "I knew it," he breathed, slowly
approaching the bed.  "You don't mean to give me
Julia."

"You'll get your Julia, Gabriel.  As soon as we
get what we want."

"We?"  It was the first time Spencer had spoken
in the collective, and it set off instant
alarms.  "What do you mean - *we*?"

"I told you I was like your father, didn't I? 
In many ways."  He stood, teetering on his cane
as he added, "You take great pleasure in
questioning the motives of everyone you deal
with, Mulder.  But you never get past your
hatred long enough to see that we're all human. 
Me, Matthew... Alex.  Just like you."  The
emphasis on the last statement was deliberate.

What the hell did Krycek have to do with any of
this?  It was a question he'd asked Julia long
ago, and she had no answers either.  Yet he kept
turning up like a bad penny.  Insinuating
himself into their lives, helping one second,
creating havoc the next.  Always disappearing
and surfacing with convenient ease.  But why?

The Consortium had been a tight-knit group - a
family, almost.  Men who prided themselves on
their unity.  Men who were willing to protect
Nazis to ensure their children survived the
coming holocaust.  A runt like Alex Krycek had
no place in the fold... or did he?

"Think, Mulder." Spencer cut into his confused
thoughts.  "Why would Alex go to the lengths
he's gone to help me?  Money?  What use is money
these days?"

Sudden clarity chased away the clouds of
confusion.  "Julia told me back in the bunker
that Krycek said he wanted to find himself.  And
he has... he's yours.  But you told me Matthew
was your only living relative."

"Alex prefers to keep his distance from me." 
Spencer dropped his chin and Gabriel marveled at
the small display of regret.  "We share blood,
but not much else."

"Like me and my father." Mouth falling open with
surprise, he added, ""Born of the Project, just
as I was."

Nodding, Spencer sighed.  "In his case, he was
not raised in the safe confines of stoic New
England, protected from that which created him. 
No - Alex is the result of a joint Russian-
American effort to produce a child of superior
ability.  Much like yourself."

Gabriel snorted, picturing a young Alex Krycek
pampered by this man.  Taught to sip tea while
he practiced kill shots.  "What went wrong?" he
asked, his snide implication making the old man
bristle.

"What went wrong - as you so nastily put it - is
that he was never mine.  Bartered away by your
father in a futile effort to appease a hostile
government.  Raised by Russian parents who fled
their country when they realized they couldn't
protect him."  Anger flushed Spencer's cheeks. 
"I had no idea where he was until your father
produced him for indoctrination into the
Project.  Even then, I didn't know *who* he was. 
It wasn't until I ran into Kurtzweil again that
we put the pieces together.  Sadly, it was too
late for Alex."

Disbelief edged Gabriel's, "Yeah, right.  Raised
by you he would have been a Nobel Prize winner."

Spencer's jaw tightened, but he kept his fury to
a simmer.  "And you're the Messiah, is that it?"

Gabriel's snide grin faded.  He always thought
himself better than Krycek, better than the men
who played with the world like tinker toys. 
Before, when his existence revolved around
finding the truth.  Now, with millions dead and
no redemption in sight other than her love and
trust, he wondered if he'd ever feel clean. 
Spencer was right.  He wasn't without blame. 
Nor would he ever be.

"No one is who they were... *Gabriel*.  They
will never be so again."  Spencer turned,
leaning on his cane as he looked sadly at his
grandson.  "The innocent pay for our
transgressions.  And we atone in any way we can. 
Alex knows this.  Like me, like you... he's
trying."

Silence settled over them as Gabriel took the
words in.  Could it be they really were tired of
the machinations and manipulations?  Possibly,
though Spencer had admitted to keeping him away
from Julia until they had no choice but to bring
him close.  That still rankled; it smacked of
conspiracy, despite Spencer's golden words of
remorse and restitution.

"Look, this little family reunion means nothing
to me," he stated, searching out Spencer's gaze
with flinty eyes.  "I'm here to tell you not to
cross me.  Once this is over, Julia leaves with
me, understand?"

"I have no desire to *cross* you, Mulder. 
Though you're really in no position to make
demands, you realize."

"I think you underestimate my resources." A
bluff, to be sure.  But delivered with a low
growl that made Spencer stiffen; Gabriel saw the
memory of his attack on the old man last night
bloom in his eyes.  He moved in, one final
demand issued in a deadly voice.  "I want to be
there when the trade goes down."

"No, you can't -"

"I can.  Canyon Ferry Dam.  One way or another,
I'm going to be there."

Spencer wilted.  "Stupid Jesse."

Gabriel ignored the angry words.  "I'm no fool -
I know better than to show my face to my father. 
But don't stand in my way if - *when* - things
sour.  Don't ask me to stand by and do nothing."

"Fair enough."  His host straightened with a
warning of his own.  "All I want is Matthew's
cure.  You screw that up, Mulder, and you'll not
walk away with Julia.  You won't walk away at
all."

He had no doubt they both were willing to kill
to get what they wanted.  Two warriors needing
the one thing that made their lives worthwhile,
they would fight to the bitter end.  Nodding, he
turned for the door.  "Then we understand each
other."  Reaching for the door knob, he gave
Spencer a parting shot.

"I'd like to say it's been a pleasure doing
business with you.  But my good manners will
extend only so far.  My father taught me well."


*******


Near Helena, Montana
September 25, 2001
5:24 p.m.


"I get off before we get to the depot."  He
shrugged into the coat Kurtzweil had given him
earlier in the afternoon; he could pass for one
of Spencer's guards now, but he didn't want to
take the chance one of his father's spies would
recognize him at the Helena station.  And he
knew damn well the spies would be out in force.

"How?  By jumping off?" Julia asked, with
incredulous eyes.

"How do you think I got on the train?"  At her
sudden white-faced surprise, he chuckled, "I'd
have given myself a ten, but the belly-flop kind
of ruined my graceful form."

She closed her mouth with a gulp.  "Jesus,
Gabriel," she whispered, moving to the window.

Wrong time to be flippant, he realized.  "I have
to meet the Colonel, Julia.  Make a few
arrangements for our eventual departure.  And
you know I can't take the chance one of the
company guards will spot me."

The train was slowing with every second that
passed.  Though it had long since stopped
snowing, the overcast skies hastened nightfall
and the scenery outside the windows before them
faded fast.  Julia stood with crossed arms, her
face pinched with anxiety as she watched them
crawl ever closer to Helena.  She wasn't pleased
that he was leaving her on the train; she knew
he'd been discovered by Spencer, and didn't
understand why they couldn't just leave together
once they reached their destination.  But she
still believed he was a wanted man, not knowing
Spencer *was* the company.  It was best that she
continue thinking him in danger; it made his
early exit from the train imperative without any
further explanation.

"Take me with you.  I can walk, you know.  I'm
fully rested and ready."

She'd slept almost four hours, waking with a
start a half-hour ago, her frantic gaze settling
down when she spied him on the couch.  Noticing
the time, she'd immediately gotten up and
dressed, mild censure in her voice as she
chastised him for not giving her more time to
prepare.  God, how he'd hated to tell her she
wasn't coming with him.  Not yet, anyway.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he felt the
tense ridges of fragile bone beneath and sighed,
softly kneading her anger away.  Her fragrant
hair beckoned and he dropped a kiss into its
silky mass, murmuring, "I won't be long, I
promise.  I'll come back for you."  The lie of
omission pained him and he squeezed his eyes
shut, railing inwardly at the tantalizing
picture her words created.  It would be so easy
to just step off the train, the two of them. 
Disappear into the wilderness and never look
back.

Then a month from now, maybe two, he'd watch her
die in his arms.  No.  It had to be done this
way, even if it meant steeling himself against
her pleas.

"You're not coming back, are you?"

Soft, sad words that pierced him, forcing his
arms to encircle her. She knew something was
afoot, intuitively sensing his inner fear and
anguish with the situation.  He should have
known she'd catch on just like she did this
morning - her quick mind demanded answers.  With
a small shake of her he insisted, "I am."  His
hands spread over hers and together they cradled
the child.  "I came this far for you, Julia.  No
one is going to stop me from leaving with you."

"Then why not take me with you now?"

"I already told you -"

"No, Gabriel." She moved from his embrace to
stand before the next window, bringing her hand
up to the glass.  The meager lights of Helena
shone in the near distance and she spread her
fingers, resting her cheek against her
outstretched arm.  "You're not telling me
everything.  I know you said you couldn't, which
I understand.  But this separation... I don't
like it.  Something tells me we shouldn't be
apart anymore."

If what she was feeling was anything like the
dread gnawing at his stomach, then he understood
perfectly.  There was *nothing* he liked about
this plan of Spencer's.  But there wasn't a God
damned thing he could do about it.  Except be
there and hope for the best - while prepared for
the worst.

Stepping around her, he gently took her icy hand
from the window and warmed it between his,
giving her a small smile as he brought it to his
lips.  From under lowered lashes, he gave her
what he hoped was a light-hearted, reassuring
look.  "Can't stand to do without my charm for
even a little while, eh?"

Julia didn't bite, instead pulling her hand away
to flash him an angry look, hands on hips.  "I'm
in no condition to hare off after you.  Not this
time.  Especially not if you end up in Alaska
again."

Even with the slow hum of the train, Gabriel
knew they could have heard a pin drop onto the
carpet.  Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, they stared
at one another for a few seconds, until Julia
began to sputter.

"Gabriel - Alaska... I followed you to -"

"So you did," he said slowly, feeling his smile
light up the dim room.  He took her flushed
cheeks in his hands and bent down to give her a
lingering kiss, directing the conversation onto
an easier path.  After several moments, he
reluctantly left her mouth, drawing her close to
breath into her neck, "We have followed one
another to the ends of the earth, Julia.  One
last little detour won't make any difference,
believe me."

Her arms wrapped around him as she tucked her
head under his chin.  "It better not.  This..."
Spreading her fingers across his back she pulled
him close, the human basketball between them
pushing into his stomach with subtle emphasis. 
"This is the best reason to come back for me."

His breath hitched as he replied huskily, "Only
because it runs a close second to its mother."

The blare of the train whistle startled them
both.  "No," she whispered, her embrace almost
frantic.  "Don't go just yet."

Gabriel's chest ached with sorrow at the truth
he couldn't yet tell her.  She knew, could
*feel* that though the train ride was at an end,
the journey wasn't yet over.  He never was good
at hiding his feelings from her.  Only his love
had remained hidden for years, cloaked in the
idealistic give and take of true friendship. 
And now, it seemed it was all he could show,
though he felt like letting a wail of anguish
loose as he slowly pulled himself from her
grasping hands.

Head lowered, he quickly kissed the fretful
crease of her brow, then her damp cheek.  "Don't
cry," he murmured, his forehead meeting hers as
he silently transmitted a plea for control.
*His* as well as hers.  "I can't stand to see
you cry."

Sniffling, she pulled herself together.  "I'm
not crying," she said, her voice a wavering
thing that touched his lips.  "I'm smiling,
see?"  But her lips refused to cooperate, and
she bit down on her lower lip as she turned back
to the window, wiping at her face.  "Go on.  I
know you're anxious to meet with the Colonel."

And she knew as well as he did that it was best
he didn't exit the train with the others in her
party.  Though she believed it was because he
was still wanted by the company.  He didn't dare
tell her it was because it was very likely his
father had spies at the depot.

One last time, he moved closer, his hands
hovering above her shoulders with the need to
touch her.  But he resisted, knowing it would
make his leaving almost impossible should he
upset her again.

"I'll come back for you, Julia."

She didn't say a word, just stood straight as
she gazed at the snow-lined trees beyond the
window.  Without another word, he turned up the
collar on the coat Kurtzweil had produced for
him earlier in the afternoon, and quickly left
her room.

Thinking it best not to disturb the guard at the
end of the train, he walked through the cars
until he reached the junction of her car and
Matthew's.  The biting wind hit him in the face
and he leaned over, seeing the bustle of the
depot several hundred yards ahead.  The train
had slowed considerably and with a deep breath,
he jumped to the snowbank below, rolling to a
stop.

On his knees, he looked up just in time to see
Julia's face float by.  Smiling through her
tears, her hands came up.

<Nine point nine.>

Palm against the glass, her smile faded as she
disappeared from his sight.

Shrugging off his sudden emptiness, he stood and
began to walk.  Maybe a hundred yards of
trudging in knee-deep drifts, and he came upon
the depot, telling himself she'd be okay.  She
had to be; he wouldn't allow his disquiet to
take hold.  A clear head was his best ally at
the moment, and he shoved the vision of her
worried face into a corner of his brain, fully
settling into stealth mode as he crept up.

He watched the train pull in the station from a
shadowed outside corner of the building.  The
platform was built much like the one in Denver; 
the company had wasted no time rebuilding the
necessary facilities.  Many of the wooden
structures in the cities had been looted and
eventually torn down by the survivors, mostly
for firewood during the last harsh winter after
colonization.  But the stations between company
sites had sprung up almost immediately out of
the rubble last spring; even under the
snowdrifts he could smell fresh-cut pine.

And standing on that pine were maybe a dozen
men.  Milling about, some obviously station
workers, their hand signals bringing the train
to a slow stop.  Others walking about in rags,
their haunted, hollow cheeks speaking of near
starvation.  Still others, dressed warmly in
work gear, puffing on cigarettes as they laughed
with each other.  It was those men who grabbed
Gabriel's attention.  He'd bet his last dollar
one or two of them worked for his father.

As soon as the train came to a halt, he saw
Krycek and Jesse step down from the club car,
their eyes shifting about the platform quickly. 
Gabriel heard the muffled thud of a door
slamming, and noticed the huge truck at the far
end, flanked by two dark SUV's.  A man
approached Krycek, signaling to the vehicles. 
As he greeted Krycek, a stream of company guards
surrounded the train on both sides, their guns
poised and ready.

He couldn't hear what was being said, but he
breathed a sigh of relief when Krycek and Jesse
took the captain aboard with them.  It looked
like Spencer was not taking any chances.  He
knew the best place to wait until the exchange
was the train.  It was secure and a vehicle
virtually unstoppable by anything but a
derailment.  And Gabriel knew his father wanted
Julia badly enough not to storm the depot and
risk harming her baby.

A few hours more and they'd be free.  All he had
to do was find Frohike...

"Don't move."

Gabriel froze at the feel of the gun in his
back; he knew that voice, but it had been so
long he thought he was imagining it.

"Now, if you're who I think you are, you'll be
able to tell me something I'm itching to know."

A grin accompanied Gabriel's, "And what's that?"

"That red little mouth - tell me it's good for
something else besides arguing."

In an instant, Gabriel whirled, knocking the gun
away as his fist connected with what felt like
Mount Rushmore.  Wincing at his sore knuckles,
he eyed the man sprawled on his back in the
snow, his fury melting as he caught sight of the
lopsided smile cupped in nursing fingers.

A frosty chuckle accompanied the man's, "I knew
it was you, Mulder."

"You perverted son-of-a-bitch."  Gabriel held
out one hand to help the laughing man to his
feet.  "You're one man I never would have pegged
as having a dirty mind.  Hanging around Frohike
a bit too much, eh?"

His erstwhile attacker took the offered
assistance, reaching for his gun as he stood,
shaking the snow from his jacket.  "Please," he
drawled.  "All those years... don't tell me you
never wondered the same thing."

Falling into step beside his greeting committee
of one, Gabriel replied, "Guilty.  What
surprises me is that *you* were thinking the
same thing."

"What surprises me is that *you* never took the
time to find out... until recently, from what
I've been told."  Snorting, the hulking,
bundled-up man directed him to an alley across
the street.  "I always thought you were
brilliant, Mulder.  Now I realize just how
fucking stupid you really were."

Yeah, Gabriel thought.  I was stupid then and
I'm crazy now.  He flashed a smile, happy to
have this man by his side.  He could use all the
help he could get.

"Nice to see you too, Walter."



End Chapter Twenty-Five

Gabriel
Chapter Twenty-Six


Helena, Montana
September 25, 2001
6:15 p.m.


"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

Gabriel shook his head at Skinner's incredulous
statement.  Time was of the essence and he'd
quickly told them all of what he'd learned on
the train after he'd followed Skinner to the
small hotel across the street from the depot.

"Amazing," Frohike piped in, his eyes wide at
the revelations.  "You mean - Krycek isn't the
spawn of Satan after all?"

With a snort, Gabriel stood, scrubbing at his
beard as he pushed away from the small table. 
"That remains to be seen."  After all, every
time he looked in a mirror these days, he
wondered if one day, his father's genes would
overcome any sense of human compassion he still
possessed.  "Look, Spencer's little Peyton Place
means nothing to me.  Scully -" He bit his lip
and cleared his throat, giving them all a
sweeping glance.  "Scully needs that chip or
she'll die.  End of story."

"Damn right," Frohike said, standing as well. 
He reached for the paper that laid on the single
cot, spreading it over the table.  "Canyon Ferry
Dam."  His gloved finger made a beeline on the
map as Gabriel and Skinner flanked him.  "About
12 miles northeast of Helena.  Near as I can
tell, there's only one road in - Highway 284. 
Past the dam, it circles around the lake. 
Pretty isolated."

"Is the power plant still operational?" Skinner
asked.

"The friendlys in town tell me yeah.  But
there's only one guy left from the crew that
manned it before the Invasion; he lives in a
shack close by.  We didn't want to poke around
too much, you know.  Langly and Byers left
shortly after we arrived late this afternoon to
take a look."  Opening up his laptop, he powered
it up.  "They should be back any minute now."

It wouldn't be easy, Gabriel knew right away,
even without seeing the structure.  Spencer
would arrive from the southwest, his father from
the northeast.  Facing each other like
gunfighters on a deserted street.  A handful of
men ready with weapons and itchy trigger fingers
waiting behind them.  Nowhere to run, nowhere to
hide.  A disaster in the making - with Julia
caught right in the middle.

"I don't like it." Skinner clenched his jaw and
moved away, hands on hips, echoing Gabriel's
thoughts.  "Too open.  Where the hell are we
supposed to hide?"

As Gabriel pondered the answer to that question,
Frohike interrupted, "Have a look." Swinging the
laptop around, he continued, "Got this off of an
old Montana tourism site.  Not much to work
with.  I did find out that it was undergoing
some patchwork at the time of the Invasion."

The picture showed a very panoramic scene, the
dam majestic amidst green rivers of trees.  A
huge reservoir sat behind it and it emptied
through the turbines from the middle in four
white plumes of water.  Slick concrete hundreds
of feet high with no way to scale the walls to
the road above, its construction presented an
almost insurmountable problem, as far as he
could tell.  A large utility building sat at the
bottom left, but it was too far away from the
middle span to be of any use.  He wished for
more of a close-up photograph; from the distance
the picture was taken, details were impossible
to ascertain.

"Helena is which way?" Gabriel asked.

"Probably this way," Frohike said, pointing to
the left of the photo.  "Simply because of the
massive power lines running out in that
direction from the dam.  In other words, I'm
guessing."

"Good guess, but inaccurate.  The powerhouse is
on the other side of the dam from Helena."

Byers' statement startled them all, and Gabriel
swung around to face the door.  "Jesus.  Knock
next time, okay?"

The two arrivals moved into the room, Langly
sneering, "What for?  This is a friggin' ghost
town."

Gabriel turned back to Frohike, his memory
triggering a faint alarm in the back of his
brain.  "I thought you said there was a massive
digging site up here?"

"There was," his friend said.  "When we got
here, we found out the company had pulled up
stakes a couple of days ago.  Left lock, stock
and barrel.  Guess they abandoned it."

Something didn't sit right with Gabriel; nor
with Skinner, as he could see when he glanced at
the man.  Jaw tight, Skinner said, "Spencer
moved all his men out - why?"

"Could be he didn't find anything," Langly mused
with a shrug.

"Or it could be he found something," Frohike
breathed.  "The company's been looking mighty
hard for 'k', so far with some success."

"Jesse told me the 'k' was destroyed," Gabriel
said.  "Kurtzweil confirmed it.  What would make
this find special?"

Frohike nodded, leveling Gabriel with an amazed
stare, like a light bulb had gone off above his
head.  "Unless... it wasn't Spencer digging in
these parts at all."

"Fuck." Gabriel's anger threatened to burst
forth, but he held it in check, his hand coming
up to rub his tense neck as he paced.  "My
father.  Looking for the same God damned thing
Spencer's looking for.  And you can bet he's not
melting down the shit."

"The dam?" Skinner asked.

Gabriel looked up, coming to a halt as he
growled, "One big hydroelectric plant.  With
millions of volts of electricity just waiting to
be tapped into.  We thought the transformation
of the tower was massive - it will be nothing
compared to the energy generated if just one
piece of 'k' manages to get into those
circuits."  He was right all along.  Double-
cross?  He'd sadly underestimated his father
once again.  This was nothing like an ambush of
armed men, which was what he'd expected.

It was mass annihilation.  

"Bye-bye Montana," Frohike gulped, putting
Gabriel's worst fears into words.

"If we're lucky," Byers murmured, just as
shakily.  "But your father will be there in the
middle of it - surely he's not that brave."

"He's not," Gabriel stated.  "He'll have a fast
means of escape, you can count on it."

"Nothing will be fast enough to get him away,
not with the chain reaction this will cause,"
Frohike said.  "Not even a helicopter will do
the job."

Sudden realization made Gabriel grin.  There may
be hope yet.  "Unless he triggers the reaction
after he's gone.  Look, he can't tap into the
main generators directly - too hazardous, too
hard to control.  In the tower, Julia inserted
the chip in a computer line.  Took hours for the
reaction to reach the point where the tower
began to collapse.  What if he finds a
connection somewhere close - say, a computer in
the powerhouse."

"No chance," Langly piped in.  "Main computer is
still up and running, but every terminal is
smashed.  We checked every floor; the powerhouse
was looted long ago."

"Then a circuit breaker - *anything* he can
switch on to make the connection."  Gabriel
looked at the faces around him, seeing their
train of thoughts collide with his.  "The
powerhouse still has electrical power?"

"Yeah," Langly said, "in spots.  Some lights
work, some don't."

Gabriel leveled Frohike with frantic eyes,
knowing there was a good chance his father had
hidden the 'k' in one of those small, innocuous
circuit boxes that was a part of every dwelling. 
It would make it almost impossible to find, but
vastly easier to remove.  "Then we have work to
do."  He donned his coat and began to gather
their equipment, sliding the gun Skinner had
given him into his belt.  He was gratified to
see Skinner and Frohike join in, their movements
quick.

"But - but why don't we just take Julia from the
train and get the hell out of here?" Langly was
panicky and pale.

As Gabriel shoved his way to the door, he threw
over his shoulder at Frohike, "You tell him - in
the truck.  Let's go, there's not much time."


*******


Canyon Ferry Dam
6:45 p.m.


Trees, trees and more trees.  After basically
living in the wilderness for months now, Gabriel
was sick of trees.  He'd once told Scully he
would prefer to settle down in a small town and
watch life pass him by.  But there was a great
deal of difference between the tick-free, mowed
lawns of a place like Home, Pennsylvania and the
claustrophobic, dense blackness of an overgrown
Montana road.  He sure hoped Skinner had brought
some civilization to the encampment in Canada; 
he was damned tired of sleeping in tents and
taking ice-cold showers.

Shaking his head at his selfishness, he amended
his thoughts.  He could live anywhere, put up
with any discomfort, as long as she was with
him.

"The old man said there were men scoping out the
powerhouse yesterday.  He stayed out of sight
for the most part, hiding in the trees. 
Couldn't say what they were doing, but he told
us his power's been out since they left."  Byers
momentarily abandoned his stare out the back
window to meet Gabriel's knowing gaze.  The
pieces were falling together, creating an
ominous picture of impending doom.

He'd once bragged to Scully that he was right
most of the time; what he conveniently forgot to
say was that his accuracy rarely gave him any
satisfaction.  And this was one time he wished
he was wrong - but he knew damn well he wasn't.

"There it is."  Langly pointed above the
dashboard, turning to give the three men in the
back seat a jerk of his head.

Skinner and Byers sandwiched Gabriel in the back
seat of the ancient, shit-brown Bronco.  When
he'd seen the vehicle outside the hotel, he'd
faced Frohike with a warning lift of his brow -
where the hell would they put Julia?  With a
forestalling wave of his hand, Frohike told him
not to worry.  A small band of Skinner's men
awaited them north of Helena; after rendezvous,
they'd all travel by land, taking as much time
as they needed to see to her needs.  Just one
little thing to take care of before they left
for good - and Kurtzweil was ready back on the
train.

The eventual trek to Canada was the least of his
worries now.  Peering through the windshield, he
saw the lights of the dam in the distance.  A
lump of fear blossomed in his throat, just like
always.  But he swallowed it down - again, like
always.  Maybe another mile and they'd be there
- at that massive structure his father iintended
to use as the comeback even Elvis couldn't top.

The truck lumbered along the pothole-laced road
and Gabriel began to squirm in his seat,
grumbling when they suddenly came to a halt some
distance away from the dam.

Skinner flung open his door.  "Cool it, Mulder. 
We can't get too close.  Walking it from here on
out."  The other passengers scrambled out and
Frohike slowly drove the Bronco into the trees.

As they watched it melt into the undergrowth,
Gabriel turned to Langly.  "The dam?  How far?"

"About a quarter-mile up the road."

"And the shack?"

"A hundred yards or so downstream from the
powerhouse.  Guy's name is Bill."

Bill?  Just his luck, it was Scully's brother. 
One more obstacle to hurdle.

"Gotta warn you, though.  He's one mean old
bastard.  Nearly filled me and Byers with
buckshot."

Who could blame him? Gabriel thought. 
Scavengers of all sorts moved throughout the
country; it was best to stay in the rebuilding
cities.  Or shoot anyone who got too close, if
you chose to remain isolated.

"Is he about six-two, with red hair and no
lips?"  He had to ask; if by any slim chance it
*was* Bill Scully, Gabriel wanted Kevlar.

"Nah.  If he's over five feet tall, it's not
much.  Stinks the high heaven, too.  Maybe he's
the troll of the dam." 

Frohike joined them, giving his watch a quick
glance as he slung his backpack over his
shoulder.  Cocking his pistol, he steeled his
jaw and nodded.  "Gentlemen... let's boogie." 
Turning on his heel, he walked away, picking up
speed until his boots kicked up gravel as he
jogged around the bend in the road.

His two compadres fell into step beside Frohike,
their guns seeming out of place in their hands. 
But they carried them with the ease of
familiarity, and Gabriel gave Skinner a 'whaddya
know' shrug before following.

His old boss trotted at his left, mumbling,
"Never thought I'd see the day those three would
go Rambo.  Kind of unsettling."

Giving Skinner a taut grin, Gabriel said, "Hope
you brought your boogie shoes."


*******


6:45 p.m.


The powerhouse loomed below them as they reached
the other side of the dam.  Gabriel paused,
looking at the cobweb of electrical lines that
branched out like tree limbs from its
generators.  Coils of circuitry seemed intact
and he sighed.  The tool of his father's victory
could be anywhere.

"Hold it right there."  A stern warning, issued
with the click of a gun.

Before Gabriel could pick out the source of the
threat in the black shadows, Byers said, "Bill?" 
He stepped toward the sound slowly, dropping his
gun at his side.  "Bill - it's John.  Remember
us?"

A small, grizzled man came forward around the
safety railing at the end of the bridge,
squinting against the light beyond them all. 
"Oh, it's you again.  You here to fix my power?"

At the snarled question, Gabriel flashed an
impatient look at Byers.  They didn't have time
for placating the old man; as he jerked his chin
toward Skinner with a silent 'let's go', Byers
took over the conversation with the obstacle in
their path.

"Not yet, Bill," he said softly.  "These men are
going to give it a try, okay?"

"Friends o'yours?"  Bill's words faded behind
them as Gabriel motioned for the others to
follow.

"Yes.  We're just here to have a look around,
okay?"

Dimly, Gabriel hoped Byers told the man to make
himself scarce when the deal went down.  Though,
from the looks of the dirty little fellow, he'd
have no trouble blending in with the overgrown
trees and brush.  As they began the trek down
the incline, he let all thoughts of anyone's
safety fly from his mind.  There was work to do.


8:45 p.m.


"Anything?"

After a scratchy pause, Frohike's tinny voice
came back.  "Nada.  This place is clean,
Mulder."

They'd each taken one of the four floors of the
powerhouse building while Skinner patrolled
outside.  The guys had been right; not much left
to the place except for the roar beneath his
feet of the turbines.  The lights still worked
and he'd checked every closet, every corner for
breaker switches.  He'd found two, one at each
end of the floor, but they were all still
intact.  No sign of tampering or abuse.

"Damn it," he muttered, wiping at his brow.  He
knew he was right; Spencer's spectacular demise
at the dam would signal his father's comeback. 
Gabriel could just picture the television spot
now, his father smiling through the cigarette
smoke as he assured the people that his control
of the company would mean a disaster like the
one in Montana would never happen again.

Pressing the call button again he asked, "Are
you sure, Frohike?"

"Even checked the hand dryer in the john. 
Nothing."

Gritting his teeth with frustration, Gabriel
made a quick decision.  He wasn't letting
Spencer go through with the deal.  The old man
would have to listen to reason, or see all that
he'd worked for go up in smoke.  It would mean
that Julia wouldn't get the chip, of course.

All the years he worked to prevent his father's
triumph, only to succumb to a selfish need to
keep her with him.  If he'd only not been so
single-minded, he'd have seen this coming. 
Could have stalled the meeting until they were
better prepared.  But once again, he thought
that he could prevail, thought that he could
have all his greedy heart wished for. His
father's death.  A life without worry or fear.

Julia.

She would die this time.

No, not yet, he told himself.  He wouldn't let
it happen.

His radio squawked in his hand and Skinner's
tense voice came over the line.

"Gentlemen, company's come to call.  I hear the
trucks in the distance."

For a few moments, all was silent.  Gabriel held
his breath, knowing there wasn't much else to be
done.  Whatever was going to happen was
inevitable; he had to tell Spencer to call off
the transaction.  Pick another location, another
time - it was the only way to regain control
over their fates.  Turn the tables on his old
man and make him squirm.  He'd be angry, and
quite possibly, he'd attempt to take Julia.  But
with the Gunmen and Skinner as backup, they
could put up a decent fight and back off for a
rematch.  It was their only choice.

"Mulder?" Skinner was impatient, his voice terse
and pressing.

With quick feet, he began the climb up the
stairs.  "Position yourselves, boys.  I'm gonna
meet Spencer at the top and ward him off."

"What if he doesn't cooperate?"  Frohike was
breathless, obviously on the move as well.

As Gabriel exited the powerhouse, he saw
headlights break through the dense trees across
the dam.  "That's what we're here for, Colonel,"
he said, with an undercurrent of strategic
deliberation.  "You know what to do."

"Roger that.  Good luck, amigo."

It took five of the longest minutes of his life
to traverse the flights of concrete stairs up
the side of the dam.  That they were at the
opposite end of Spencer's approach didn't help
any; by the time Gabriel made it to the other
side, the vehicles were parked, their lights
blinding him as he ran forward.  Spencer exited
the passenger side of the one nearest, flanked
by two men Gabriel knew were armed under their
heavy coats.  At his breathless approach,
Spencer waved them away and they melted into the
darkness beyond, taking up positions Gabriel
knew weren't far behind the trucks.

Stopping before the prune-faced Spencer, Gabriel
gulped for breath, his words sharp and to the
point.  "Call it off."  Hunched over slightly,
he glared at the man, grabbing his side.  "Did
you hear me?  Call it off!"

Spencer's brows drew together as he huddled in
the cold.  "Are you insane?  I allowed you to be
here as an indulgence, but I won't stand for -"

"Call it off, God damn it!" Gabriel lunged
forward, only to be stopped short as his arms
were grabbed in a tight hold from behind.  His
weapon clattered to the pavement as he felt the
pull on his shoulder.  A large boot swiped his
leg as it kicked the weapon away.  Gabriel
watched the gun slide down the embankment with a
frustrated growl.

"Cool it, man," Jesse snarled, his hands taking
advantage of Gabriel's weakness to entrap him in
an immovable vise.  "You said you wouldn't give
us no trouble."

Struggling against Jesse's hold, Gabriel pleaded
with Spencer, "You've got to listen to me - it's
a trap.  The place is rigged with 'k'.  None of
us will make it out once the exchange is made."

Spencer leaned on his cane, one eyebrow risen as
he asked, "And you've come to this conclusion...
how?"

"I don't have time to explain."  At Spencer's
nod, Jesse let him go.  He wasted no time
stepping up to face down the old man, his pleas
stronger.  "Trust me.  My father has set a trap. 
When he gets what he wants, he'll set it in
motion."

"And just how will he escape, my dear boy?  I've
seen what this alien material can do; he
wouldn't dare put himself in danger like that."

"Helicopter.  He'll arrive by helicopter."

"No.  It was agreed we both arrive by land...
equal in men and means of transport.  No one
will have the upper hand."

Gabriel snorted.  "You really believe he'll
stick to any agreement?  You said yourself he's
double-crossed you before.  Since when has he
ever stood by what he says?"

"Since he's dying, he'll do anything I ask." 
They both turned at the approach of yet another
vehicle.  Spencer squinted at the lights. 
"Julia," he said softly.

Gabriel started for the truck, growling, "I'm
not going to let you -" But his words were cut
short as he fell, dazed by Jesse's tackle.  The
concrete under his cheek was frigid and he
fought against the confining weight as Jesse
began to drag him away, his shoulder screaming
with overexertion.

"You can have her after we're done, Mr. Mulder." 
Spencer's voice faded as Gabriel found himself
neatly hauled off, his hands bound.

"Jesse," he muttered as he was thrown into the
back of the nearby Humvee, "don't let him do
this.  I'm right, I know I am."

Jesse shook his head, wrapping Gabriel's kicking
legs at the ankle with rope.  "You don't shut
up, man, I'm gonna gag you."

"God damn it, Jesse -" His protest faded, his
ears pricking at the thump underlying the roar
of the dam.  "Listen."

Jesse straightened, a rueful smile accompanying
his, "That ain't gonna fly, Gabe."

"No, listen!" Gabriel hissed, leaning forward in
the seat, trying to muscle his way out the open
back end.  As he met Jesse's stonewall, a
distant light appeared above the treeline. 
"Look."

The big man finally turned, though he held fast
to Gabriel.  His mouth dropped as Gabriel's
prophecy came true.  "Holy shit," he breathed.

The ground began to shake at the approach of the
twin helicopters.  Circling wide, the machines
made one pass then hovered at the far end of the
dam, huge vultures moving in for the kill.

"I told you," Gabriel said, shoving at Jesse's
hold.  "Let me go."

As if mesmerized, Jesse watched the descent. 
"Mr. Spencer's gonna shit a brick."

"Fuck Spencer."  Gabriel had enough of the whole
business.  Chip or not, he was taking Julia
away.  They'd find a way to keep her alive...
but not if they all were incinerated out in this
wilderness.  "Jesse, please.  Let me go."

His one-time friend met his frantic gaze.  "I
can't do that, Gabe."  Regret darkened his face. 
"Not until we get what we want."

Amidst Gabriel's rumbles of anger, his radio
burst to life, Frohike's voice practically
squealing from the handset at his belt. 
"Mulder!"

Damn it, this wasn't supposed to happen, he
thought.  He'd promised her they'd get away,
that they'd find safety and happiness. 
Frohike's warning came too little, too late. 
Yeah, I know, he wanted to scream at the
Colonel.  We're all gonna die out here and
there's not a damn thing we can do about it.

"Mulder!  Come back!  We think we've found it!"

Gabriel sucked in a ragged breath, hope
burgeoning in his chest.  "Jesse, answer him. 
At least do that for me."  He ceased his
attempts to free himself, facing Jesse with
pleading eyes.  "Please, Jesse.  Answer him."

The moments dragged by as Jesse contemplated
Gabriel's request.

"You know I'm right," he continued hoarsely. 
"The helicopters.  The power outage.  We can
*do* something about this, Jesse.  Pick up the
radio."

"Mulder!"  Frohike was getting impatient.

With a clench of his jaw, Jesse grabbed the
radio and brought it to Gabriel's face, his
thumb depressing the orange call button. 
Gabriel nodded his thanks before saying, "I'm
here."

"Where the fuck have you been?  We think we
found it, man.  Transformer by Bill's place has
been disconnected.  Can't see much, but it looks
like there's some kind of small explosive device
rigged to it.  We're sending Langly up now."

Briefly, he closed his eyes with relief, then
opened them to challenge Jesse as he answered,
"Good.  I'm going out on the dam.  Meet at the
rendezvous point later."

"Roger that.  Keep in touch."

As the transmission ceased, Gabriel nodded,
transfixing Jesse with a determined stare. 
"So... you gonna cut me loose or do I have to
roll over there?"  His defensive posture told
Jesse he was prepared to do just that, should
need be.

Gabriel jerked back at the flash of the
switchblade and gulped.  Despite his bravado, he
was still wary of the huge man.  Was he going to
let him go?  Or slice his throat?  From the
stony silence, Gabriel wasn't sure of either. 
Jesse's eyes darted from him to the movement
beyond the truck, indecision making him
hesitate.

"Jesse," Gabriel croaked, trying one last time
with a low plea, "please.  We're all going to
die out here unless you help me."

"And if I let you go, Mr. Spencer's gonna have
my hide."  His lips slowly curled into a smile
as the knife crept closer.  "I seen you do a lot
of stupid things since I met you, man.  You're
one crazy fucker, you know that Gabe?"  Gabriel
held his breath as the knife disappeared around
his back.  "But I guess that makes me insane
too, 'cause I believe you."

"Thank you Jesus," Gabriel muttered, quickly
divesting himself of the rope to reach for his
ankles.

"The name's Jesse.  Only the women call me
Jesus." Jesse's smile widened as he sliced the
rope around Gabriel's ankles.  "You go get your
woman, Gabe.  I got ya back."

Breathless, Gabriel scrambled out of the
vehicle, hearing the helicopter come closer and
closer.  A diesel-laced blast of warmer air down
the side of the dam blew over his face and he
knew his father had landed.  Gulping back the
sudden rush of fear at seeing that monster
again, he eyed the last few feet between him and
Julia, reaching for his radio.

"Frohike?"

A squawk, then, "Just rigging Langly up now. 
Five minutes more, Mulder.  Tops."

"Five minutes?"  Gabriel stumbled, grimacing at
the pierce of the rocks into his palm as he
barely saved himself from a nasty slide into the
ravine below.  At the nudge of an elbow, he
found Jesse's knife shoved his way.  Pocketing
the blade, he nodded at Jesse, barking into the
radio, "We may not have five minutes."

"Doing the best we can, Mul - shit!"  Frohike's
reply was cut off by the loud pops over the
speaker.  Gabriel met Jesse's startled look,
both men realizing that staccato rap they just
heard could be only one thing.

"Frohike!"  Over the roar of the dam and the
helicopter, Gabriel couldn't actually hear the
rapid-fire report of automatic weapons from the
other side of the dam.  Pausing, he turned to
squint in the darkness at the pops of light that
looked more like fireflies in the dense swathe
of trees far away.  "Frohike, answer me!"

Torn between wanting to make the meeting and
running to the obvious battle raging in the
forest opposite, he felt a clammy sweat break
out under his coat.  "Damn it, Frohike!  What
the hell is going on?"

Hoarse but there, Frohike's voice came back in a
shadowy, frantic whisper.  "We're under
attack... *shit*..." Muffled, heavy breathing
bled over the transmission.  "Byers!  Get down! 
The shack!  Go for the shack!"  More crackling
and panting, then, "Mulder, we're getting some
heavy fire here."

"Frohike, get out of there," Gabriel insisted,
despite the fact that their retreat would signal
the end for them all.  The personal sacrifice
his friends had endured for his sake had finally
reached an end.  If they left now, they may have
time to get safely away, though he doubted it. 
But he had to make them try - he could buy time
by creating a diversion of his own to stall his
father's leaving.  He was sure the reaction
wouldn't be set into motion until the selfish
old bastard was a safe distance from the scene. 
"Get back to the truck and haul ass!"

"No can do, buddy."  A few shots rang out,
followed by a gritty moan.  After a second or
two, Frohike said, "Byers is down."

"Shit."  There was nothing else he could do; he
had to lend assistance to the guys or none of
them would make it out.  As he turned to brave
the battle in the forest, a large hand settled
on his shoulder.

"Go on," Jesse stated with a nod.  Pulling a
pistol from his jacket, he backed away.  "I'll
take care of 'em."

"You'll never make it across the dam," Gabriel
pointed out, jerking his head at the
helicopters.

Jesse walked to the embankment, giving him a
chuckle.  "Catwalk right above the plumes, man. 
Thought you'd looked around this thing?"  With a
flash of a smile, he melted into the night.

Gabriel shook his head, wondering how Frohike
and the guys had missed that vital piece of
information.  They'd said the dam had been
undergoing patchwork right before the Invasion,
but it never occurred to any of them just how
the workmen would have had to scale the massive
walls of concrete.  He tucked it away, hoping
his father had missed it as well.  As a means of
possible escape, it was shaky, but there. 
Setting his jaw, he wrapped his fingers around
the knife in his pocket and took off.

It didn't take long to reach the conclave,
though he hung back, recognizing Krycek's black
figure, one arm hanging useless at his side, the
machine gun held in the other as if it was part
of his flesh.  His old nemesis slowly circled
behind Spencer, his head smoothly turning to
survey the immediate area.  Gabriel knew after
his outburst not long ago that they'd never let
him near, even though Spencer had agreed he
could be there.  He had to think of another
tactic, and quickly.

The helicopters wound down slowly as Spencer
walked out to the middle of the dam.  Leaning
heavily on his cane, he attempted an imposing
glare, not quite pulling off the intimidation. 
Gabriel crept around the back of the nearest
truck, keeping his eyes peeled for Julia.  But
she was nowhere to be found, and he assumed she
still sat in the truck parked further up the
roadway.  To try to get to her now would be
fruitless; he'd seen Spencer's men take up
positions along the dam's outer edges.  One step
into the light and he'd be picked off like a
duck in a pond.

Instead, he waited, gauging the distance between
him and his father.  After the exchange, he'd
have an easy shot - if he could get his hands on
another gun. *And* provided Frohike and the boys
prevailed.  He had no doubt his old man would
send them all to hell with him should he be
mortally wounded.  Clenching his jaw against the
impatient rise of anticipation, he brought the
radio up, his whisper hopeful.

"Frohike?  I'm in position."

Scratching hisses greeted his ears.  From where
he stood on the dam, he could no longer see
flashes of gunfire in the distance.  Biting his
lip, he tried again, dismay weighing him down. 
"C'mon man... talk to me."

Nothing.  They were all dead, had to be. 
Outnumbered as he was sure they were, they
couldn't last long.  Not even Jesse's help would
come in time.  His stomach churned at the
thought of how useless he was; how far he'd come
only to falter at the last minute.

No.  He wasn't going to give up.  He owed it to
them... to *her*.  Backing up, he turned to
follow Jesse.  He'd do a Spiderman if he had to.



End Chapter Twenty-Six

Gabriel
Chapter Twenty-Seven


Canyon Ferry Dam
September 25, 2001
8:58 p.m.


It wasn't as hollow and dark as he'd expected,
though there was barely enough room on the
suspended bridge for one man to navigate.  The
electricity hadn't been knocked out in that part
of the dam and a single lamp burned on the
railing every twenty feet or so, lighting his
way.  He didn't see Jesse, which gave him some
relief; at least the man had made it across.  Or
had he?  Gabriel stopped for a second, looking
at the rush of water below.  If his father's men
had discovered the catwalk, then they'd surely
take care of any intruders.

As he approached the middle span, he was almost
deafened by the plumes of water just under his
feet.  He debated whether or not to pull out his
flashlight, then decided to chance it, seeing a
rope snaking down from above.  A satisfied grin
slashed across his face... scaffolding, right
above him.  Pocketing his flashlight, he grabbed
the rope and began to climb.

He tried to be quick about it, but the weight
his body put on his shoulder was tremendous and
he gritted his teeth against the dull needles of
pain.  Under his fingers, the rope felt like
paper.  Sun-dried and smelling faintly of mold,
it swung him about like a rag-doll.  He knew it
had been rotting in this wilderness for a year
or more, but there was no other choice.  He had
to get up that wall.

As he left the water behind, he began to hear
voices above.  Soft, but there.  On the next
pull up, his hand rammed into something solid. 
Saying a quick 'thank you' to the heavens, he
scrambled over the edge of the scaffolding, his
chest heaving as he struggled for strength.  For
a second or two, he just laid there, gathering
his wits and his breath.

Until he heard an ominous crack under his back. 
With a sudden rush of fear, he got to his hands
and knees, spreadeagled on the rotting wood.  It
seemed to be splitting in the middle of the
floor and he gently drew himself up by the pipes
that served as railings, keeping his feet firmly
on the edges for support.  When he'd made it up
he waited, gulping as the whole thing swayed in
the wind stirred up from below.  There wasn't
anything to hold on to but the pipes and his
hands were white-knuckled as he waited for the
unsteady platform to settle down.

As soon as it slowed, he chanced a look up.  The
top of the dam awaited him about ten yards above
and he could make out bright light trickling
over its edge.  The exchange was in progress and
he knew there was no more time to waste. 
Sliding his feet to the opposite end of the
scaffolding, he grabbed the rope dangling from
the pulley and began to haul himself up, hoping
the shaky thing that stood between him and
certain death would last for a few more minutes.

"I'm coming, Scully," he muttered, the rope
getting slick from his sweaty palms.  "Hang on."

It seemed like forever, those few feet of
distance narrowing as the scaffolding creaked up
on the rusty mechanism.  In his slow haste to
reach the top, he'd forgotten about the radio,
until a voice blared, making him jump.

"Mulder!  Come back!  We got it!"

Couldn't be... no, they couldn't be that
fortunate.  He was hearing the echo of his
shattered hopes, his mind giving him what he
wanted most desperately.  He kept moving, sure
what he'd heard was a figment of his overwrought
imagination.

"Mulder!"  Again, it sought to stop him.  It
could have been Frohike, but he wasn't sure, the
noise of the water distorting the voice.  What
if his father's men had caught on to where he
was?  Were they trying to make him give his
location up?  "Mulder!  Damn it, answer me!"

Biting his lip over his fruitless hope, he hung
on to the rope with one hand as he reached for
his radio with the other.  He had to find out if
it really was Frohike, but he searched his mind
for the appropriate response.  His father knew
all about his former friends - hell, he probably
had shapeshifters in his back pocket, pulling
them out like puppets on a string when he needed
them.

Taking a deep breath, he depressed the orange
button.  "Who saved your ass?" he barked into
the speaker.

"What?  Come back, ya moron and quit fucking
around."

"I said, who saved your ass?"  Please let it be
them, he prayed.  I need some good news right
about now.

The transmission went dead for a moment, then a
low chuckle rumbled over the line.  "Jesus at
your service, Gabe."

Jesse.  Closing his eyes with a gulp of relief,
he brought the radio up.  "Jesse, put Frohike
back on."

More silence, then, "We got it, dude.  Thanks to
your... whatever the hell this behemoth is."

Gabriel allowed himself a small smile then
responded, "Get back to the dam.  Don't let
anyone leave."

"But where the hell are you?"

Good question, Gabriel thought.  He didn't want
to take the time to explain.  Instead, he signed
off with, "Rock climbing... good for the arms. 
Now get going."  This time, he turned the radio
off before slipping it back into his coat.  He
wanted no more interruptions and certainly
didn't want to tip off the men above as he got
closer.

It was up to him now.  Grab Julia once the
exchange was complete, then make sure his father
never saw another sunrise.  With renewed
purpose, he began to rise again, his hands
working faster.  A half-minute later, he was
perched just below the top; he secured the rope
and reached up, his eyes peering over the edge.

They were all there.  Spencer, leaning on his
cane as he stood, his free hand fisted at this
side. Krycek, standing close behind Spencer, his
eyes black with hatred as he stared down the man
approaching from the far end.  "You were
supposed to arrive by truck," Spencer snarled,
his voice clipped with anger, his face drawn
into a frozen mask of realization.

*Now* you believe me don't you? Gabriel wanted
to scream.  If he could, he'd jump over the edge
and slap the old fart silly.  But his nose
sidetracked his thoughts, twitching as the
constant breeze brought to him a new sensation. 
An old distaste.

The cigarette smoke advanced into the circle of
light first, winding its way with insidious
announcement of the recent arrival.  "My failing
health wouldn't allow a long ride in a vehicle. 
Surely you understand?"

Gabriel felt the familiar loathing for his
father rise up in his throat.  Even before he
laid eyes on him, he wanted to kill him. He
watched as Spender moved forward, taken aback at
just how wretched he looked.  He still was able
to walk, though he was a mirror of Spencer with
his cane.  His hair was steel-gray and thin, the
lines on his face more pronounced than ever.  He
brought the cigarette up as his smile faded,
taking a pronounced drag before asking, "Do you
have what I want?" 

Several men with guns backed up each combatant
in the showdown.  Gabriel was jittery at all the
firepower - it would be so easy for someone to
get hurt.  So easy for *her* to be injured.  He
caught his breath as Spencer turned to give
Krycek a nod.  Krycek backed away as Spencer
faced his opponent once again.  "Do you have
what *I* want?"

Spender nodded with closed lips, gesturing for
the man nearest him to step forward.  In the
light, the vial the menial held up glowed amber,
shining like a jewel.  It looked exactly like
the substance Gabriel had held in his own hand
so long ago... the vaccine.  He wouldn't be a
bit surprised if Matthew's ailments could be
cured by the same concoction that had driven the
virus from his partner in Antarctica.  If -
*when* they made it back to the train, he'd
broach the subject with Kurtzweil.  Surely the
doctor would not use it all and any left over
would mean a great deal to eradicating the
lingering alien threat worldwide.

"More than enough, wouldn't you say?" his father
purred, his eyes silently transmitting something
more.  When Spencer straightened, his mouth
dropping open slightly, Gabriel knew he was
right.  He could see it written on the gnarled
faces of the two adversaries; they both knew
what was in the vial, and just how little it
took to drive away the alien demons from the
human body.

"And the chip?" Spencer bit out.

"She gets it when we leave."  Spencer's smile
faded, his eyes hardening to chips of ice. 
"Now... where is she?"

Damn it.  Gabriel seethed, moments away from
vaulting over the wall to strangle the old man. 
He should have known his father would thwart
them in every way possible.

But Spencer, to his credit and Gabriel's relief,
was not threatened.  His voice was firm,
demanding, "Show it to me... or she stays."

Taking a last drag from his cigarette, Spender
dropped it to the pavement.  "Well, it seems we
are at an impasse."

"Only because you refuse to make a move,"
Spencer replied, his words becoming hard and
brittle in the night air.  "Produce the chip -
or you die."

"If I die, so does your grandson." Spender
faltered just a bit; Gabriel could see the
stand-off wearing him down.  "Such valor from a
man who's ordered the deaths of so many.  What
is she to you?"

As his father sagged, Gabriel noted the opposite
in Spencer.  He seemed to grow taller, more
imposing as he gained the upper hand in the war
of wills.  "She is my grandson's savior.  A
better person than you or I will ever be." 
Taking a step forward, he added, "The chip, if
you please... or this conversation is ended."

The seconds ticked away as the two stood facing
each other.  One sinking deeper into evil, his
whole body exuding the stink of desperation.  It
traveled to Gabriel's nose on the back of the
cigarette smoke as his father lit up yet again,
his every move designed to stall.

Spencer, however, was an immovable statue, the
only sign of emotion the glittering promise of
his foe's death should their meeting cease
without a resolution.  Gabriel knew his father
sensed something amiss in Spencer's approach;
and why not?  If his father had a backup plan
for ultimate success, then surely he had to
figure that Spencer would have one as well.  He
had to have known Spencer would try to save
Julia just as he was trying to save his
grandson.  It was inevitable.  Gabriel waited
with bated breath for all hell to break loose,
certain that gunfire was just on the horizon.

But it didn't come.  In the bat of an eye, his
father relented, flicking his ashes at the man
beside him as he said softly, "Let him see it." 
Lifting his cane, he poked its head in the air,
his eyes never leaving Spencer.

The guard slung his weapon over his shoulder and
reached for Spender's cane.  A twist of the
serpent head and the cane opened; another glass
vial, this one smaller than the one for Matthew,
popped up from the depths of the tube.  With
shaky fingers, the guard screwed the cane back
together, then held up the valuable bone of
contention for all to see.

Gabriel narrowed his gaze, trying like hell to
pick out the chip in the glass.  Though it was
very small, he figured he should be able to see
it catch the light.  And with a twist of the
guards fingers, it did just that, sliding along
the side of the vial as Gabriel sucked in a
ragged breath.  Victory was at hand.  He could
feel the tide turning.

Spender settled once again upon his cane, taking
the chip in one bony hand.  "Now.  Bring her
out."

Two birds with one stone, Gabriel thought. 
Reaching for the knife, he prepared to vault
over the wall, no longer content to wait for
Matthew's cure to make its way across the
divide.  He wanted that chip.  He wanted Julia. 
A moment of hesitation at the possibility that
Matthew would end up on the short end of the
stick brought some sadness, but he knew
Spencer's men would move in once he made his
move.  But as he lifted his head a bit higher,
he stilled, fear stopping his advance.

A slight figure moved forward from the darkness
beyond the outer circle of light.  One slim hand
peeked out from the folds of the cape to wrap
around the artificial limb.

Julia.  She was pale in the glaring light,
though her face was haughty, framed in the black
hood as she stood tall.  It was obvious she
didn't relish being so close to Krycek.  Gabriel
wondered what they'd told her to get her to come
with them.  She knew they'd come for Matthew's
cure, but once she realized she was the
bargaining tool, she was bound to kick up a
fuss.

"Julia," Spender greeted her, "so nice to see
you again, my dear."

Shit, he groaned inwardly.  He'd hoped to leave
her out of the melee to come.  Now it was
looking more like she'd be caught in the middle.

Taken aback, Julia paused, her brow knitting.
"Do I know you?"

"Of course you do, Julia," Spender murmured. 
"I'm an old friend of yours... and Alex's."  At
the blatant lie, Krycek's face became stony, but
he said nothing.  "You're going to be my guest
for a while, my dear.  Come along."

"But I don't remember you."  She looked up at
Krycek, then Spencer, seeking confirmation.  At
their silence, she faced Spender again.  "I
respectfully decline, sir.  I'm in good hands at
the Ranch."

Spender leaned over to whisper something to the
guard.  The man walked forward slowly, keeping
his gun lowered.  When he reached Krycek, he
handed over Matthew's cure, taking hold of
Julia.

Immediately, she protested.  "But I don't want
to go!  Mr. Spencer!"  The guard pulled her with
him as Krycek retreated to Spencer's side.  More
black-garbed men approached from the
helicopters, six by Gabriel's count.  They took
up positions behind his father, slowly moving
in.

"Go on, Julia," Spencer said softly.  "It'll be
all right.  You won't be gone long."  The last
was said with pointed deliberation.

But her resistance became almost frantic and
Gabriel wanted to cry out to her to keep still,
all would be well.  "No!" she cried, squirming
in the guard's hold.  "No!"  Her eyes widened
and she took a different path, one that slammed
into Gabriel with a force that took his breath. 
"Gabriel!  Leave me!  Don't come any closer!"

She knew he was there.  Though she'd not been
told he was going to be in attendance, she knew
him well enough to know he wouldn't abandon her. 
If he hadn't been so worried about the recent
developments, he'd have smiled at her misguided
worry for him.  As it was, he saw an opening. 
All her cries faded as he forced himself to
ignore them for the moment - his father's men
had bypassed him.  Catlike, he threw his legs
over the wall, straightened his jacket, and
stepped up behind them, blending in with their
dark forms.

"Gabriel?" Spender asked, surprise at her shouts
making him tense.  "Who is this Gabriel?"

"None of your concern," Spencer said, waving at
the darkness beyond.  A dozen men emerged from
the shadows to flank him, their guns drawn and
ready.  Spender's men did the same and Gabriel
knew they were a moment away from a gun battle
of catastrophic proportions.  "You're
outnumbered.  Give the girl back to me.  Along
with the chip."

Gabriel's father smiled, an evil, distorted show
of teeth.  "I don't think so." He began to back
away, his men closing in as Julia was put into
his hands.  Gabriel flinched at the way his
father manhandled Julia, but he steeled himself,
spying an opening in the circle of men.

In an instant, he moved up, grabbing Julia from
his father's grasp.  But the old man, despite
his surprise and failing health, held on and she
was pulled between the two of them.  Stumbling,
she fell into Gabriel's arms with a huff of
breath and suddenly, the dam was no more.  They
tumbled over the side and he flailed, feeling
them hit the scaffolding below.  Eyes slamming
shut at the pain in his shoulder he held on to
her wrist, feeling their temporary haven give
way with a snap.

"Gabriel!" he heard her cry.  She didn't scream
or make any other sound of distress and he felt
a rope slide between the fingers of his free
hand.  The knife was gone; he was glad he'd
dropped it, otherwise he wouldn't be able to
grasp the lifeline that held them above the
water.

A small, hoarse chuckle broke through his panic. 
"Don't let go, son," came the breathy plea.

Gabriel looked up, grimacing at the weight that
threatened to bring them to a swift, deadly end. 
Above him, he heard the sharp echo of gunfire -
the battle had begun.  Too little, too late. 
Spencer and his men were too busy fighting off
the others to see to him and Julia.

"No!" Julia's frantic cry pricked his ears and
he jerked his chin down.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, trying in
vain to wrap the frail rope around his wrist. 
He felt his grip slipping on one end as he
tightened the hand around her on the other.  The
scaffolding dangled from two ropes, the rotting
boards now parallel to the wall of the dam. 
Julia swung with them below him; he opened his
mouth to tell her to keep still when he saw what
she fought against.

God damn his father.  The old man smiled as he
held on to Julia, his hand wrapped around her
ankle.  Would they ever be rid of him?  Gabriel
ignored the bastard's hysterical laughter and
spoke to Julia.  "Hang on," he croaked, "it's
all right.  We're gonna make it."  As soon as
they got some help, he amended silently.  Which
didn't look very likely in the near future.

Julia kicked at his father with her free foot,
almost sobbing with what Gabriel knew was anger
more than fear.  "Let go," she snarled over and
over.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, my dear,"
Spender said, bringing his other hand up.

The chip.  Gabriel's eyes widened at the little
bit of glass his father still had.  They could
get it from him; there was still hope.  "Give it
to her!" he demanded, hoping against hope there
was still one shred of decency left in that
hollow carcass of a man.

"Now why -" Spender twisted, the hand holding
the vial slapping at the wood, seeking purchase. 
"Why would I do that, Fox?"

The name made Julia jerk, her fingers clenching
around his arm.  God, no... would that set off
another seizure?  Not now.  "Don't call me
that!" he shouted, hoping his father heard him.

Thankfully, Spender didn't pursue the name
business.  Of course, Gabriel figured they were
all pretty busy just trying to hang on.  "Julia,
you okay?"

"I'm fine," she muttered.  "Just peachy."

He had to hand it to her - this tumble hadn't
made her hysterical.  But she had always been
cool under fire.  Nothing like him... he might
have put on a good show for Skinner years ago,
but his mouth was so dry now he couldn't even
summon up a bad 'Hangman' joke.

"Don't let go, boy."

Gabriel huffed at the command.  His father was
in no position to be demanding anything, despite
his hold on Julia.  From the movement he felt
below, she was doing her best to shake him off. 
That's it, Scully, he thought.  Kick him into
hell.

Above Gabriel, the rope twisted and he gulped as
he heard the snap of hemp.  They were fast
running out of time.  "You know you can't win!"
he cried out, just as he felt his shoulder give
way.  The gritty moan that came from his lips
wasn't missed by Julia, and her head snapped up.

"Gabriel."

Eyes glazed over with pain, he tried to focus on
her face.  Her hood had fallen back and tears
streaked her white cheeks, but she was calm, her
lips parted in a sad smile.

"Let go of me."

Hot fury laced through him.  "What? No! I'm not
letting you go, Julia." Almost choking with
pain, he gritted his teeth, wrapping his fingers
tighter around her wrist.  "No.  Hang on."

"There's no way we can get out of this," she
said brokenly, bringing her other hand up to
grab at his.  "Save yourself.  Let me go."

Spencer's other hand, the one with the vial,
finally found a home around Julia's free ankle. 
Gabriel felt the tug as he latched on, knowing
he couldn't hold on to them both much longer. 
Ignoring Julia's whispered pleas for him to
release her, he met his father's eyes.

"Don't do this," he begged.  "I can save her if
you let go.  Please don't do this to us."

"Without the chip?" His father wheezed below
Julia, his features seeming to collapse as his
body fought for breath.  "That's the only thing
that will save her, Fox."

"No! *You* can help me save her."  Swallowing
back the distaste at what he had to do he said
quietly, "Father."  Spender's head jerked up and
Gabriel continued, "Please."

One last time, his father smiled.  "You never
had the heart for it, son.  All the power in the
world could have been yours.  Instead, I give
you... her."

He let go, disappearing in a heartbeat into the
white water below.  Gabriel's lungs filled with
harsh, cold air at the realization that his
father had sacrificed himself to save Julia.  It
was amazing, it was unbelievable.  But he
allowed only a moment of disbelief to cloud his
mind before he grated out, "Julia... climb up...
grab on to me."

Without a word, she moved her hand to his belt. 
It was slow going and her shoes could find no
foothold on the slick boards.  He held his
breath as she released his wrist to quickly
snake her arm around his waist.  She mewled
softly as she worked, as if holding in her
fright.

"That's it.  You're almost there." He continued
to urge her on with small talk, words of
encouragement tumbling from his lips.

Gasping, she paused, her cheek pressing into his
sweater at his hip.  "Gabriel?"

"Yeah?  What is it?  What's the matter?"  The
trauma to her body can't have been good for the
baby, he knew.  Combined with the continued
melee they both could hear above, they were both
bound to be in shock.  Beneath his sweater, his
skin felt clammy and nausea rolled in his
stomach.  His body was losing strength fast.

"That man was your father?"

What to say?  To hell with lying, he thought. 
They were moments away from sure death and he
threw caution to the wind.  "Yeah.  Sort of." 
Biting his lip, he tried to pick up his useless
arm to help her climb, but it was no use.  "We
weren't close."

Julia snorted into his body and its warmth
tickled his ribs.  "I think I can safely assume
Father's Day wasn't big with you two."  She
stopped inching up to ask, "What did he want
with me?"

*That* was a biggie.  Gabriel began to shiver
under his coat; they were both soaked from the
spray whipping up below them.  "He..." Teeth
chattering, he tried again.  "He wanted our
baby."

"God," she whispered, shaking herself.  "I'm
glad he's gone."

"Me too, sweetheart," he replied, finally
feeling the mound of her belly settle against
his abdomen as she wrapped her fingers around
his neck.  His legs wrapped around her and he
smiled at the feel of her face in the curve of
his neck.  "Me too."

Before they had a chance to take a breather, the
rope that had been threatening to break did just
that, with a loud pop.  Julia's hands clawed at
his neck as they swung free, now held only by
the rope still attached to the scaffolding.  The
release of one of the tethers made them swing
like a pendulum and it was at the last second
that Gabriel pivoted, using his knee to absorb
the impact of their slam into the concrete wall.

"Shit," he muttered at the new pain, sure he'd
cracked his kneecap.  "Hold on, Julia." 
Lightly, they bounced and swayed until their
swinging petered out.  He gripped the one rope
even tighter, feeling warmth begin to bleed from
his fingers.

"Gabriel, we aren't going to make it, are we?"
she asked, raising her head to look into his
eyes with sadness.

"We are," he said, pressing a kiss to her
forehead.  "I want you to do something for me,
Julia."

She said nothing, just tilted her head, the
question in her eyes.

"Start climbing."

"No!"

"Yes," he insisted.  "It's not far to the top. 
You can use me for leverage."

Her eyes filled with tears.  "No.  I'm not
leaving you.  We go together."

"I'll be right behind you."  It was a lie and
she knew it.  His arm was useless and there was
no way he could climb that rope with only one
good arm.  "Please, Julia.  I can't hold on much
longer.  When you get to the top, find someone
to pull me up."

It was very likely she'd not find anyone left
alive once she scaled that wall.  But still,
she'd live.  Their child would live.

Softly, she began to cry.  "Gabriel, don't lie
to me... not anymore."  Burying her face in his
neck, she pressed a frantic kiss to his racing
pulse, as if by her touch he could be saved.

Knowing the truth would probably deter her from
leaving him - but unable to deny her this last
request - he rubbed his scratched cheek against
her hair.  "All right.  There won't be anyone
left up there to help, Julia."  It occurred to
him that he no longer heard the guns above.  In
fact, it was eerily silent, save for the sound
of the water below.  His voice grew louder, his
anger at the hopelessness of his situation
getting the better of him.  They'd been so close
- so fucking close to having it all.  Evven if
they somehow managed to make it up the rope to
safety, his father took the chip to hell with
him.  Choking back his sorrow, he pursued the
path he wanted her to follow.  "And you can't
lift me.  I figure I've got about another minute
before this flimsy thing breaks free... and damn
it, I won't have you die with me.  That truthful
enough for you?"

Despite what she'd just heard, she smiled
through her tears.  He felt her lips curl
against his skin.  "Yes, thank you.  Not what I
wanted to hear, but... thank you, Gabriel."

"Julia?"

"Yes?"

"Get going.  Now.  That's an order."

"Since when do you order me -" Her protest was
cut short by the lurch of their tenuous safety
net.  "Gabriel?"

He waited until they settled into relative calm
again before begging, "Julia.  Please go."  If
he said another word, he'd surely begin to cry. 
He didn't want her to witness any show of
weakness, especially since her trek to the top
of the dam would probably not be easy in itself.

A pair of cold lips pressed against his; he
wanted to return the kiss, but he was crippled
with numbness.  Everywhere... his arms, legs,
even his face felt nothing anymore.  He'd come
close to dying many times.  And though his heart
still beat strongly as he hung on this rope, he
knew his body was shutting down.  Blood flow was
hampered to his one good arm - the only thing
left between him and death.  He was getting
sluggish in body and mind.  The sleep of the
unconscious was fast gaining on him; exposure to
the cold and damp, combined with the injuries
he'd suffered, worked quickly to bring on a
sleep he'd never wake up from.

"Gabe!"

Already he was hallucinating...

"Gabe, can you hear me?"

"Gabriel." Julia tugged at him, her urgency
barely making him open his eyes.  "Gabriel, open
your eyes.  They're coming for us."

"Huh?" He tried to rouse himself, but it was
difficult.  Julia squirmed against him; he could
feel her reach up - was she climbing?  "Good,"
he slurred, "go... Julia."

"Gabe, it's Jesse - are you down there?"

Julia's shout hardly penetrated.  "Here!  We're
here!"  To Gabriel she said, "Wake up, Gabriel. 
Jesse's coming to get us."

"Can't hold on anymore."  All he wanted was to
let go.  If he could make his fingers move, he'd
do just that.

"You're not letting go... not now." He felt her
arm wrap around him, felt her hand cover his on
the rope.  "Hold on to me."  When his legs gave
up their hold on her she shouted in his ear,
"Gabriel!  Damn it, I can't - listen to me.  You
let go and leave me alone and I'm naming this
child Fox, you got it?  It's your real name,
isn't it?  Your father called you Fox."

She wouldn't.  God, he hated that name.  "No."
Had he given the protest voice?  Sleep.  He
wanted sleep.

"All this time I was sure it was an 'M' word...
and I liked the name Michael."

"Michael... it's Michael," he muttered.  He
wasn't cold anymore.  He was wrapped in her arms
in the tower, bantering about names and the
truth and a farm with lots of kids...

"No it isn't," she insisted.  "It's Fox.  You
hate it and I swear I'll use it if you aren't
around to stop me, damn it."

"Julia!  Give me your hand!"

Who was that?  They were close.  It was an angel
come to get him, he knew.

"Him first!"

His head lolled, then snapped up.  He wasn't
dead yet. "No!"

"We can't get to him unless you go first, Julia. 
Now c'mon, give me your hand."

Would she do it?  Stubborn as the day was long,
that was Scully.  "Scully... go on."

Firm, salt-laced lips touched his one last time. 
"Remember... Fox.  I'll do it, mark my words."

Gabriel nodded, closing his eyes as she was
lifted away.  The absence of her warmth let in a
shock of cold air, which hit him like a
sledgehammer.  A short cry was the last he heard
as his fingers slipped from the rope.


End Chapter Twenty-Seven

Gabriel
Chapter Twenty-Eight


Canyon Ferry Dam
September 25, 2001
9:25 p.m.


"Mulder."

Yep, he was dead.  Cradled in the arms of an
angel, being carried to... heaven?  Nah.  For
one thing, he didn't believe.  And for another,
this angel sure smelled like shit.  Sweaty and
tinged with the warm scent of blood and anxiety. 
No matter, Gabriel thought, losing himself in
the strong embrace.  At least he wouldn't have
to worry about hanging on to that damned rope
anymore.

"Mulder!"

Leave me alone you fucker, he wanted to scream. 
But wait a minute - people weren't supposed to
talk to angels that way.  It was shaking him,
though - trying to get his attention.  Maybe if
he was nice, played along, he'd creep past St.
Peter at the pearly gates.  Maybe all he had to
do was give it a word or two and they'd begin
the stairway to heaven.

"Mmm... you smell like shit," he mumbled.

So it wasn't the best choice of words. 
Hopefully, he didn't piss it off.  And if he
did?  So what.  He was so tired.  All he wanted
was to sleep.

A short chuckle rumbled around him.  "I think
you need to check your own pants, Mulder."

Cracking one eye open, Gabriel found a big,
stubbled chin scraping his nose.  "Walter?"  It
was weak, but it got Skinner's attention.

"Saving your ass once again, Mulder.  Why I
bother, I don't know.  You just told me that I
stink."

With some effort, Gabriel managed to open both
eyes and promptly closed them at the nothingness
below.  Gulping, he realized his former boss was
wrapped around him and they were both being
pulled up the side of the dam.  'Thanks' seemed
so inadequate, especially in light of his faux
pas a moment ago.  Instead, he fell back on an
old standby.

"Um... I was drugged."

"Shut up, Mulder." Skinner sounded breathless
and Gabriel hoped he had enough strength to get
them both to the top.  "Sounded feeble then and
it sure as hell doesn't wash now."

"Sir..." His voice trickled away.  Please don't
drop me, he added silently.  I'll never make fun
of you again, never give you trouble, never want
to clip you in the chin for looking at Scully's
legs... 

"Scully!"  Struggling, he tried to look up and
found everything swimming in a sea of concrete.

"She's okay, Mulder.  Keep still."

"Where is she?" Safe trip be damned.  If she
wasn't on her way up, he didn't want to go
either.

Skinner's arms almost crushed the breath from
him.  "She's all right, Mulder.  Already at the
top.  Waiting for you."  He began to call out to
those above, barking instructions like the field
commander he'd always been.

The world whirled around Gabriel and he fought
to keep his eyes open.  It wasn't that he cared,
but he had to be certain the threat was over.
"Cancerman?"

"Nowhere to be found," Skinner replied, grunting
at the tug of the rope.  "Did he escape?"

The events of the last half-hour crept back into
Gabriel's mind and he sighed, letting his head
fall back.  "No."  His father had fallen into
the water below, to sure death.  Taking the chip
with him.

I give you her, he'd said.  Only Gabriel knew
the gift was a slap in the face... without that
chip, she'd not survive for much longer.  Damn
his father's soul to hell.

How could he face her knowing he'd failed? 
Could he stand to watch her die all over again? 
Kurtzweil had indicated the stress of her
pregnancy would compound the rapid return of the
cancer.  Not even the child was assured of a
problem-free birth.

"Almost there, Mulder.  I can see her from
here."

All the months of searching, the days of frantic
chasing and the words of hope he'd given her...
all for naught.  Despite his hunger for her
face, he wasn't sure he could keep from sobbing
at his failure, especially when he knew she'd
smile and embrace him as the victor in this
battle.  He wasn't a champion, he'd never been. 
He hurt all over and felt like he was going to
puke at any second.  Some champion.

"Gabriel!"  Excitement colored her cry of his
name and behind his closed eyelids, he could
picture her glowing face.  It stung the back of
his eyes as the clouds of impending doom crept
closer.

Buffeted from side to side in Skinner's hold, he
barely felt it when they hauled him over the
edge. Misery blanketed him and he gave in to it,
letting blessed unconsciousness take hold.


*******


Canyon Ferry Dam
September 25, 2001
9:45 p.m.


He woke to see that which filled him with
happiness as well as sorrow.  Her face, beaming
above him with a smile so bright it hurt his
eyes.

"Hey there," she said.  "Welcome back."

Swallowing, he shivered as he laid on the hard
concrete.  He must have been out for only a
moment;  Skinner hovered at his left, tugging on
the rope that circled his torso, then reaching
down to untie the one that held him to Gabriel.

"Jesse is coming with the truck, Mul - Gabe. 
Just keep still."

Keeping his eyes on her, he licked his lips. 
"Okay?" he choked out, his voice a thin
reflection of its former self.

"I'm fine," she assured him, stroking his frigid
cheek.  Bending low, her lips touched his
briefly.  "You're cold."  The hand on his face
trembled.

"So... are you," he answered, trying to force a
smile between icy lips.  "Baby?"

Careful not to disturb his injured arm, she
reached over, a grimace of sorrow at his
battered body flitted over her features.  His
good hand - if you could call it that - was
captured in her own, and he saw her eyes swim
with tears as she brought it to her belly. 
"Kicking up a storm," she chuckled brokenly,
fitting it beneath the gap in her cape.  "I
think a rope swing in the back yard has become a
definite necessity."

His child jumped joyfully under his numb fingers
and he hitched a breath, his eyes drifting shut
with relief.  Slow, hot tears began to form and
the snowflakes that had begun to drift down
mingled with the trail into his temples.

"Shh... it's okay," Julia whispered, her lips
tickling his chin.  "We're all right. 
Everything's going to be fine."

He nodded, unable to speak.  Anything he said
would be a lie and he'd promised himself he'd
never lie to her again.

"Miss Julia?" Jesse's low voice intruded.  "We
gotta move him now."

One last kiss to his cheek, then she moved away. 
"Okay."  To Gabriel she murmured, "Just keep
still.  We'll be back at the train in no time."

He opened his eyes to see Jesse and Skinner to
either side of him.  A huff broke from his lips
at the appearance of Langly and Frohike, who
took up positions at his legs.

"Byers?" he croaked.

Frohike leaned forward.  "Already on his way to
the train with Spencer and Krycek.  He's gonna
be okay, Gabe."  Gabriel felt four pairs of
hands slip beneath him.  "Now hold tight, this
isn't gonna be pleasant."

No kidding.  His shoulder screamed as they
lifted him and his knee under Langly's hands
felt like it was the size of a grapefruit,
threatening to burst in the confinement of his
jeans.  A low, biting cry shot from his lips.

"It's okay, it's okay." Her voice, coming from
close by.  "Breathe.  We're almost there."

As they hoisted him into the back of the truck,
he fought off the pain long enough to ask,
"Where are you?  Julia?"

Gently, they laid him on the floor.  An itchy
blanket tickled his chin, making him cough. 
"Julia?"

"Careful, Miss Julia." Jesse's voice. "You ought
not to be walking yourself."

Shit, she was hurt.  Whipping his head from side
to side, Gabriel scanned the dark truck,
everything circling like a carousel.  "Julia!"

"Here.  I'm here."  Suddenly, her face came into
focus.  Grabbing his hand, she settled beside
him.  Everyone but Skinner melted away and he
heard the truck roar to life.

"Just keep still." Skinner.  Gabriel felt
Julia's hand tense in his; dimly, he recalled
she had no idea who this man was.  But his
former boss was as quick and smooth as ever as
his voice mellowed.  "He'll be okay," he said,
his assurance directed at her.

She hesitated for a moment, then he felt her
relax beside him, gathering his hand closer to
her warmth.  "Julia Longfellow."  Gabriel felt
her smile in the darkness.  "Do you work for the
Colonel?"

A snort, then, "Hardly.  You could say we go way
back... all of us.  My name is -"

Gabriel kicked in the direction of Skinner's
voice with his good leg; though Skinner knew of
Julia's memory lapse and the consequences of
recollection, he had no idea just how
inquisitive she was these days.  As his boot
made contact with the tree trunk of Skinner's
leg, he heard the man clear his throat.

"Uh... Melvin.  My name is Melvin."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed at the man's shadow; of
all names to pick...

"Melvin," Julia said slowly, giving Gabriel an
amused glance before turning back to Skinner. 
"Very popular name, this 'Melvin'."

"Huh?"

"Nothing." Her almost-chuckle dwindled and she
held out her other hand to take Skinner's. 
"Thank you, Melvin."

Before Skinner could reply, the truck took off
with a jerk and Julia started with a hiss,
settling back beside Gabriel.  The lurch forward
jarred him as well, but he concentrated on her,
quickly accusing, "You're hurt."

"A sprained ankle, that's all," she replied
softly, soothing him with her words.

Gabriel barely noticed Skinner turning away
discreetly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, my love."  So tender, so... Julia. 
Destined to be so for what little remained of
her life.

The endearment tweaked his already sore emotions
and he couldn't help the words that came from
him, the relieved conversation of a moment ago
fading fast.  "I'm sorry.  God, I'm so sorry."

"For what?" One hand stilled his beating heart
as the other cupped his cheek.  Soft confusion
colored her smile.  "We're alive, Gabriel. 
We're safe.  That's all that matters."

He sobbed quietly as she curled up against him,
her heat rising to warm his sore body.


*******


Helena, Montana
September 25, 2001
10:15 p.m.


They couldn't keep him still.  It took Skinner
and the guys to hold him down in Julia's bed as
Jesse stripped him.  "Not me," he muttered,
feeling a fever begin to grip him.  "Her."  His
jumbled thoughts told him that if he was
suffering from the effects of exposure, then it
was very likely she was, too.

"Gabriel, love... I'm fine.  Be still before you
hurt yourself."

Her voice sounded so far away, a whisper to his
burning ears.  "Scully?"  Lack of moisture in
his mouth made the plea a scratchy moan.

She was there, her cool hands tilting his head. 
"Drink.  Doctor Kurtzweil is on his way."

For what, he wondered, sure he was fast falling
prey to the black-robed specter of death.  After
a sip of water, he fell back to the pillows,
coughing.  "I'm dying, Scully."

"You are not.  Stop that.  You're a bit beat up,
but you're going to be fine."  He saw her lift
worried eyes to Frohike, who cleared his throat
as he stepped away.

"I'll see what's taking so long."

It was because Kurtzweil knew there was nothing
to be done for him.  That's why he was in no
rush.  Naked now, he shook under the blankets
they piled upon him.  "I'm so tired," he
murmured.

"I know.  The doctor will give you something
soon and you can sleep."

He found he could no longer summon the energy to
speak, so he laid quietly, listening to the
bustle in the room.  A blast of cooler air
rushed over his face, then another voice spoke.

"Gabriel.  It's me, Kurtzweil.  Where do you
hurt?"

Through clenched teeth, he gritted out,
"Everywhere," though it sounded more like a
mumble to his ears.

"Julia, step back so I can examine him, please."

No!  She was the only thing keeping him
grounded, keeping him awake.  Bringing his head
up, he cried out in protest as she backed up. 
But he couldn't go far, as Jesse's hands held
him down.

"Damn it Gabe, quit it!"

Now well and truly confined, he could do nothing
but watch her with his eyes.  Limping.  She was
limping to the couch.  "Take..."

Kurtzweil leaned in to ask, "Yes?  What is it?"

"Take care... of *her*."

"The nurse is looking after her, Gabriel.  She
just has a few scratches, that's all."  The
blankets lifted from him and cool hands touched
his body.  A sudden lurch of the bed made him
groan.  The train.  They were back on the train. 
No, no.  They were supposed to be on their way
to Canada... surely Kurtzweil had inserted the
chip in her neck already, hadn't he?

"Sit still while I take off your shoe, miss." 
Who was that?  The nurse.  Yeah.  The old hag
had better be careful with Julia or he was gonna
wring her wrinkled neck.

"Ow!"

"Whassat?" He squirmed under Jesse, his radar
picking up her cry immediately.

From across the room he heard her angry voice. 
"A few pieces of glass in my ankle, Gabriel. 
It's nothing.  The nurse is... digging them out
now... ssss... watch it."

A harsher feminine voice cracked in the air. 
"Miss, you have to keep still."

"You're pulling broken glass from my leg, for
God's sake.  You expect me to keep still?"

Broken glass.  No chip.  That's why they were
back on the train.  Dimly, Gabriel realized the
vial must have broken in his father's hand as it
clutched at Julia.  There was no chance in hell
now the contents could have survived.  Instead,
it only served to add insult to injury, as it
had scored her delicate skin.

"Your knee isn't broken, Gabriel.  Just badly
sprained and bruised."  Kurtzweil's face shifted
into focus before him.  "But the shoulder is
dislocated.  We'll have to roll it back into
place.  I'm going to give you something for the
pain."

Pain?  Who cared about pain?  What the hell was
going on with her?  Why was her return to him
taking so long?  "Julia," he breathed, calling
to her in his almost delirium.  He felt a sharp
pinpoint on his ass.  "Chip."

"I know, and I'm sorry, Gabriel," Kurtzweil
said, helping Jesse roll him to his back once
again.  "I'll help her any way that I can,
okay?"

Nothing.  Kurtzweil could do nothing and he knew
it.  Gabriel's eyes picked up the flash of
dismay on the man's face instantly.  He tried to
hide it, however, schooling his mouth into a
tight line as he nodded at Jesse.  "Ready?"

Jesse took a deep breath beside Gabriel, whose
head felt fuzzy.

"Ow!  Damn!" The tinkling of glass hitting
stainless steel made Gabriel cringe.  What the
hell was that bitch doing to Julia?

"Miss Julia." The words from the nurse were
sharp and furious.  "*Please* keep quiet! 
There's something there I can't quite reach."

"It feels like you're digging with a pick-axe,
you know."

Atta girl, Gabriel thought, sleep rapidly
approaching.  Tell old prune-face to back off.

Another hiss, then, "There!  Got it!  Glass all
around it, but I got it."

Even half-dead with sleep... even above the roar
of the accelerating train... even with Jesse
murmuring above him... he heard it.

Ping!

Numbed eyes flew open and Gabriel cried, "That's
it!"

"Gabe, quiet down!" Jesse hissed.

Above the voices surrounding him, he distinctly
heard the nurse move to the bathroom.  It rolled
in the pan as she walked, sounding like a BB
from a toy gun.  "Looks like a piece of metal -
what do you know?"  The light came on in the
bathroom, shortly followed by the sound of
water.

Shit.  She was a second away from flushing
Julia's life away.

Slowly, his limbs leaden, he turned to see
Frohike stumble away.  "Frohike!"

"Already on it!"

"Excuse me?" The nurse bit off a choked cry. 
"Why, I never -"

"And you never will, sister," Frohike muttered,
coming back into the bedroom.  "Gabe?"

Gabriel blinked, desperately fighting to stay
awake.  "Show me..."

A pair of forceps, held within a gloved hand,
swayed before his face, its precious cargo dark
red with blood.  But there, in all its life-
saving glory.

Frohike's smile was tremulous.  "With my life,
man.  This baby ain't leaving my sight."

Laughter spilled from him and he heard the men
in the room join in after a moment's hesitation,
their combined relief echoing in the room with
resounding triumph.  Skinner said something
about breaking out cigars.  Jesse's murmured
expletive about luck sailed over him, and
Kurtzweil sobered, nodding at Gabriel with
certainty.

Julia's confused face was the last thing he saw
as he succumbed to painless, relieved sleep.



End Chapter Twenty-Eight

Gabriel
Chapter Twenty-Nine


En Route to Denver
September 26, 2001
7:34 a.m.


Voices all around him, quietly discussing the
weather, pulling him from his dreamless slumber
like a gentle pair of firm, calloused hands.  He
shifted and swallowed, loathe to give up rest
just yet.

"Snowing like crazy.  This is gonna make it slow
going to Canada."  That was Frohike, punctuating
the observation with a muttered, "Damn."

Eyes closed, Gabriel listened, the rolling of
the train beneath him almost lulling him back to
sleep.  He still felt like he could sleep for a
thousand years.

"Look at him." Skinner was chuckling.  "Like
he's gonna be making a trip over the mountains
anytime soon.  This time, he'll have no choice
but to listen to doctor's orders."

"He's gonna be pissed," Langly whined.

"Tough shit," Skinner said, still laughing. 
"What's he gonna do?  Crawl out of that bed?"

Frohike again.  "Maybe Scully can sit on him."

Gabriel let his lips curl; Frohike was right. 
Scully could probably hold him down with just
the pressure of her little finger at this point. 
Not so years ago... but then again, years ago,
he had no option as to just *how* Scully could
keep him quiet.

"Probably not," Skinner murmured.

At that, Gabriel regained full awareness,
lifting his head with a moan.  Why couldn't she
keep him in line?  Because she was... not there.
In a flash, all three came into his line of
sight.

"Mulder?  You awake?"  Frohike waved a hand in
front of Gabriel's face, concern lining his
cheeks.  "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"I dunno, but you've been eating onions.  Lay
off Jesse's chili.  It's a killer."  The mention
of Scully's name had set him on edge and he
tried to sit up, forcing Frohike to back off. 
"Where is she?"

Damn it, he'd done it again.  He was wrapped
like a newborn in swaddling, trussed up like a
turkey. All on his right side.  He didn't hurt
anywhere - quickly, he amended that thought. 
His knee hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.  Pain made
his words harsh as he growled, "Where the hell
is she?"

Skinner moved forward.  "Kurtzweil's working on
her right now, Mulder.  Settle down."

The wintry light bleeding in through the windows
told him it was well past sunup.  "Why the wait? 
Why didn't he do it hours ago?"  Something was
wrong with her, he just knew it.  They weren't
telling him everything.  Anxiety made him
struggle against the blankets and Skinner moved
forward to help him sit, propping several
pillows behind his back.  Lingering pain was of
no consequence; he wanted answers, and he wanted
them now.  "Damn it, why the hell are we going
back to Denver?"

Skinner put a big, confining hand on his
uninjured shoulder.  "You're in no shape right
now to be making the trip to Canada and you know
it.  So that's the last I want to hear on that
subject."  He straightened as Frohike
approached, adding, "Just relax, Mulder.  She's
fine.  She wouldn't leave your sorry ass until
about an hour ago, when your fever broke."

Swallowing with relief, Gabriel waited as
Frohike came forward with a glass of water. 
"Drink," he ordered, and Gabriel gulped down the
coolness through parched lips.  "She's okay,
dude.  It's you we were more worried about."

Leaning his head back against the wall, Gabriel
sighed. "I'm okay.  I just want to see her."

"Kurtzweil said it would take about an hour -
he'd have to give her a mild sedative.  We had
to practically drag her out of here, you know."

"Did you tell her anything?"  She was bound to
have questions.  About the chip, the exchange on
the dam.  Why she was a pawn caught in the
middle of two old geezers' game of chess...
hell, much as he believed any wild story anyone
threw at him, he'd have trouble swallowing the
events of the last months.  Especially if he had
no memory to fall back on.

Skinner fisted his hands in his pockets.  "Only
that she had to let Kurtzweil do the procedure. 
She understood that to know more could possibly
bring on another seizure."  He smiled.  "Gotta
hand it to her - she said she wouldn't trust
anyone but you to tell her the whole story,
anyway."

It was best it come from him and they all knew
it.  Would she remember any of her life as
Scully?  Or, once again complete, would she
remember everything she'd done as Julia?  The
hazards of telling the tale would be numerous,
he knew.  And he wanted to help her across every
pitfall, hold her hand through each possible
trap.

He nodded, plucking at the bedcovers with his
free hand.  If he could move, he'd be out of the
bed in a flash, watching every move Kurtzweil
made.  But circumstances forbade barreling into
watchdog mode.  For him, anyway.  "Why aren't
one of you at least keeping an eye on things?" 
He was seconds away from exploding with anger at
their inattention.

"Byers is there," Frohike explained.  "He's not
much use otherwise, so he was drafted to oversee
the surgery."

"Not much use?  How badly is he injured?"  Some
watchdog.  If he was that bad off, he was
probably on some pretty heavy painkillers.

"Winged in the leg.  By the way he acted, you
would have thought he was mortally wounded. 
Just a scratch."  Frohike laughed and crossed
his arms with a wink.  "Once I pointed out that
chicks dig battle scars, he puffed up like a
rooster and took it like a man."

"Yeah," Langly sneered, "just what he needed.
*More* ego-boosting."

Before they could veer off into the usual back-
and-forth, Gabriel picked up his hand and put a
stop to it.  "All I want to know is if he's
alert and capable."

"Refused pain medication," Skinner said.  "He
knows how important this is to you, and to
Scully.  He's on top of it, and so am I.  I was
just about to walk to Matthew's room to check on
Kurtzweil's progress." With a nod, he made for
the door. "Just cool your jets, Mulder. 
Everything's fine."

As Skinner left, Gabriel realized he hadn't
asked about the boy.  Or given any thought to
his other traveling companions.  "Matthew?" he
asked Frohike. "Spencer and Krycek?"  He
remembered Jesse at the dam - in fact, he owed
the man a huge thank-you for nabbing Julia from
his failing arms.

"Haven't seen 'em since the dam; they were
already back on the train when we arrived in
Helena, I suppose.  Your doctor friend there
says the boy received the injection before we
even got back to the depot with you.  Dunno if
it worked; he said its effects weren't
immediately apparent."

But it had looked just like the vaccine he'd
given Scully in Antarctica.  Gabriel knew that
didn't mean a thing as far as what kind of
concoction it was.  Or even if his father had
given Spencer what the boy needed.  For all they
knew, it could have been weak tea in that vial.

"Do me a favor - catch up with Skinner and ask
him to find out about the boy." Now that they
were all relatively safe, he could allow himself
to feel for Spencer's grandchild.  Too little,
too late, he knew - as far as Spencer would be
concerned.  But he had to know.  His father's
treachery somehow extended to him, and he wanted
to at least show some sympathy, now that he was
able.

"Not necessary, Colonel," Krycek's voice cut in.

They both looked at the door, where the man in
black hovered, fatigue making his face pale
under the weathered tan.  He gave no indication
of his frame of mind, his face as stoic and
narrow-eyed as ever.  Gabriel couldn't see any
resemblance between this man and his supposed
father - then again, he never thought he
resembled his hateful sire, either.  What
mattered most was the legacy passed on that
wasn't visible.  Krycek had inherited that in
spades.  He hoped to never be able to claim the
same from his father.

"Nice job out there."  Frohike stood a bit
straighter and Gabriel cringed at the
unconscious display of respect.  No matter how
much Spencer and Kurtzweil proclaimed that
Krycek was a changed man, he would never turn
his back on the weasel.  And Frohike, it seemed,
was prepared to buy into Krycek's 'changed man'
routine somewhat, albeit unspoken.  But Gabriel
remained silent, his comfort level dropping
drastically with the arrival of their old
nemesis.

"The losses were... minimal."  Krycek cleared
his throat, obviously there to deliver news. 
"If you'll give us a moment."

Frohike nodded at Gabriel, telling him silently
that he wasn't going to wander far.  After he
slid out the door, Krycek moved forward a few
steps.  But he didn't get too close, stopping
just beyond the end of the bed.  "Matthew's
gonna be fine, according to Kurtzweil.  It will
be a few weeks before his immune system is
totally restored, but already, he's awake and
his fever is gone."

The news was enough to satisfy Gabriel; he was
glad the boy was going to recover.  It would
ease Julia's mind about leaving.  Not that he
was prepared to let anything stand in their way,
but in the state he was in, he wasn't up to an
argument on the subject.  It was time to make
the break.  His father was dead and Julia would
soon be Scully again - he hoped.  A few thanks
that would most probably choke him, especially
to this man, then it was goodbye forever.

Shifting slightly, he tamped down his pride and
began, "Look, I'd like to tell Spencer that -"

"My -" Krycek interrupted, "Spencer's dead."

At that, Gabriel lifted his chin.  "What?"

"You heard me.  He wasn't quick enough to get
free of the gunfire.  I found him mortally
wounded after we took control of the situation. 
He never made it back to the train."  For all of
the seriousness of the declaration, it was
impossible to discern Krycek's feelings on the
subject.  He looked as he always did, stone-
faced.  The only sign of emotion over the death
of his father the glittering of his dark eyes.

Any sympathy would be untrue and they both knew
it.  But Gabriel did offer some truth, saying
slowly, "I'm sorry... for the boy."

Krycek sighed shortly.  "He took it well.  But
he's just a kid."

Suddenly burdened with the responsibilities of
an adult.  "You can -"

"No." Krycek was adamant.  "No, I can't.  My job
here is done." He paused, then added with slow
deliberation, "And so is yours."

Gabriel snorted, wanting nothing more than to
leave the dust of the Ranch behind.  Seems
Krycek wanted nothing more to do with any of
them, either.  "Don't worry, Alex.  As soon as
Julia's able, we're gone for good."  It was more
for future reference than interest as he asked,
"And you?  Matthew can't run that company."

Chuckling, Krycek opened the door before turning
back for a moment.  "You said it yourself,
Mulder.  I'm just a gun for hire.  I have no
more business raising that boy than you... let's
just say neither of us have any 'fatherly
advice' to draw from, am I right?"

All at once, Gabriel felt the weight of
impending fatherhood settle upon his shoulders. 
Krycek had a point; he wasn't exactly prepared
by the best to raise a child.  But he had one
thing Krycek didn't - a partner.  A friend, a
lover... and one he was certain would be an
excellent mother.  Shaking off his doubt, he
pursued, "You can't let that company fall into
the wrong hands, Alex.  And that boy has no idea
what the outside world is like these days.  You
know that."

"He won't have to," Krycek answered, his face
sobering.  "Spencer told me long ago all he was
leaving Matthew was the Ranch.  The company, he
entrusted to me."

"You?"  Gabriel didn't know which would be worse
- a green boy or this mercenary bastard..  When
he prodded Krycek to help the boy, he expected
Matthew to have ultimate control.  A safety net,
so to speak.  He never thought Krycek would have
to answer to no one.  "Was he crazy?"

Ignoring Gabriel's incredulous question, Krycek
smiled.  "Looks like you're just gonna have to
trust me, Mulder."  His smile faded as he added,
"We've had our differences in the past.  But
believe me when I say I'm fucking tired of it
all.  The company will continue with Spencer's
work, with his goal of eradicating 'k' from the
planet.  I'll see to it." He paused in the act
of leaving, giving Gabriel a parting, "You just
leave me the hell alone, Mulder."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed and he threw out a
warning of his own.  "Don't give me a reason not
to."  As much as he wanted to live out his days
in peace with his family, he wouldn't hesitate
to hunt Krycek down if he caught of whiff of the
Project's resurrection.

"Then we understand each other," Krycek nodded. 
"So long, Mulder.  Let's hope we never see each
other again, huh?"

"Fine by me."  If never saw Alex Krycek again,
his life would be complete.

As Krycek disappeared into the corridor, Frohike
slid back in, his face guarded.  "Jesse just
informed me of Spencer's demise."

"Yeah, good news travels fast," Gabriel said,
then quickly amended his crass thoughts with,
"It's not over, you know."

His friend shuffled forward, hands in pockets. 
"Guess not.  Who knows where the company will
end up now."

"In Krycek's capable hands," Gabriel sneered.

"You're kidding."

"Nope.  He just inherited the whole problem, so
he says."

Frohike sighed.  "Look Mulder, I know you don't
trust him -"

"And I never will."

"But I have a feeling he'll do okay.  Besides,
we'll keep constant tabs on the company's
progress, you know that."

Gabriel sagged, all tension leaving him with
Krycek's departure.  "I just don't want to have
to deal with it anymore." He once thought he'd
hide with her and his child in Canada,
blissfully ignoring the rest of the world.  Now
he knew that wasn't possible; any threat to what
was left of civilization from anything alien
would be a threat to the ones he loved most. 
There would be no hiding.  No denying the fact
that he was somehow destined to jump in with
both feet, despite his new responsibilities.
*She* certainly wouldn't let him just sit back
and do nothing.  But damn it, he was so tired.

"You don't have to do this alone, Mulder."
Frohike was soft of voice and steadfast in
demeanor.  "You never had to, you know."

Gabriel lifted burning, hopeful eyes to his
friend.  "I never did tell you how much you guys
-"

"Save it." Frohike was as uncomfortable with
sappy thanks as he was; he stood, hands in
pockets, shifting from one foot to the other. 
"Just take care of Scully and that progeny of
yours.  If we need the master, we'll call,
okay?" He straightened, a smirk firmly in place. 
"Of course, you realize the Colonel's kung fu is
the best.  I seriously doubt your backup - no
matter how righteous - will be required."

"Good point," Gabriel smiled, for once not
mocking his friends' abilities.  They'd proven
themselves capable beyond his wildest dreams,
and it was about time he started treating them
with respect.  "One more favor, though?"

"Name it."

"Find out what the hell is taking Skinner so
long."  The dancing around thanks and
congratulations was all good and fine, but there
was a limit to his patience where she was
concerned.  And Frohike picked up on it at once,
turning for the door.

"No problemo, dude.  Be right back." Winking,
Frohike opened the door and left, only to fling
it open seconds later, his smile beaming.

"What?" Gabriel asked, the sudden satisfaction
on Frohike's face making his heart trip.

"Special delivery," Frohike said, standing aside
as he held the door open.

A pair of sock-covered feet came in first, so
small they seemed lost in the folds of the white
cotton that draped from her ankles.

Julia.  Cradled in Skinner's arms, fast asleep. 
Skinner tread lightly, swaying a bit with the
motion of the train as he side-stepped through
the door.

"Careful," Gabriel warned, his voice husky with
an overload of emotion.  She was okay.  Dead to
the world, but alive and well.

"Kurtzweil said she'd be out of it for a while
longer," Skinner said, approaching the bed. 
"But it's done, Mulder.  Out with the old, in
with the new."

"Here," Gabriel commanded, anxiety replacing any
thoughts of thanks for the moment.  "Beside me."
Struggling against the pillows, he grunted at
his helplessness.

"Easy, Mulder." Frohike was at his side, but
Gabriel paid him no mind.

"I have to see, damn it.  Help me up."  He
wouldn't be satisfied until he'd seen it,
touched it with his own hand.  A doubting Thomas
of the most frantic kind.

As Skinner laid Julia on the bed, Gabriel
scooted up with assistance from Frohike, his
gaze never leaving her face.  In her sleep, she
curled onto her side, gravitating toward the
sound of his voice.  Skinner quickly covered her
with the blanket and said, "You know, I never
realized what a little thing she is.  Even
pregnant, she's light as a feather."

Gabriel caressed her cheek with his free hand
and gave Skinner a tremulous smile.  "I wouldn't
let her hear you say that, sir."  Sobering, he
swallowed, adding, "*If* she's Scully again." 
Fear at the prospect of failure cloaked him. 
They'd deal with it, whoever she was fated to
be.

"No matter the name, Mulder - she's still the
same person.  Remember that."  With a nod at
Frohike, the two men left the room.

Still the same.  Skinner's parting words echoed
in Gabriel's mind as he looked upon her, taking
in the face she'd created to find him.  It
wasn't the same, that was true.  Her body wasn't
Scully's, heavy as it was with his child.  And
her mind?  Well, that remained to be seen.

But her heart, her soul... they were always
Scully.  Forever courageous and loving, willing
to sacrifice for others.  Giving all she had to
give to find the truth.  His and hers, he knew. 
His life, his journey, ceased to be solitary
from the moment she walked into his office years
ago.  And no matter what name she walked this
earth with, he would be by her side.

With a trembling hand, he brushed away her hair
from her neck.  He was in an awkward position
and his body hurt like hell, but he wasn't
letting it deter him from his goal.  She sighed
deeply, arching her neck as he drew the lacy
collar away from her skin.

The small square of gauze revealed by his search
covered a small bump, and he lightly pressed
down with his thumb, taking care not to cause
her any pain.  Even through the sterile
dressing, he could feel it.  The chip was there.

His breath left him in a soft chuff as the first
tear fell from his eyes.  Life.  Beautiful, long
life stretched before her.  He cried with thanks
to the heavens, to his friends, even to Spencer
and his father, despite their orchestration of
events culminating in this moment.

Sliding down in the bed, he inched his good arm
beneath her head and ignored the scream of pain
from his knee as he gathered her close. 
Breathing deep, he willed his tears to subside;
he didn't want her waking to find him a wreck. 
She smelled faintly of betadine, but mostly, she
smelled like Scully.  Warm and alive, even with
the slightly stale breath that puffed from her
lips.  Leaning down, he sipped of the life that
came from her mouth with his lips, careful not
to wake her.

She responded by shifting, her head coming to
rest under his chin.  Against his immobilized
arm, he felt her belly move, his child kicking
as she slept on.  With a deep sigh of relief, he
closed his eyes.


End Chapter Twenty-Nine

Gabriel
Chapter Thirty


En Route to Denver
September 26, 2001
4:26 p.m.


The first thing he noticed was the absence of
warmth.  The sheets were cold under his bare
back - they had been for some time, he deduced. 
Swiping the space beside him with his arm, he
quickly shook off the remnants of sleep as he
realized she wasn't there.

With a jerk, he shoved himself up against the
pillows, his eyes searching the room with panic. 
The lamp beside the bed had been doused and late
afternoon sunlight filtered in from the windows,
peppered with the looming shadows of the trees
that whirled by.  Where was she?

A soft sigh made his head whip around.  "Back in
the sling, I see.  Will you *ever* be in one
piece and healthy again?"  Though laced with
chagrin, the words held an edge of humor.  "You
have got to be one of the most accident-prone
people I've ever met."

"Sc. -" Her name stopped short of fruition. 
Tread lightly, he told himself.  If she wasn't
whole again, he didn't want to hazard too much
information.  And if she was, she'd let him
know, surely?  Settling on a safer course, he
asked, "Where are you?"  It was dark on the
other end of the room and his gritty eyes had
trouble adjusting with the annoying strobes of
light from the outside.

A flip of a switch and soft lamplight arced over
the sofa.  She sat at one end, her feet curled
under her, swathed in a dark blue robe.  He
could see her nightgown peek out from its hem,
and judging from the slant of her eyes, she'd
not been awake long, either.  Her hair was
untamed and her cheeks pink; her face showed
nothing of what she was thinking, however.  The
sculpted lines were neither hard with confusion
or soft with remembrance.  It was a face he'd
seen many times before, despite its new look -
enigmatic to the point of inspiring frustration.

This time, though, he swore it wouldn't get to
him.  Carefully easing himself up the pillows,
he ventured forth.  "How long have you been up?"

Eyes downcast, she answered, "About an hour. 
I've had enough of sleep."

Smiling tentatively, he replied, "So have I. 
You should have woken me."  At her shrug, he
noticed for the first time the sketchpad that
laid in her lap.  With a nod, he arched his brow
at her work.  "Something new?"

Tapping the pen on the paper, she still refused
to look up.  "No... it's something I've wanted
to finish for a while now."

He gritted his teeth against his rising
impatience, wanting nothing more than to spit
out her name and his in a flood of words meant
to reunite.  Slowly, slowly... he forced air
into his lungs and said, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."  She stood with a slight grimace and
halted his protest with a wave of her hand as
she stretched.  "I'm just a bit sore, that's
all.  Out of the two of us, I'd say you got the
raw end of the deal."

"I've been in worse shape, believe me."

Finally she looked up; silhouetted in the back
lighting from the lamp, he could see only the
glitter of her eyes as she clutched the sketch
to her stomach.  "I know."

Her firm statement hit him in the gut, exploding
the lump of restraint into a thousand pieces. 
What the hell did those cryptic words mean?

"You know?  As in..." He sputtered a bit, trying
to hold his anger in check. He failed miserably.
"As in, you know.  Or *you know*?"

"Don't get all snippy with me." Her brow drew
together as she stepped forward.

"Snippy? *Snippy*?" His heart fell to his toes. 
That wasn't a word he'd ever heard Scully use. 
"God damn it, Julia -"

"The name," she interrupted, slipping into bed
beside him, "is Scully." Placing the sketch on
his lap, she added, "*Mulder*."

He held his breath, tearing his gaze from her to
glance at the sketch.  It was the one she'd
drawn in the cabin.  He laid on the bench,
waiting for her to come back to him, sleeping
the sleep of the desperate.  It hadn't been
changed by her hand except for one small detail
at the bottom.

His name.  Added in bold, strong letters.

His eyes swept up, taking in the cross that
shone as bright as her knowing, happy gaze. 
"Scully?"  His hand grasped hers, giving it a
tug to pull her closer.

Her other hand cupped his face, smiling as she
ran her thumb over his stubbled cheek.  "You
know, I rather like Gabriel.  It suits you."
Sighing, her lips curled into a mock pout. 
"Guess I'll have to go back to Mulder again,
huh?  Unless you want to be called Melvin, too. 
Though I think I would feel rather uncomfortable
calling you Melvin when we're -"

Her words were cut short by his kiss.  One kiss
turned into two, then three, his happiness
spilling over as he let himself believe.  She
was back.  She was Scully.

At last, he broke away, chest heaving as he
rested his forehead on hers.  Similar in
breathlessness, she chuckled shortly, "Mulder it
is."

He smiled, loving the feel of her, the smell of
her... the way her voice had taken on the low,
modulated tones of Scully.  "You can call me
whatever you want."  As long as she was with
him, she could do, say, *be* anything she
desired.

"Fox?"

Well, almost anything.  He cringed inwardly at
his soon forgotten resolution and steeled
himself to accept her request.  Pulling away,
his smile faded.  "Um... yeah, I guess so."

"Just kidding," she laughed, her fingers moving
through his hair.  "This is nice.  I like it
when you're in a capitulating mood."

"Don't get used to it," he warned, drawing her
into his body as he laid back.  She fitted to
him perfectly, still playing in his longer
curls.

"But the beard has to go," she demanded, all
seriousness.

Taking a deep breath, he thanked the stars once
again for her return.  He'd do anything to keep
her with him, demands and all.  Well, sort of. 
He had to keep her on her toes.  She always kept
him guessing, so it was only right he kept their
patented give-and-take alive.

"Only if you'll do the honors."

"Deal.  Now, the hair stays."

His breath hitched, the memory of their last
night together in the bunker giving him pause. 
It was so eerily familiar, so heart-wrenching,
the way that night could have turned out.  If
only she hadn't been taken... if only...

"Mulder?"

Shaking off the sadness at last, he kissed her
brow.  "I'll keep the hair... on one condition."

"What's that?"

The arm around her back crept under her arm to
fit her closer still and the baby leapt in
response to the confining pressure of their
joined bodies.  "My son will not be called
'Melvin'.  Or 'Little Slick'.  Or 'Gabey Junior'. 
I so much as hear a hint of 'Spooky' and I'm
shaving my head, got it?"

Tilting her chin, she began to spread kisses
along his jaw, her teeth scraping his throat as
she smiled.

"How about John?" Creeping ever closer to his
mouth, she continued, "Or Ringo?  Or Walter?"

Mulder closed his eyes as her lips touched his
lightly, loving the sound of remembered names on
her lips. A brief smile curled under her kiss.

"Keep going, G-woman," he murmured, "This time,
I promise I'll let you know when you've hit it."




End Chapter Thirty


End "Gabriel"


A few notes and thanks:

Though this story ends with resolution, there
will be one last installment, if I can ever
summon the energy to tackle it. <g> Just in case
I don't, I hope this ending is satisfactory. 
Pick your own sex/name for the baby and imagine
a 'happily ever after' theme, and you've written
it already!

Many thanks to Musea, my sisters in writing (and
a few other things).  Their encouragement is
what made me finish "Julia" and also gave me the
incentive to pursue the story through "Gabriel". 
Love you all very much, ladies.

To mountainphile - Mine is done, cherie.  Aren't
WIP's great? ;) Thanks, dear.  Couldn't have
done it without you.

To the Havenites and Stalkers - Too many to
name, but you know who you are.  Hope you like
the finished product.  Now put away those
implements of poking and go bother someone else.
I hear a little encouragement is needed on
something called SOS?  LOL

Finally, to Sybils - this one's for you, honey. 
My most faithful advocate, you never let me
slack off or falter.  Love ya, babe.  (Smut next
time, I promise.)


Thanks for reading,

Mishy