A Familiar Heart
Chapter Ten


Her mother wasn't at all perturbed to see them
return with Mulder in tow.  Scully had braced
herself for the inevitable round of questions,
and had quirked an eyebrow at her mother's
enthusiastic greeting.  She watched as Charlie
hustled Mulder upstairs to deposit his bag in
Charlie's room, and took the opportunity to stop
her mother's return to the kitchen.

"Mom?"

Maggie just smiled and winked, gleaning her
daughter's thoughts in an instant.  "That young
man is so very alone, Dana," she murmured.  "I
saw it from the moment he walked in the other
night." She shrugged, wiping her hands on her
apron.  "And I sort of eavesdropped this
morning."

"Mom!" Scully blanched, wondering what else her
mother had heard - namely, her kitchen meeting
with Mulder Christmas Eve.

"Don't worry, sweetie - I don't make a habit of
listening in on private conversations.  I just
happened to hear Charlie on the phone with his
CO, that's all.  He seemed very upset by Mulder's
leaving."

Scully sighed, relieved that her mother hadn't
heard the whole story.  Taking in a wandering
soldier was one thing, harboring a man with
Mulder's shady - albeit faultless - past was
quite another.  "He was," she agreed, happy that
Charlie was now happy.  She still wasn't sure how
she was going to get through the next few days. 
Especially since seeing the way Mulder reacted at
the train station; his quiet, stumbling joy at
seeing her there still had the power to send
shivers up her spine when she thought of it.

"And you?"

Her mother's soft, pointed question broke into
her wayward thoughts.  "What?"

"Seems to me you could have let Charlie collect
his friend all by himself, but you didn't.  I
wonder why?"  The corner of Maggie's mouth went
up, and she turned, humming her way back to the
kitchen.  "Lunch is almost ready," she threw over
her shoulder.  "Go tell those boys to wash up
while they're up there."

Wonderful.  While not understanding exactly what
kind of bond existed between herself and Mulder,
her mother had intuited that there *was* some
attraction of sorts.  That's all she needed -
first Charlie, now her mother.  Thank goodness
her father had reported back to the Pentagon
today for work, or he'd be offering Mulder a
dowry and his choice of Cuban cigars.  Of course,
her father would be back for dinner, as would
Melissa and kids, and Ellen.  God.  The whole lot
of them would be throwing her and Mulder together
at every opportunity.  She'd have to find a way
to talk to Mulder before then, to make certain he
understood not to fuel the matchmaking fire in
any way.  And he wouldn't, of course.  Why would
he?  Just because he'd been gratified to see her
in a semi-apology of sorts at the train station
didn't mean he expected a love affair to bloom. 
They were both intelligent adults, able to co-
exist as friends for a short time.

The clamor of male shoes on the stairs made her
look up.  She opened her mouth to speak, then
felt the words die at the devouring look on
Mulder's face, who lagged a step or two behind
Charlie. 

A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on
Scully's upper lip.  This wasn't going to be
easy.  "Mom says for you two to wash up.  Lunch
is ready," she said, her throat dry with
nervousness.  Back at the train station, she'd
had the upper hand.  Not so now; Mulder moved
toward her with the slow stealth of a panther,
his eyes never leaving her face.

"Taken care of, sprite," Charlie replied, rubbing
his hands together as he made for the kitchen. 
"Last one at the table's a rotten egg."

Mulder stopped at the bottom of the stairs, hands
in the pockets of his corduroys.  His pullover
was forest green cashmere, expensive-looking and
breath-taking in the way it made his eyes glow
like emeralds.  "Thank you," he said
expressively, keeping his distance, though he
exuded warmth and vitality.  She felt it wash
over her, and she took a step back from it,
licking her lips.

"Mom cooked lunch, not me."

"That's not what I meant," he whispered.

She knew that already.  Her back was warm as she
turned and walked to the kitchen.


**********


"I think I'll go see what Melissa's up to this
afternoon."

Scully's declaration made all of them look up
from their soup and sandwiches.  Mulder dropped
his chin first, knowing she needed a bit of
space.  Her mother, however, took exception at
Scully's decision.

"We have company, Dana," she chided softly,
giving Mulder a sidelong glance.

"That's okay," he said quickly.  "I'm not company
- at least not the kind you need to enteertain."

Charlie piped up, and Mulder almost kicked him
under the table.  "We can go along, can't we,
sprite?  I'm sure she could use a break from the
boys.  Mulder and I can keep 'em busy while you
two gossip."

There was no way she could refuse, and Mulder saw
a slight flutter of exasperation cross her face
before she replied cooly, "Of course.  You can
help them build a snowman before it all melts."

In other words, stay the hell outside, Mulder
heard in the firm statement.  Truth was, he
didn't mind one bit.  She could huff all she
wanted, throw Melissa's kids at him like
grenades, and still, he'd come back for more. 
This opportunity, these few days of encroachment,
were a boon he never expected.  And he was damn
well going to take advantage of their close
proximity.

The problem was, there was a fine line between
subtle wooing and scaring her off - or worse,
making her angry again.  He'd have to be on his
best behavior, seizing ground only when allowed
to do so.

Scully stood, walking to the sink with her bowl. 
Her mother did the same, gathering the remaining
bowls with a smile.  As the women busied
themselves taking care of the dishes, Mulder
sighed, trying his best to grimace at Charlie's
'thumbs up'.

It was very difficult to do, especially when he
wanted nothing more than to yell in triumph.  A
whole afternoon together - well, sort of.  He'd
been relegated to babysitter duty, but there were
ways around that.  Didn't kids usually take a
nap?

If they built a snowman to end all snowmen, they
would.


**********


"I should have warned your Mr. Mulder that Danny
and Donny are known worldwide for their energy."

Scully looked up from her coffee to pierce her
sister with a cold glance.  "He's not *my* Mr.
Mulder."

Melissa looked outside the kitchen window, her
face assessing and curious.  She ignored Scully's
correction, musing, "He's not bad, actually.  A
bit too tall and lean for my tastes, but he's got
a nice smile."

"Missy!"

Melissa came away from the window to sit beside
her sister.  "What?  A girl can't look?"

It seemed so odd to be sitting in her sister's
small kitchen, discussing the merits of a
handsome man, even if it was Mulder.  The days of
teenage angst over the local football hero were
long gone, their innocence lost in the mire of
war and misery.  Scully briefly lamented the
loss, then realized the world had moved on, just
as she herself would.  Melissa's husband had been
her perfect match - impulsive yet loyal and
loving.  But he was gone for over a year now, and
Scully could not bear to see Melissa alone.  Her
judgmental attitude was unwarranted.

"I'm sorry, Missy," she murmured.  "It's just
that, to me, you're still..." She faltered, not
knowing how to explain that sometimes, it felt as
though she'd woken up from a three-year sleep and
nothing should have changed.  Yet it had - all of
it had changed.

"With Rob?" Melissa finished softly.  She reached
across the table and took hold of Dana's hand,
gently squeezing it.  "Dana, I loved Rob with all
my heart.  When he was killed, I thought I'd
never go on." She tilted her head at the boyish
screams of glee coming from the back yard.  "But
I did - for them.  My boys.  Rob left us pretty
well off financially, but I need more.  Do you
understand?"

Scully searched Melissa's hopeful face; there was
something she wasn't saying.  On Christmas Eve,
she'd whisked her family away after only a couple
of hours, pleading the need to get the boys in
bed in time for Santa.  Now, Scully realized
there was an ulterior motive in Missy's hasty
departure.  It was written all over her face.

A small, knowing grin bloomed on Scully's face. 
"All right.  Who is he?"  The better question was
- why hadn't Melissa told her parents?   If her
mom knew Melissa was seeing someone, she would
have spread the news far and wide.

Melissa stood, walking to the stove.  As she
poured another cup of coffee, she shrugged.  "His
name is Melvin Frohike.  He's a nice man, a
businessman, actually.  He's into shipping."

What Melissa wasn't saying set off Dana's inner
alarms.  "And he's married," she muttered,
feeling her sister out.

"No..."

There had to be some unsavory quality about the
man, for Melissa to hedge like she was doing. 
"He's not Catholic," Scully supplied.  She didn't
think her father would care, nor would she
herself.  But her mother would have a hissy fit. 
Good Catholic girls were made for good Catholic
boys.

At the thought, she looked out the window where
Mulder and Charlie were romping with the boys. 
Of course, her mother already had her married to
Mulder in her mind, religious differences not
even spoken of.  Maybe Charlie was right - maybe
the war *had* changed her mother, just like it
had everyone else.

Melissa turned, walking to the window again. 
"Actually, I've never asked."

"Then what is it?"

"There is nothing wrong with him, Dana.  Besides,
we're just friends.  It's not like I'm going to
elope with the man tomorrow."

"Missy..." she warned, wondering what Melissa's
reticence was due to.  From the vague way she
described this man, there had to be some trait
their family would find objectionable.  Rob had
been perfect for her, but it had taken several
false starts for Missy to find him.  One boy
after another, most of them rebels.  A sudden
thought made Dana pale.  "He's not a communist,
is he?"

Melissa laughed, moving toward the door.  "No! 
He's just a man, Dana.  In fact, you'll meet him
in a bit.  He's coming over for dinner tonight." 
She opened the back door, yelling at the snowman
crew, "It's getting dark, guys.  Time to come
in."

Scully knew she wasn't going to get anything else
out of her sister, and she stood, saying, "Guess
we'd better go, then."

"No, stay," Melissa said, shutting the back door. 
"The boys will most likely poop out after dinner,
and we can have a party of sorts.  Just the
grown-ups." She winked, taking Dana's cup.  "I'll
tell Charlie to go collect Ellen, and we can
maybe play cards or something."

A nice, cozy night spent with... Mulder.  God,
no, she couldn't.  The obvious pairing off would
leave her very vulnerable to his attentions.  "I
really can't stay, Missy."

While not as attuned to Scully's moods as
Charlie, Melissa had always been keen to a brush-
off when she heard one.  Hands on hips, she said,
"And what do you have to do at home?  Listen to
Dad snore in his chair and Mom sigh over "Queen
for a Day" on the radio?  Puh-leeze."  At the
scrape of shoes on the back stoop, she lowered
her voice.  "Stay, Dana.  I'll phone Mom and tell
her - she'll understand.  I want you to meet
Melvin.  Charlie likes him, I'm sure you will,
too."

"Charlie's met him?"

"Our little brother has been here a week longer
than you have, Dana... and he had enough of
"Queen for a Day" after his first day home."

Scully saw the late afternoon shadows of her
brother and Mulder darken the back door glass. 
Even with sunset muting their features, their
easy smiles and laughing camaraderie were plain
to see.  Indecision tugged at her heart.

"I dunno, Missy.  I kind of like "This is Your
FBI"."  Her comment was tongue-in-cheek, but her
meaning was lost on Melissa, who faced her with
their father's stern blue eyes.

"Then get out of the Navy and join up with J.
Edgar so you can do the real thing.  But tonight,
you're staying, and that's final."


**********


Melvin Frohike turned out to be an old man.

Scully sipped at her wine, pasting a vacuous
smile on her face as she listened to the after-
dinner conversation build and lull.  She had
nothing against Mr. Frohike, per se.  He was very
intelligent, and had obviously won over Charlie
with his easy banter about any manner of
subjects.  Sports, the latest in business and
post-war enterprise; he even made the boys behave
with a firm command tempered by interest in their
daily activities.  He spoke to them often, asking
about their friends, school - how it was the
monstrous snowman in the back yard had a top hat
just like the one he wore only at New Year's.

But he was old.  At least three inches shorter
than Melissa, he was a pudgy little thing with
glasses and a balding pate.  How her sister, a
beauty who could have any man she pleased, had
hooked up with this staid, older gentleman was
beyond Scully.

Scully, in her fascination with Mr. Frohike, had
all but forgotten Mulder was even in the room. 
He sat on a loveseat set apart from the other
adults, flanked by the twins.  Come to think of
it, she hadn't heard a peep from any of them in a
good fifteen minutes.  Standing, she reached for
the tray on the coffee table, intending to kill
some time with cleanup while the others carried
on their conversation.  Melissa, who sat beside
Mr. Frohike on the couch (at a very respectable
distance, Scully had to admit), also stood, an
embarrassed smile on her face.

"Let me get that, Dana," she said.  "You ask
Mulder if he needs another glass of wine."

Oh, joy.  She knew her peace and quiet had been
too good to last.  Giving her sister the tray
with a nod, she walked to the far end of the
living room, where the loveseat and Christmas
tree flanked the bay window.  She stopped at the
sight of the three boys - one of them very much
overgrown - fast asleep.

They were a trio of windblown exhaustion, their
faces in the shadows of the loveseat pink with
the afternoon's exertion in the snow and sun. 
She felt a gentle hand squeeze her heart at the
way Mulder slept, his mouth slightly parted, his
face relaxed.  She wondered when was the last
time he'd gotten a good night's sleep; she knew
that his war years were probably more harrowing
than hers had been, and she knew she that she'd
slept with one eye open in the prison camp.  And
for him to still be pursued by an unseen, deadly
enemy?  It would very much surprise her if he'd
let himself sleep more than a couple of hours a
night.

Even in the dim light, she could see the faint
smudges under his long lashes, and a sudden rush
of emotion clogged her throat.  He was nothing
but a man, seriously troubled through no fault of
his own.  What he'd done to her... she really
must quit thinking of that night as a product of
Mulder's actions. *She* had done quite a few
things to him as well.  Run her fingers through
his hair, over his warm, strong body, greedily
latched onto his mouth and pulled him to her...

As if she still felt him move within her, her
hand drifted to her lower belly, where a flutter
of apprehension stirred.  She hadn't given it any
more thought since Christmas Eve, but seeing him
slumbering, his arms around Melissa's children,
brought home to her once again the possibility of
pregnancy.  But instead of curling dread, the
idea took root as a glimmer of hope; she spread
her fingers wide over the thick wool of her
slacks, knowing it was foolish to want such a
thing, but unable to deny its birth.  It was
foolish, it was complicated to ponder, she
shouldn't be wanting it at all -

"Dana!  Help us move the furniture, would you? 
We're gonna have some fun!"

At Charlie's shout, she jumped, looking at the
four happy adults to her left.  When she looked
back, Mulder's eyes were open.  Narrow and glazed
with sleep, they touched her face with their
warmth, as if he expected a wake-up kiss.  Dark
and dangerous with desire, they literally took
her breath away with the overt need that shown
through.  It took every ounce of strength she
possessed to break their hold and turn back to
the others.


**********


She was there.  Looking at him, her eyes filled
with wondrous hope, her hands set low over her
belly.  What was she thinking?  Did he want to
know?  He wished for her mind to open to him, for
her feet to move her into his arms.  Closing his
eyes, he waited, knowing any sudden move on his
part would likely scare her off.  Please come to
me, he prayed.

"Come on, baby." The child on his left stirred,
and Mulder felt a rush of cool air replace the
warmth at his side.  He opened his eyes,
expecting to see her settle beside him.  Yes. 
He'd never been a praying man, but maybe...

"Mulder?"

He blinked a few times at the soft call of his
name, trying to dispel the cobwebs from his
brain.  Seconds away from reaching out a hand and
murmuring her name with a longing ache, he
finally realized it wasn't her after all.  Had he
been dreaming?

Melissa gathered the nearest of her sons up in
her arms.  "I'm sorry, Mulder.  I should have
known they'd poop out after they ate.  I didn't
mean for them to fall asleep on you."

He say up, wiping a hand across his face. 
"That's okay.  I guess I was just as tired."  His
stellar plan to tucker out the kids and have
Scully all to himself had only resulted in him
succumbing to exhaustion.  Who knew kids had so
much energy?  He reached for the twin on his
right, and was stalled by another's voice.

"I'll get him, Fox."

It was Melissa's friend, Melvin.  Mulder had
liked the little man on sight, but had seen
Scully's doubts about his relationship with her
sister all night long.  It was plain in the way
she kept looking at Melvin across the dinner
table, her veiled looks trying to pierce the
man's confidence.  "Just Mulder, Melvin," he
said, stretching up from the loveseat.

Melvin Frohike hoisted the sleeping child in his
arms, giving Mulder a grin.  "You know, I never
liked Melvin all that much, either.  It's a shame
what the good intentions of parents saddle a kid
with - why don't you call me Frohike?  I think I
could use a change, and you've provided me with
the perfect opportunity."  He rolled his eyes at
Melissa's departing back, telling Mulder silently
that she couldn't object on those terms.

"Sure," Mulder chuckled.  "From now on, you're
Frohike."

"Good man," Frohike nodded, turning with the
child.  "We'll be back shortly."  He followed
Melissa up the stairs.

When Mulder turned to the others in the living
room, he found that the pieces of furniture had
been moved out, and a wide expanse of tapestry
rug laid bare in the center of the room.  Charlie
was on his knees in front of the radio, Ellen by
his side.  Scully stood apart, a distinct look of
- fear? - on her face.  No, she wasn't sscared of
a damn thing.  And he wouldn't allow himself to
consider the possibility it was anything else.

Hands in pockets, he walked to the edge of the
rug, addressing Charlie.  "What's up?"

"We have to get some practice in, old boy,"
Charlie threw over his shoulder.

"Practice?" Mulder looked at Scully; no, that
wasn't fear.  It was definitely dismay - mixed
with something else, something she'd hidden very
well.  What the hell did Charlie have planned?

"For the wedding reception.  We won't become Fred
Astaire overnight, but we don't want to embarrass
ourselves, either."

Dancing.  He was speaking of dancing.  His mouth
dropped as he looked at Scully again.  This time,
she didn't even acknowledge his look.  Instead,
she bristled, her arms crossed.

"Charlie, it's getting late, and we really should
go."

"Late?" Ellen said, her face incredulous.  "It's
only eight o'clock, Dana.  Before the war, we'd
be up until midnight - don't you remember? 
Listening to music and dancing - with each other,
if we didn't have anyone of the male persuasion
around."  She winked, turning back to Charlie; he
swatted her hand away from the knob.

"I got it," he said.  The scratching of the radio
gave way to the muted tones of "Sentimental
Journey".  Charlie stood, wrapping an arm around
Ellen.  "You're not leaving, either of you. 
We're gonna learn all the new dances, courtesy of
Melissa and Melvin.  That's an order."

Damn Charlie.  Mulder could have kissed him right
then and there.  His arms already itched to hold
Scully, and Charlie had handed him the perfect
excuse.  When Charlie swung Ellen into his arms,
Mulder took a sheepish step to Scully's side.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, holding out a
hand.  To his surprise, she took it, though she
was stiff.  And very angry, from her whispered
warning.

"Keep 'em high, sailor.  One finger below the
waist and that'll be the last time you use that
hand, got it?"

Oh, yeah.  She smelled good.  What was she saying
about fingers?


End Chapter Ten