A Familiar Heart
Chapter Four


She blinked at his sudden animosity, her mind
refusing to believe he could be so rude.  Yes,
she'd intruded.  And the last thing she
remembered before now was his angry face at the
door.  But this was something different, and she
wondered if she'd fallen into something far more
dangerous than potential hypothermia at the hands
of the snowstorm.

Shaking her head to clear the rest of the cobwebs
away, she asked, "Excuse me?"

Never taking his eyes from her, he carefully put
the glass globe on the lantern and turned up the
flame, until the room was alive with light.  This
time, when he spoke, it was perfect, slow
English.  "You heard me, baby.  Coffee, tea, or
me?"

Dear God, it was him.  Her hero, the one who'd
risked all to save her back at Los Banos.  But he
was dead - he *had* to be.  The wound was mortal,
she'd known it from the moment she put her hand
over the liberal flow of blood.  Of course,
covered with camouflage paint, his face hadn't
been clearly obvious.  But she'd know that voice
anywhere.  She dreamed of it, longed for it. 
Wanted it caressing her ears ever since the first
and only time she'd heard it.

"It's you," she whispered, tears coming to her
eyes.

At her soft statement, his eyes darkened to twin
pinpoints of dark passion.  They burned where
they touched her, leaving little frissons of
desire on her skin, on her face.  He wasn't an
unaffected by her as he liked to show.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" he drawled.  "I pack
a mean punch... but maybe you like something a
bit stronger than caffeine."

Oh, God.  He'd misunderstood her reply, and not
in a very harmless way, either.  Sprawled in the
rocker, his jeans almost indecently tight, she
couldn't help but notice his masculinity.  And as
soon as her eyes drifted back up, she felt her
face get hot.  Especially when he chuckled -
without mirth.

"Maybe I'll let you sample the goods, baby. 
After you spill the beans."

Why was he being so arrogant, so ugly to her? 
Unless he didn't remember her at all, which made
sense.  After all, they'd only met once, and that
was in the middle of an all-out battle.  He
couldn't be expected to remember one scrawny
little redheaded POW.  But she had to try.

"No, you've got it all wrong.  I - we've met
before.  The Philippines."

"Luzon?  One of Chang's whores?"

"What?"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I would have
remembered fucking someone like you."

At his profanity, she blanched, but kept on,
determined to get through to him.  "You saved me. 
You're a hero."

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound, flashing his
teeth.  "Then you *really* have me confused with
someone else, sweetheart.  One thing I'm not is a
hero."

It was quite possible he was suffering from
shell-shock, blocking out the memory of his
injury, of the horrors of war.  She knew because
she'd seen it all at Oak Knoll, had actually
lived through some of the same feelings of
helplessness herself.  The way you jumped when a
car backfired, the times you ate a meal as if you
were still starving... the intense, sudden
distrust of strangers, as if you'd never be able
to walk into a crowd again.  She could totally
understand why he seemed to be holed up in this
cabin, his guns at his side.  Watching and
waiting, awakened by the least little noise.  She
had to tread carefully; from his narrowed eyes to
the pistol he clutched in one hand, his whole
demeanor shouted that he was ready to act in an
instant.  She could very well find herself dead
in a heartbeat.

So she started out slowly, trying to divert the
tone of the conversation.  "Thank you,
Mister...?"

A snort came from that too-big nose and his lips
curled.  "Let me guess... for saving your life,
right?  And you know damn well what my name is."

That response made absolutely no sense.  They
never knew each other's names.  There wasn't time
to take a deep breath, much less...

"The better question is - what's your name?"

Beneath the slow drawl, there was an icy cold
layer of menace.  She cringed under the blankets,
but was determined to break through to him. 
"Scu-" she began, then thought better of using
the name she'd become accustomed to in service,
where one was just a last name and a rank. 
"Dana.  My name is Dana."  First names were good,
she thought.  More familiar terms than falling
back on military address, when war was the last
thing either of them should be thinking of at the
moment.  Overseas, *or* in the confines of this
cabin.

"Dana," he murmured softly, trying out the name
for a second before adding, "Pretty.  Just like
you.  I almost wish I'd met you in Luzon." 
Suddenly, as if he caught his lapse, his lips
thinned.  "Where's Chang?"

"Who?"

"Your boss.  Yui-Kwok Chang.  Where is he? 
Waiting on the road for your signal?"  He dug
into his shirt pocket and held up a small brown
vial.  "What's this?  Some of his finest opium,
maybe mixed with a little cyanide? Were you
supposed to do the job yourself or just
incapacitate me for Chang's later enjoyment?"

"What?  I don't know what you're talking about!" 
He was speaking in riddles.  And it looked like
he'd gone through her purse; the thiamine powder
she carried with her as a fatigue fighter gleamed
amber in the lamplight.  "Look, my car is maybe a
quarter of a mile west of here on the highway.  I
ran off the road and saw your cabin.  I just need
a ride into Piedmont."

"Oh, come off it, sweetheart." He stood, the
rocking chair reeling from his angry push-off. 
God, he was taller than she remembered; tall,
handsome, and impossibly, irrevocably... insane. 
"Where's your ID?"

"My ID?"

"Yeah, let's see some identification."

"My purse -"

"Guess again."

Damn.  She remembered putting her license in the
glove box of the car before she'd left the house;
she'd learned to carry as little as possible in
her purse, especially since she was traveling
alone.  Money, ID, checkbook - all locked in her
glove box.

"Can't remember where you put it?" he asked
snidely.  "Or can't remember exactly what name is
on it, sweetheart?"

His tone was infuriating, and she snapped back,
"Don't call me sweetheart, you jackass!"  She
closed her eyes against the sudden rush of pain
to her head, instantly regretting the outburst.

"Baby, in a minute I'll be calling the FBI,
unless you start talking."

Pain or not, she let her eyes fly open.  "Call me
'baby' again, and you'll be picking your nose
with that gun."  All right, so women weren't
trained for physical combat, but she had
brothers.  She knew her way around a fistfight,
even if he was twice her size.  And her fear had
given way to anger, making her foot itch to plant
itself up his rear end to kick some sense into
him.

Cocky surprise at her vehement threat made one
eyebrow lift, but still, he remained in control,
softening his voice to a menacing purr.  "All
right. *Dana*.  It's time to stop fooling around. 
Tell me where Chang is or you're gonna find
yourself back out in the cold... with a hole
right between those pretty baby blues."

Something about the way he issued his warning
told her he wasn't quite serious about outright
murdering her.  After all, he could have already
done it just by leaving her outside, instead of
wrapping her in warmth.  He needed to know where
this 'Chang' person was, and no amount of
explanation on her part would make him believe
she was legitimately stranded.  The mental
illness that came from battle sometimes lasted
months; it was no use arguing with a man
tormented by memories that wouldn't let go.

"I don't know where he is." It was the truth, and
she saw him react accordingly, stepping forward.

"Don't lie to me, Dana."

"I'm not lying.  Please, won't you listen to me?" 
A sudden thought made her hopeful.  "Go out -
find my car.  My keys are in my coat pocket.  Or
I could go." She looked around, noticing her
slacks and coat draped over a chair by the
fireplace.  "My clothes -"

"Forget it.  You're not leaving until I say so. 
And if you think I'm walking out there tonight,
you're crazy."  He put the vial back in his shirt
pocket, waving at her with the gun.  "Get up."

"What for?"

"I'm gonna tie you in the chair."

Swift fear sliced through her.  "No."  She swore
she was never going to submit to any form of
imprisonment again, and his order tweaked her
last nerve.  "I won't go anywhere, I promise."

"I said get up, Dana.  Do it."

"No!" She scrambled to the far side of the bed,
but the weight of the blankets worked against
her, and he caught up with her in a second,
grabbing her by her sore ankle.  She hissed with
pain and turned on him, kicking with all her
might.  But the simple strength it took to fight
back, combined with the pain in her leg and head,
proved to be too much.  In a matter of a half-
minute, she was trussed up in the chair like a
convict awaiting execution.  He was gone,
somewhere behind her, and his voice came over her
shoulder as the first tremors started.

"Jerry?  It's Mulder.  Come back."

Her head began to swim; she recognized the onset
of a seizure with a sad heart.  Even though she'd
been diagnosed with beriberi after her release, a
good diet and thiamine supplements had gradually
put an end to the malady.  But it was during
their layover in Hawaii that she began
experiencing fits of madness.  The doctors
hesitated to call them seizures, as there was
nothing physically wrong with her.  But they were
there just the same, always coming upon her in
times of severe stress.  She hated any form of
constriction; even her coat and scarf seemed to
suffocate her at times.  It was why she didn't
wear them in the car, only donning them when
necessary.  And now he'd tied her up.  She felt
the scream billow up her throat, and tried to
tell him.

"Please!  You don't understand!  I can't stand
it!" Struggling against the ropes, her voice
raised to a keening moan.  "Please let me go!"

Her doctor said the fits would gradually
disappear; actually, she'd not had one in a month
or more.  This one promised to be bad.  Her neck
lolled, her arms and legs jerking against the
bonds.  She needed to be free; but they were
laughing at her again, with their slanted eyes
and guttural commands.  The wooden lid to the
hole closed, trapping her in dirty darkness.  Her
lungs squeezed tight, forcing air out.  Couldn't
breathe, she couldn't breathe.  "Please..." Her
brain, dulled by misfiring synapses, formed the
familiar plea.  "Douzo..."

"Yeah, Mulder.  I'm here."

"Listen, Jerry.  Do me a favor."

"Sure, lemme have it."

"There's supposedly a car at the end of my road
with a flat.  Tow it into town for me, would
you?"

"Sure thing, pal.  On my way.  The owner?"

"She's... uh, she's gonna be staying with me a
while, okay?"

A knowing chuckle crackled over the radio line. 
"Gotcha, Mulder.  Anything else?"

"Nope.  Thanks."

The radio squawked, setting her teeth on edge. 
The man named Mulder ignored her, so she began to
rock in her chair, throwing her shoulders against
the imaginary wooden lid that blocked out the
sun.  Out, she had to get out.  In a second,
she'd crashed to the floor, her teeth chattering.

"Shit!  What the hell -"

He was beside her on his knees, his hands
wrapping around her head to keep it still.

"Let me go," she managed to squeeze out.

With an incredulous face, he asked, "What the
hell is this?  You sick?"

She nodded, letting her eyes close.  Just
watching him hover over her made her nauseous. 
"P-please.  Can't... breathe."

Tears sprang to her eyes, slowly trailing from
beneath her eyelids.  She heard a muffled curse,
then felt him pull apart the knots.  It seemed to
take forever, just like the way she could hear
every clink of the sliding chains on the door of
the hole.  He wasn't going fast enough; she
struggled more, losing the grip on her sanity. 
Muttered profanity filled her ears and she cried
out for her savior - for *him*.  In her recent
nightmares, he'd always come, swooping down like
the angel he was, saving her from the grip of
terror.

The voice, once cursing and vile, became muted,
comforting.  "Shh... I've got you.  Hold still. 
I've almost got you free."

Almost immediately, her shaking subsided.  A few
minutes later, she could open her eyes.  It was
him.  Thank God, it was him.  She sat up, her
body suddenly too warm, curling into his waiting
arms.  "God, thank you," she whispered, burying
her face into the blessed pulse of life in his
neck.  He stiffened beneath her touch, but she
wouldn't allow him to leave her, like he'd done
before.  This time, she was going to hang on.

"No, don't leave me," she murmured, her arms
encircling his waist.

She knew flight was uppermost on his mind, but if
he pulled away, he would be dead, just like
before.  She had to think of something fast,
*anything* to hold on to him.  Her hands grabbed
fistfuls of his shirt, and her lips opened on his
scratchy skin.  For a second, he hesitated, then
she felt his hands come up, tilting her head
back.

And the kiss felt so good... he tasted of coffee
and smelled of the outdoors, of freedom.  His
mouth opened over hers and his tongue dipped
inside.  Yes, she thought, letting him delve into
her soul.  She could hold on, banish the devil
from her soul under his soft touch.

She succumbed willingly, feeling him take her
farther away from the terror with every second
that passed.


**********


This is insane, he thought, digging deeper into
the soft recesses of her mouth with his tongue. 
This woman - this soft, responsive woman - was
most likely an operative working for one of
Asia's most ruthless crime bosses.  And it didn't
matter that the scene he'd just witnessed could
not have been faked; he saw the stark terror in
her eyes, heard it in her trembling voice.  Lots
of women who worked for Chang did so only because
of the threat that came with refusal.  Their
families tortured, they themselves beaten into
submission, they had no choice but to take up
prostitution or murder at his command.

But she was different, he knew that now.  Those
not fit for life under Chang's thumb either
quickly fell victim to his swift retribution, or
became hardened, without an ounce of mercy in
their words and actions.  She was neither; she'd
taken the road to this point as a tempting
seductress.  Soft in voice and body, luring her
prey into the one mistake that would cost them
their lives.  He recognized it, and just as
quickly realized it didn't matter.  He wanted
her.  He could remain alert, and deal with her
when it was done.  But nothing was going to stop
him from having her.  Here.  Now.

She moaned as his hands stole under her sweater. 
He made quick work of the clasp of her bra,
releasing her breasts to the pinch of his
fingers.  Squirming, she gasped into his mouth at
his rough handling, but it wasn't with fright. 
No, she leaned into it, the crest beneath his
thumb becoming firm with her arousal.  He only
played for a moment or so before lowering her to
the floor, releasing her from their kiss to stare
into her face.

Eyes glazed over with passion, she looked half-
drugged, though eager to move forward.  She
licked her lips, watching his mouth dip down to
cover hers once again.  Restless, she was so
restless under him... he captured both of her
wrists in one hand, bringing them above her head
in an effort to hold her still.  With the other,
he reached for the hem of her sweater, shoving it
up and out of the way.

In the lamplight, the twin mounds of straining
flesh beckoned, and he lowered his mouth,
nuzzling the soft valley between.  She arched
under him, pressing up into his caress.  The warm
scent of womanly skin filled his nostrils and he
inhaled deeply, re-acquainting himself with the
smell of sex.  It had been too long, and the
freshness of winter air that lingered upon her
opened his senses, made him feel alive.  He had
to taste... and he did, greedily suckling on one
pebbled nipple, the rasp of his tongue seeking
the milk and honey of her body.

Her response was immediate, as he heard her moans
become low and intense.  Beneath him, her hips
circled into his, her legs falling apart in
readiness.  It was unbelievable, but it seemed
she'd been without as long as he had.  Her
reaction to his touch was unmistakable... the
realization spurred him on, as he wasted no more
time in giving them both what they wanted.

She whimpered in protest when he raised his head
and he hurried to placate her.  "Okay, okay."  He
pressed a kiss to the feverish impatience that
marred her brow, and lifted up, reaching for the
zipper of his jeans.

Grimacing at the slide of metal rasping against
his erection, he cursed under his breath, feeling
like a teenager with his first woman.  After a
moment of fumbling, he decided to let go of her
hands, too caught up in desire to worry about
what she might do to him.  She immediately
wrapped her arms around his back and he jerked at
the feel of her cool fingers sliding under his
jeans... and at the scalding heat of her mouth
closing over his.  Hands now freed, he shoved
both jeans and boxers awkwardly down his hips
just far enough to allow his dick to spring free,
the gun in his pocket clattering to the floor.

Dimly, he registered its loss, knowing he really
should keep it close.  But he couldn't stop - he
had to have her.  Despite her allure, he'd never
before let a woman hypnotize him into losing all
sense of his surroundings, and he wasn't about to
start now.  One hand fitted itself between her
shoulder blades, effectively holding her trapped
between him and the floor.

His free hand tore at her panties, and she arched
beneath him, tearing her mouth away from his to
whisper, "Yesss..."

That one word incited his arousal to painful
proportions.  With the last of his patience, he
shoved aside the scraps of silk and dove deep
into her with one finger.  She whimpered, tossing
her head from side to side.  Moisture made his
finger slick, and he groaned at her readiness,
withdrawing his hand.  A few false starts later,
he finally fitted himself to her and thrust
within her, stilling at the tight clasp of her
walls.  She gripped him like a vise, and he knew
he wouldn't last long, especially with the way
she squirmed beneath him.

"Be still... God, be still," he moaned, his hips
beginning to move as his mouth stifled her cries.

So good, so good....



End Chapter Four