A Familiar Heart
Chapter Nine


When she came down for breakfast the next
morning, she was greeted by the smell of bacon
from the kitchen, and a harried Charlie hanging
on the telephone in the hall.

"Hey," she said, tapping him on the shoulder. 
"What's up?"  She'd been fully prepared to light
into him for the Mulder business, but the frown
on his face detoured her thoughts.  Something was
amiss.

Charlie's chin snapped up, the receiver cradled
between his ear and shoulder.  A fleeting, absent
smile curled his lips and he said, "Hey, sprite. 
How was the movie?"

Remembering her cover story for the way she'd
spent last night, she returned his smile.  "Okay. 
Gable's getting a bit long in the tooth."  She
nodded at the phone.  "Is something wrong?"

"Um... nothing.  I just can't get a hold of
Mulder this morning.  We're supposed to -" He
turned back to his conversation.  "Yes?  Yeah..."

Scully wandered off toward the kitchen in search
of coffee, Charlie's words fading behind her.  So
Mulder was gone.

Tell Charlie I'm sorry, he'd said.

Relief flowed through her, mixed with a healthy
amount of guilt.  Seemed she wouldn't have to
tell Charlie anything about her meeting with
Mulder; his best man had taken care of it by
skipping town.  On one hand, she was glad he'd
taken his woes with him.  Her family was most
important in the matter.  On the other hand, she
felt bad because Charlie was bound to be hurt by
Mulder's disappearance.  But God - the man was
dangerous!  Charlie knew better than to expose
his family and friends to that kind of threat.

"Coffee, Dana?"

Maggie worked at the stove, looking up at her
daughter's approach.  Scully murmured a 'good
morning' to her mother, and made for the pot on
the stove.

"Careful, it's still dripping," Maggie warned. 
"Breakfast won't be ready for another ten minutes
of so - would you mind getting the morning paper
in the drive before your father comes down?"

"Sure, Mom."  She tipped the coffee pot, one
finger on the metal basket of hot water that sat
on the top.  The full, stout aroma of coffee
beans wafted up to her when she filled her cup,
and she added a generous amount of sugar and milk
before heading back into the hall.

Charlie hung up the telephone with a sigh.  His
defeated posture tugged at her heart, and she
laid a hand on his arm.  "What's the problem?" 
If she had a hand in Mulder leaving, the least
she could do was console her brother.  And Bill
would make a fine best man, she thought, even
though her two brothers always fought like cats
and dogs.

"Mulder's gone." Slapping the pad of paper he
held against his thigh, he muttered, "Damn."

"He's what?"  Act cool, she told herself.  Be
surprised, then be sympathetic.

Charlie turned back to the telephone, picking up
the receiver to dial a number he read off the
paper.  "He's left his parents' place - they
think he put up in a hotel, but I'm not so sure. 
I knew he was going to do something like this. 
Idiot.  No matter how many times I tell him that
it's okay - Yes?  Hello?"

"Okay for what?" This was more than simple
disappointment that his best man had abandoned
him.  Charlie was genuinely hurt by Mulder's
leaving, and was trying his best to track him
down.

"He's not registered?  Okay, thanks."  He threw
the pad to the table and scrubbed at his cheeks
with one hand, muttering, "Where the hell did he
go?"  He depressed the disconnect button and
dialed again, this time more aggressively.  He
ignored her tug on his arm, telling her with a
wave of his hand to wait.  "Yeah.  This is
Charles Scully.  I need to speak to Commander
Skinner ASAP."

She walked around to the living room door,
sipping at her coffee, trying to appear
nonchalant as she listened in on Charlie's barked
instructions.  He'd apparently phoned his CO's
office at the Pentagon, and was asking them to
put out feelers for Mulder's whereabouts.  She
heard Chang's name once or twice, then, when
Charlie noticed her hovering in the doorway, he
lowered his voice until she couldn't hear
anything at all.  Surely he didn't think Chang
had gotten to Mulder?  Alarm made her heart trip; 
no - Mulder had just left because of her angry
outburst last night.  He had the sense to realize
it wasn't safe, that was all.

The slam of the telephone made her jump, and
Charlie brushed past her into the living room. 
"I can't believe he did this to me."

"Did what?"

"Skipped out on me, that's what," Charlie
growled.  "I told him that it was okay for him to
be here, and then he goes and does this.  Why the
hell did he bother showing up if he was gonna end
up leaving?"

A dull thud set up residence in her head,
pounding out the chilling reason for Mulder's
pop-in and pop-out: because he wanted to explain. 
Not to Charlie, to *her*.  He'd known who she was
- if not before he left Utah, then by  the time he
got to Maryland.  He didn't come all this way to
be Charlie's best man.  He came all this way to
apologize to her, to try to make it right.  It
was the only thing that made sense.  But the
unanswered questions in her mind still lingered,
and she was determined to know the whole story.

"Charlie."

"Yeah?"

"Why did you tell him it was okay to be here? 
Was he not planning on coming to your wedding all
along?"

Charlie flopped into her father's easy chair,
looking at the hall as if he could make the
telephone ring with his stare.  "I'm gonna tell
you something, sprite - but you have to promise
it goes no further." He leveled her with a grim
look.

God, she wasn't sure she wanted to hear all the
gory details.  But she had to know - if Mulder
had it in his mind all along to leave, she had to
know if he would have stayed, had she not pushed
him away with her anger.  And something in
Charlie's sad countenance told her that his
friend's decision was based on more than her
harsh words of reprimand.

On legs suddenly rubbery with fear, she walked to
the couch, where she perched on the edge.  "I
promise," she said, waiting with bated breath.

Charlie sighed, lowering his voice as he leaned
forward.  "Mulder had it much worse in Hong Kong
that he let on in front of the family the other
night."

<Some hero, huh?>

Mulder's voice echoed in her head as Charlie
continued, "I knew him before he got shipped
there, back in '39.  We went through basic
training together.  Of course, he was the old man
of the group." He smiled grimly, shaking his
head.  "He might have been 25 or 26.  Then again,
I was only eighteen, so anyone with a heavier
beard than me was old.

"He's smart, you know.  Way smarter than he lets
on.  I mean, I always knew I wanted to make a
career out of the Navy, just like Dad.  So I
joined up right out of school.  It was just dumb
luck I happened to get in with Intelligence along
with Mulder."

She knew that was a modest statement.  Charlie
was quick and agile mentally, perfect for the
intuitive work that Naval Intelligence demanded.

"But Mulder?  God, Dana - he could speak like
seven or eight languages, he could remember
things word for word after only seeing them once. 
The man went to Oxford, for God's sake.  His
father was wealthy and Mulder could have had any
juicy government job he wanted."

"Why didn't he?"

"He never offered a reason, and I never asked. 
But it's my guess there's some friction at home. 
His kid brother was always making good, you know. 
He'd tell me about how Sam had made all-American
in baseball at Princeton, how Sam graduated with
honors, how Sam did this, and Sam did that.  And
it wasn't with envy, either.  I think Mulder was
very proud of his brother.  But I also think he
felt very inferior, at least in his Dad's eyes." 
Charlie paused, linking his hands as they rested
over his knees.  "Maybe he wanted to make
something of himself on his own, without his
father's help."

She saw how that statement was reflective of
Charlie's own inadequacies, as far as Bill was
concerned.  Dana had never seen her father treat
his sons any differently, but Bill often came out
on top by virtue of his status as eldest.  It was
Bill who was destined to be captain of his own
vessel one day, not Charlie.  But she knew
Charlie had come to terms with his life, and he
was very good at his job, something her father
had recently realized.  The wedding was supposed
to have been a celebration of Charlie's adult
status at last... and she'd gone and put a chink
in it.

"Anyway, he jumped at the chance to go to Hong
Kong.  He was perfect for the assignment, and I
was set up in Honolulu to communicate with him. 
Then he met up with Chang."  Charlie's face took
on a sour look, and he hung his head to stare at
his hands.

"Chang?"  It took all of her strength to keep the
emotion from her voice, to act like she'd never
heard the name.  Still, it left a bitter taste on
her tongue, one she washed away with a sip of her
sweetened coffee.

"Yeah.  Chang was - *is* - bad news.  He ran one
of the major opium smuggling operations in Hong
Kong.  When Skinner - our CO - heard about this,
he ordered Mulder to get in good with Chang.  I
kept my mouth shut, but I didn't like it at all. 
It was dangerous, and we both knew it."

This was sounding more awful by the minute; she
now realized Mulder had glossed over the details
not because they were top secret, but because
they were quite probably too horrible to speak
of.  One look at Charlie's face told her of the
ominous story to come.  Putting aside her coffee
cup, she scooted closer, taking one of Charlie's
hands in her own.  A slight tug, and she forced
him to look at her.  "Tell me."

It was so like the way he'd gently pulled the
story of her own imprisonment from her, and she
felt tears gather in her eyes.  Tears for
Charlie, who'd obviously had to stand by and
watch Mulder go deeper into trouble... and tears
for Mulder, who she suspected with each passing
moment had spared her because he cared more
deeply for her than she'd thought.

"After a while, even Skinner knew that Mulder was
in over his head.  But he couldn't do anything
about it - the orders from above were specific:
leave Mulder there.  He was getting some good
information about troop movements from Chang's
Japanese customers - mostly officers who liked to
hang around the China Moon."

Once again, she fished for already known
information.  "What was the China Moon?"

"Chang tapped Mulder to run the China Moon.  A
really nice place, from what I understand...
crystal chandeliers, teakwood bar... and all the
women and opium one could ever want."

Dear God.  Mulder ran a brothel.  Disgust curled
in her stomach; had he ever availed himself of
the women?  Goodness knew he was sexually active,
if his performance of the other night was any
indication.  Of course, she really had no other
way of gauging him against other men... damn! 
She had no business even *thinking* of him like
that anymore.  Her displeasure at the thought
must have shown on her face, because Charlie
immediately squeezed her fingers.  "He wouldn't
have done that, sprite.  Believe me."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's an honorable man.  And because
that's one of the things he most hated about
working in Hong Kong - when he came back to the
States, I heard the venom in his voice when he'd
talk about the way Chang's women were treated. 
Like chattel.  And he couldn't do a damned thing
about it."

Yet he'd made love to her.  Even his snide
bargaining at the end had been laced with self-
revulsion, she knew that now.  He'd been rough,
but he'd been tender.

<You were like coming home at last.>

Letting go of Charlie's hand, she stood and
walked to the fireplace, squeezing her eyes shut
as she gave Charlie her back.  The words seemed
to drag out of her, each one filled with dread. 
"That's not all, is it?"

Behind her, Charlie sighed.  "No.  Toward the
end, Chang began to suspect Mulder.  He got one
of the girls to slowly slip some opium into
Mulder's food."

The vial.  His paranoid insistence that she'd
been sent there to drug him.  "Was he..." she
stumbled a bit, then took a deep breath.  "Was he
addicted?"

<I couldn't stand what I'd become.>

"When he started feeling the effects, he realized
what Chang had done.  He couldn't refuse the
food, because it would mean his certain death. 
So he went along, barely eating enough to survive
until he could get out.  I tried telling Skinner
that they should pull him, but it was no use. 
Skinner's hands were tied like mine.  It all came
to a head in February."

Composing her face into a calmer mask, she
turned, arms crossed over her chest.  "What
happened in February?"

Charlie's face was pinched and pale.  "I relayed
a message to Mulder - his brother had been killed
in action."

"God," she whispered, feeling Mulder's pain as
surely as if she'd been there with him.

"It broke him, sprite.  I think he went a bit
nuts.  His message back was so cold, so crazy. 
He told me I'd better find him some transport,
because he was leaving Hong Kong, no matter what
Skinner said.  And if we didn't find him
transport, he was going to go up in flames with
Chang.  He'd had enough."

<I torched his warehouses and blew up a couple of
his ships in a fond farewell.>

She had a sudden mental image of Mulder's
madness, and it took her breath away.  Because it
was familiar.  Did he see angels when he lit the
fuse?  Were there voices telling him that no
matter what, with death there came freedom?  She
shuddered at her own memories of nearly crossing
that jagged line of instant, permanent insanity,
and wondered how Mulder had stepped back from it,
as she had.  He could very well have gone over
the edge in Utah, but he didn't.  It was a
testament to his strength, a statement of his
humanity.

"You got him out, though, didn't you?"  It was
the one hopeful scene in the horrid tale, and she
hoped that Chang would never tack on a sad
ending.

"Yeah, but it wasn't easy.  A heavy cruiser doing
reconnaissance for a carrier spotted him a couple
of days after I lost contact with him.  He was
floating in a fishing boat a few hundred miles
southeast of Taiwan.  How the hell he avoided
Japanese patrols, I don't know; he'd paddled his
way away from Hong Kong.  It was sheer luck we
found him - he was in bad shape.  Another day or
so, and he'd have been a goner."

"And the opium addiction?"

"Took a few months to wean him off of the stuff. 
He seemed like he was going to be okay, then we
found out Chang was after him, looking for
revenge."  Charlie got up from the chair to look
out the window, hands on hips.  "Damn it," he
growled.  "He's been practically on the lam since
August; he wasn't going to come to my wedding,
you know.  He didn't want Chang to follow him
here.  But I told him a couple of days ago that
Chang had gone back to Hong Kong.  Mulder didn't
have a damn thing to worry about."

She watched Charlie's back stiffen with hurt, and
she knew she was responsible.  Mulder had tried
to tell her last night that they were in no
danger, but she'd been too caught up in her own
anger and selfishness to listen.  The wrong she'd
done Charlie *and* Mulder pressed upon her like a
two-ton pile of bricks.  But how could she make
it right?  Mulder was gone, and even if Charlie
could find him, she doubted Mulder would sit
still to listen.  And no way would she risk
getting that close to Mulder again.  Yes, he
wasn't what she'd thought he was, but he was
still too dangerous to her peace of mind to have
him around.

She was such a coward.  A little fool who thought
all the hurt in the world had fallen upon her
shoulders.  It wasn't bad enough she'd burdened
Charlie with all that happened to her in Los
Banos... no, she had to ruin his wedding by
practically running his best man out of town on a
rail.

The loud ring of the telephone made her jump; it
made Charlie whirl and run for the hall.  She
couldn't help but follow, eavesdropping on
Charlie's breathless replies.

"Yeah?  He did?  Thanks."  As soon as he hung up,
he made for the coat rack, giving Scully a peck
on the cheek as he donned his coat and gloves. 
"Catch ya later, sis."

"Wait a minute," she called out, stopping him
half in and half out the door.  "Where are you
going?"

"Mulder and I were supposed to meet at Skinner's
office this morning - he's already come and gone. 
One of the assistants says she overheard him on
the phone before he left - checking schedules at
the Dupont Train Station."

A rail.  How ironic that her machinations should
literally find Mulder catching a train out of
town.  "Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think he'll come back with you?"  She
wasn't worried that Mulder would tell Charlie of
his dinner with her last night.  No, by their
common, unspoken, honor, neither would ever say a
word to Charlie about any of that mess in Utah. 
She was more concerned that Charlie would beg
until he was blue in the face and Mulder wouldn't
budge from his decision to leave.

"He'd better.  He has nothing to hide from
anymore, and I'm damn well gonna make him see
that."

Scully shifted from one foot to the other, a
trickle of nervous energy fluttering in her
stomach.  Charlie paused, one hand on the door
knob, confusion creasing his brow.  "Sis?"

Damn.  She knew she was going to be sorry for
this, but it had to be done.


**********


It was cold out on the platform, but at least it
wasn't snowing anymore, Mulder thought.  His body
tucked into his heavy coat and scarf, he almost
wished he'd worn his uniform.  The hat would warm
his head nicely.  But God, he'd had enough of the
uniform already.  It hadn't done him a damned bit
of good to wear the thing, and actually, it
brought back memories he'd just as soon forget.

Skinner hadn't been pleased he'd shown up early
for the de-briefing about Chang, saying Charlie
should be there.  But Mulder had lied and told
Skinner there was a family emergency in Florida. 
Truth be known, his parents *were* leaving
Washington for Florida early this morning, but
only for his dad to get in some sun and golf in
Miami.  He could have stayed at their house
indefinitely, according to his mother, but his
father's frown had put an end to that idea. 
Mulder didn't even have a key to the house.  Some
welcome home.

Besides, after seeing her last night, and hearing
her condemnation, he wanted to get as far away as
possible.  Nagging guilt about abandoning Charlie
made his shoulders droop, but Scully had been
right - he had no business exposing their happy
family to any danger, *or* to anything associated
with his seedy past.  Including himself.  He was
not worthy of the friendly, homespun Scully clan,
most especially Dana, who still managed to look
like an innocent.  Jesus.  He shut his eyes
against the glare of the sun, wondering if he'd
ever forgive himself for that transgression.

"Mulder!"

He turned at the shout of his name, only to look
away with a grimace.  Charlie, his smile of
relief beaming across the platform.  He should
have known his friend would track him down. 
Damn.  Another ten minutes and he'd have been
gone on the 11:15 to parts west.  Tucking his
hands in his pockets, he straightened his
shoulders and prepared for the argument to come.

Smiling, he faced his breathless friend.  "Come
to see me off?"

Charlie's relief at finding him faded quickly to
a frown.  "I should kick your ass.  C'mon." He
wrapped a hand around Mulder's duffel bag.

"I'm not going back, Charlie."  He gave Charlie
his profile, a proud, implacable show of
stubbornness.

"Yes, you are.  There's nothing to worry about,
Mulder.  You talked to Skinner this morning -
Chang's gone."  He hefted the bag over his
shoulder.  "You want your clothes?  You'll have
to come with me."

"Take 'em.  As soon as I get back to San Diego,
I'm resigning my commission.  I'd have done it
here, but Skinner refused to accept it."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie drop
the bag to the wooden floor.  It hit with a dull
thud, and Mulder almost flinched at the hurt in
Charlie's voice.  "You're what?"

"You heard me.  I'm out." He gave Charlie a
sidelong glance, then dropped his chin at the
sadness he saw written in the crestfallen face. 
"I'm just not... ready for any of this, Charlie. 
Life on the outside." He spoke as if he'd been in
prison, and he supposed he had.  A dirty, dark
place that he was just scratching his way out of;
and one thing his short time with Charlie's
glowing family had proven to him was that he'd
lost touch with normal people, with the simple
things like manners and genuine feelings.  It
hurt, and he wasn't sure it would ever stop.

"Mulder, no... you can't crawl back and hide.  I
won't let you."

Mulder's lips curled at Charlie's insistent
growl.  It was so easy for Charlie to stand there
and plead with him to stay.  He was the most
decent fellow he'd ever had the pleasure of
knowing.  But Mulder didn't see his own parents
standing before him with the same words, nor did
he see any of his so-called pals from Skinner's
office.  And he certainly wouldn't be graced with
a plea to stay from her... the very thought of
her, standing in the watery sunshine, a smile on
her face, a 'please' on her lips... God, it shook
him to his bones.  No.  That was just a dream,
and he'd had plenty of those in Hong Kong that
never came true.  Why would Maryland prove any
different?

A sharp whistle pierced the air, and he saw the
train approaching from his left.  "Look,
Charlie," he said as he faced the younger man, "I
can't -"

"Yes, you can."

Soft and precise, the words cut through the air
behind him, and his mouth dropped, his own
protest choked down by the hammering of his
heart.  No, it couldn't be.  She'd throw his bag
on the train and shove him on behind it, if she
were really there.  He was hearing things, that
was it.

"It's about time you made it, sprite," Charlie
said.  "See if you can talk some sense into him."

"It took me some time to find a parking spot,
Charlie."

Slowly, Mulder turned to find her standing there,
a few feet of distance between them.  She wasn't
smiling, but then again, she looked at him with
eyes that were warm and intense, the corners of
her mouth flirting with the effort to let a smile
break free.  Her coat flapped open in the cold
wind, and her cheeks were kissed with a pink
blush.  She looked as though she'd just woken
from a sound sleep, and he thought he'd never
seen anything so beautiful.  Under his stare, she
finally dropped her gaze, her hands sliding into
her coat pockets.

"You can't let me walk down that aisle by myself,
Mulder," she murmured.  "I *do* have a tricky
ankle, you know."  For emphasis, she stuck out
one loafer-clad foot.  Still, her eyes remained
downcast.

"Yeah," Charlie pounced, coming up beside Mulder. 
"You don't do it, and I'll have to ask Bill.  And
he's got two left feet.  He steps on her foot,
and it'll be war right in the middle of church. 
Mom would faint right there."

Mulder cleared his throat, wondering if he had
the strength to suppress his shout of sheer joy. 
It was difficult, but he managed it - just
barely.  "I guess I could stay," he said, feeling
his goofy smile cling to his face, despite his
attempt to tame it.

Charlie nudged Mulder, picking up the duffel bag
again.  "I knew I was bringing the right
reinforcements," he whispered to Mulder.

Mulder felt heat creep up his cheeks and he
sobered, embarrassed that he'd let Charlie
witness his happiness at seeing her.  All
business, he grabbed the bag from Charlie.  "I'll
catch a cab to the nearest hotel and call you
later, okay?"

"Hotel?  You're kidding.  What about your Dad's
place?"

"They closed it up for the winter this morning. 
They're going to Miami to catch some sun."  His
stern look warned Charlie not to dwell on the
subject of his parents.  "I can get a room, no
problem."

"Out of the question," Charlie replied.  "We've
got lots of room, don't we, sprite?"

Mulder, still watching Scully, saw her chin snap
up.  He waited, knowing one word from her could
send him packing on that train.  Her eyes widened
a bit, then became placid.  "The couch *is*
pretty comfy."

His smile returned, warmth blooming within him at
her simple gesture of truce.  "I don't mind the
couch.  Some of my best friends have been sofas." 
He pursed his lips over the inane remark, looking
away.

"It's settled then," Charlie stated.  "Give me
the keys, sprite, and I'll bring the car out
front.  We can't have you hobbling on that ankle
too much."  Scully did as he asked, and directed
him to the Buick, some two blocks down.  She
watched him lope away in silence before turning
back to Mulder.

"Some of your best friends are sofas?" she asked
softly.  "What are your enemies - ottomans?"

At that, he took a step toward her, his voice
just as soft as he watched the wind whip her hair
about her face.  "I once thought that my only
adversaries were a Chinese mafia boss and a
petite redhead.  As of this morning, I seem to
have lost both."

Gathering her coat close, she cocked a brow.  "I
wouldn't bet on it, Mulder." Turning, she began
to walk to the front of the station.  "Now move
it, sailor.  We don't have all day."

He fell into step beside her, grinning.  Not
because he was staying for the wedding.  Not
because he was staying at *her* house for the
next few days.  Not even because she'd personally
come to the station to get him to stay.

It was because, though she tried her best to hide
it, the smile was there.  He heard it in her
voice.

This was shaping up to be one helluva holiday.



End Chapter Nine