An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Sixteen


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"I'll be with you in a minute," Fox said softly,
holding his hand over the mouthpiece of the
telephone.  Fox didn't look too happy; Sam could
sympathize, remembering the shit he used to catch
in the service.  It must still roll downhill even
in peace time.  He sat when Fox gestured for him to
take the chair opposite, looking around the big
office with a proud eye.

Commendations and certificates lined the dark
paneled walls.  From the window beyond, Sam could
see a spectacular view of the Potomac River, the
Washington Monument soaring into the Heavens like a
single spear of justice.  When he'd first seen the
Pentagon, he'd been dazzled by its sheer size. 
Hell, he still was, marveling at the way the world
had changed since he'd been gone.

And Fox?  Well, from all appearances, his brother
was a decorated hero of Naval Intelligence.  He had
a picture of himself posing with an admiral, for
Christ's sake!  He shouldn't be surprised; Fox was
always the better man.  Smart and loyal, brave and
willing to tackle the unknown for a just cause. 
Ambition never ruled his brother - just a deep
sense of justice.

"Yes, sir," Fox was saying, his face tight.  "I
understand, sir.  I'm in a meeting right now, but
I'll be up shortly.  Thank you, sir."  He hung up,
wiping a hand over his face.

Whatever transpired on the phone had unsettled his
big brother.  Sam hoped it wasn't anything to do
with Sunday night's events.  "Ass-chewing from
above?" Sam asked, only half teasing.  If Fox had a
bone to pick, he'd do it immediately.

"Huh?"  Fox gave Sam a glazed look.

Okay.  Maybe not anything to do with Sunday night,
Sam figured.  Which made it none of his business. 
"I see you finally made Captain," he said, changing
the subject with a nod at Fox's uniform. 
"Congratulations."

"Thanks."  Fox's smile was brief, and he hastily
pulled open his middle drawer, removing a sheaf of
papers.  "Look, Sam, I can't do lunch today. 
Something's come up and I have to meet with my
commanding officer ASAP."

"I understand.  Duty calls."  Sam reached over the
desk for the papers Fox offered.  "These all I
need?"

Fox seemed to stare a hole through Sam, only
releasing the papers when Sam gave a gentle tug. 
"Uh, yeah - discharge, revocation of the death
certificate.  Your savings account passbook is in
the envelope; I've deposited your share of Dad's
estate in there.  All you need to do is re-apply
for your driver's license -"

"I don't want Dad's money."  Sam was adamant; he
didn't want any part of his father's estate.  "You
keep it.  You have a baby coming, and you'll need
every penny."

"Sam, don't do this.  Dad is long gone.  There's no
need to fight with him anymore."

Sam sighed, hanging his head as he fisted the
papers.  "All I ever wanted from him was respect. 
For me *and* for you."

"I know.  I wanted the same thing."  Sam heard Fox
shift in his chair, knowing his brother leaned
closer over the desk.  "Take it, Sam.  Buy yourself
the biggest house in D.C.  Take a long vacation. 
Give it away - I don't care.  Dad would have wanted
you to use it."

Sam remained silent, pondering Fox's statement. 
Their father had never really given a damn about
either of them except to goad them into excelling
mentally and physically.  He didn't want the money,
but neither did he want to start an argument over
it just when he and Fox were beginning to get back
to normal.  He looked up, pocketing the papers in
his coat with a small smile.  "I can think of
someone who needs a bit of cash."

Fox leaned back in his chair with a tilt of his
head.  "Wouldn't happen to be the guy who walked
right into a bus, would it?"

He couldn't have kept his run-in with the little
thief a secret, even if he'd taped Mike's mouth
shut.  There was no way he could get out of calling
Mike that Sunday night.  It was only by sheer luck
Emma hadn't yet made it home and overheard Mike's
end of their conversation.  He'd briefly explained
what had happened, leaving out the fellow's weird
behavior, naturally.  The cops were easy to
satisfy, as they weren't too keen on dragging out
their Sunday night with overdone details.  They'd
simply carted off the unconscious man in an
ambulance and told Sam they'd be in touch if the
guy survived his injuries.  Which was looking more
unlikely with every day he remained unconscious.

Mike had left Sam to deal with it on his own this
time, only saying it was a good thing Sam hadn't
gotten in the way of the bus as well.  Sam made him
promise not to tell Emma, and Mike had agreed,
saying it was best to put it all behind them.  But
Sam fully expected an irate Emma to let him have
next time they saw one another; news had a way of
traveling fast in the Scully family.  Just as he
expected his brother to give him a bit of grief,
especially when he noticed the grim look on Fox's
face as he walked through his office door moments
ago.  It was no use denying Fox's suspicions, so
Sam gave his brother the confirmation he needed. 
"He's just what he said he was - a guy down on his
luck, with a wife and kid."

Cannon was his name, Sam had found out.  He was
holding his own in the hospital, but due to heavy
sedation, he'd been unable to talk very much.  Sam
had tried to speak to him again every morning since
the accident, but with no success.  Even when the
doctors allowed Cannon to come out from under
sedation, he baffled them by simply not waking up. 
Some unknown bleeding in the brain, according to
the nurses.  Maybe he'd never wake up at all.  

It didn't help that he had to face the guy's wife,
who sat by her husband's bedside looking just as
malnourished as the poor fellow.

Three days now he'd wondered if what Cannon claimed
could be true.  Despite the blood-soaked shirt, Sam
knew he hadn't been stabbed.  It had happened so
fast, he hadn't had time to feel anything - and he
didn't recall much of what he *had* felt, other
than an overwhelming sense of panic and dread.

"None of that is your fault, Sam."

What?  No complaining?  No reprimand for putting
himself in front of the guy once again?  Whatever
was in that call must have really sidetracked his
brother, if Fox was willing to let the incident
pass with just that comment.

"I know it isn't."  He truly felt sorry for the guy
and his family, knowing post-war times were tough
for those without jobs.  "I just think about that
guy and wonder if the same thing could happen to me
one day."  He didn't know when he'd grown a
conscience, but it felt good.  In days past, he
hadn't given a damn about his fellow man - a
remnant of his father's upbringing.

Fox nodded, and Sam knew by his silence he agreed. 
Nobody was safe anymore; the war had proven that
the struggles of power-hungry men rippled down to
the most simple of folk, robbing them of freedom
and in some cases, their very lives.

"I really hate to cut this short, Sam," Fox stated
with a swift change of subject.  "But my CO needs
to see me.  Sorry about this.  I really wanted to
talk to you a bit.  Find out how you were doing."

Sam stood when Fox did, knowing the job took
precedence.  "I'm doing okay, Smokey.  No
complaints."  Except for one little thing about a
stab wound that wasn't, he really was doing great. 
The job was fulfilling, the apartment met his
needs, and he had Emma.  That was the best part of
it all.  "I gotta get back.  Mike gave me a couple
hours off to come see you, but he's shorthanded
today, so he could use my help in the kitchen."

His brother walked him to the door.  "Kitchen
duty?"  Fox shook his head with a chuckle.  "Never
thought I'd see the day my brother was up to his
elbows in dishwater."

"I don't mind.  Nothing like good hard work."  To
keep his mind off stab wounds that weren't.  To
keep his legs from walking to Emma's house every
day to steal a kiss or two.

"You're beginning to sound like Mike Scully, Sam."

"Nothing wrong with that, either."

Fox stopped at the open door, giving Sam a long
look.  "I'm... I'm glad you're doing okay, Sam."

Sam looked at his brother's outstretched hand,
knowing Fox hadn't expected him to do this well. 
He should be angry at the lack of faith behind
Fox's almost apology, but he wasn't.  If he hadn't
been such a drunken idiot all those years, he might
have inspired Fox to believe in him a little more. 
Now, seeing the light of admiration and respect in
Fox's eyes, he took the offered hand, feeling as if
the race between them was finally at an end. 
Neither had wanted it in the first place, but both
had harbored the competitive spirit instilled in
them by their father for many years.  It was time
to let it all go and move on.

"Thanks, Smokey," he said softly, feeling a new
warmth spring up in their clasped hands.  "I'm
happy for you, too.  Good wife, good job, a baby on
the way.  You deserve it."

"You deserve the same, Sam."  Fox looked up from
his study of their hands, giving Sam's fingers one
last squeeze, his eyes beaming with one last
challenge.  One not of sibling rivalry, but of the
chance to win all that mattered.  "Now do me proud
and go get it."

Long after he'd left, Sam still felt Fox's grip on
his fingers.  It was the welcome he'd waited for;
one that pulled him back home to stay.

  
**********


Scully was awakened by a lingering, warm kiss.  She
stretched, moaning under the light pressure.

"My husband isn't expected home for another couple
of hours yet," she murmured, running her fingers
through her lover's soft hair.  "I thought you'd
never get here."

"I can call the SP's on him, you know," the
masculine voice replied in a whisper against her
mouth.  "Make sure he spends the night in the brig. 
Whaddya think?"

She arched under the roaming hands, almost purring
as they caressed her now generous curves.  "Oh,
Admiral Skinner... you certainly know how to sweet
talk a girl."  Her eyes popped open to see a
grinning, handsome face above her own.  With a mock
look of surprise, she added, "Since when did you
grow hair?"

"Very funny," Mulder said, sitting on the bed
beside her.  "You feeling okay this afternoon?"

It took her a while - and a helping hand from
Mulder - but she managed to scoot up to a sitting
position.  "I'm feeling fine.  Just taking my
afternoon nap."  Speaking of - it *was* still
afternoon, judging from the bright light outside
her bedroom window.  "What are you doing home,
Mulder?  Skinner on vacation?"  Mulder's CO was a
hard-working, no-nonsense guy, and though he was
considerate of his officers' need for time off, it
wasn't yet Christmas.  Mulder had already arranged
for a couple of weeks of leave over the holidays;
showing up at home in the middle of the work week
told her he was either sick or something was up.

Mulder lowered his gaze, and she knew immediately
the news wasn't good.  "Is it Sam?"

"No.  He's doing fine, actually," he hastened to
assure her, taking her hand.  "Scully, Skinner
called me into his office today with some news."

She knew even before he said it.  Only one thing
had the power to make Mulder look so concerned
besides worry over her.  "Chang."  At his pinched
frown, she knew she was right.  "He's back, isn't
he?"

"Not that we've confirmed."  He drew back as she
shoved at him to get off the bed.  "Scully, don't
worry -"

"I'm not worried."  Well, not all *that* worried. 
She carefully kept an even tone, knowing Mulder
tended to get more worked up about these things
than she did.  In her mind, the safety of her baby
was tantamount, and a cool head in this matter
would serve them well.  She stood, straightening
her skirt as she slipped into her shoes.  "But it
looks like you are."

Mulder towered over her, trying to wipe his face of
concern.  "I'm not worried."

"Like hell you aren't."  With a huff, she realized
her bladder wouldn't wait another moment.  She made
for the bathroom, leaving the door half open as she
made use of the toilet.  She would be so happy when
she didn't have to pee every five minutes anymore. 
"You came home in the middle of the day, Mulder. 
That's not worried?"

Beyond the door, she heard him move about the
bedroom.  She could just picture him checking out
the closets, drawing back the curtains to give the
street a thorough scan.

"Skinner gave me the afternoon off."

Scully righted her clothes with relief and washed
her hands.  Over the running of the water, she
raised her voice.  "Skinner *never* just gives you
the afternoon off, Mulder."  As soon as she shut
off the water, she heard him scramble back to the
middle of the room.  She kicked open the door,
towel in hand.  Yep.  He stood there, his fake
smile trying to cover up his worry.  "Okay, tell me
what you know."

"I don't want you to worry, Scully."

"Mulder, I'm worried about *you*."  She threw the
towel on the sink and approached him.  He was still
in his overcoat; she wondered if he'd even killed
the motor on his car.  "Just tell me what you know,
and we'll deal with it together, okay?"

She headed for the kitchen, gesturing for Mulder to
follow.  He did with a sigh, pulling out one of the
chairs at the table to sit.  Scully lifted an
eyebrow, prompting him to get started as she
searched the refrigerator for the chicken she
planned to use for dinner.

"First off, let me say that Chang hasn't been seen
in the States," Mulder said.  "So this is all just
supposition at this point."

"Fair enough."  Scully took her time unwrapping the
chicken at the sink.  "Apparently Skinner heard
something, though."

"Several of Chang's former associates have been
seen around the country.  Mostly on the west coast
- San Francisco, Los Angeles."

"Why haven't they been picked up?"

"The FBI is on the trail of a heroin ring operating
out of southeast Asia.  The dope is being funneled
through Chang's old contacts; they don't want to
scare off the real leaders behind it by arresting
the underlings."

"And where does Chang fit into all this?  If he
even *does* fit."

"The Bureau's being pretty tight-lipped about it
all.  Skinner only found out today because Charlie
caught wind of it at the CIA, and got a bit uneasy
when Chang's name started floating around."

"I'll bet he did," Scully said wryly, knowing just
how Charlie felt.  While not yet overly anxious
about these developments, she could do without
*any* mention of the name 'Chang'.  "Is there any
way he can find out more about what's going on?"

"I called him before I came home.  So far, he's
heard nothing that leads him to believe Chang is
back in business - or alive, for that matter.  The
Bureau swears that Chang is dead and gone.  But
Charlie's keeping an ear out for anything."  Mulder
sighed, looking at her with disquiet.  "I still
don't like it, no matter what the Bureau thinks."

"What exactly does the Bureau think?"

"That the underlings are floating Chang's name in
some sort of power play."  He smiled a grim smile. 
"You've got to admit, his name alone is enough to
scare the hell out of some people."

Uh-oh.  Mulder had something up his sleeve, and
Scully didn't hesitate to state her unwillingness
to panic.  "I'm not packing up and leaving town,
Mulder.  It's too close to my time."

He stood, coming to her side.  "I realize that,
Scully.  But I think we should maybe lay low for a
while, let Skinner find us a safe house -"

"Somewhere miles away in the middle of nowhere?  I
don't think so.  I'd rather be close to my doctor
and my hospital, Mulder.  That's the safest thing
we can do right now."  Her tone brooked no
argument.  "Besides, you said it yourself - they're
watching Chang's friends.  If something unusual
happens, we'll know about it, won't we?"

"I suppose."

In an attempt to lighten his mood, she added, "We
wouldn't want to ruin your office Christmas party,
now would we?"

"Screw the office Christmas party."

"If we go off half-cocked, we'll end up making
Skinner's life miserable.  He'll have to assign men
to go with us, men with families of their own.  And
there's nothing more than faint rumors right now."

"Skinner was concerned enough to tell me about it,"
Mulder pointed out.  "*And* give me the afternoon
off."

"Did he specifically order you to bundle me up and
high-tail it out of town?"

"No, but -"

"No buts, Mulder.  And he didn't give you the
afternoon off, did he?  Did you sneak out?"  Her
pointed look put a halt to his protests.

"It's not like I haven't done it before," he
muttered, giving her a muted leer.  He remembered
as she did his bad habit of ducking work for an
afternoon of making love and sharing time together. 
They hadn't done that in ages, not since they were
newlyweds.  Scully missed it terribly; however, she
knew her advanced pregnancy made that an
impossibility for now.  Just as Mulder knew he
couldn't use that as a reason for his absence from
work.

"Much as I like the idea of spending the afternoon
with you, Mulder, I'm putting my foot down on this
one.  We're not going anywhere, and that's final."

Mulder still didn't look satisfied, but he relented
in the face of her adamant decision.  "I just don't
like this.  Not at all.  Not right now."

Scully left the chicken on the cutting board,
quickly washing her hands so she could devote her
full attention to her husband.  "I admit, the
timing stinks," she said, giving him a hug.  The
nagging voice in the back of her mind pressed
forward, and she added, "Mulder, you don't think I
was right about Sam, do you?"  She hated to ask,
but it had to be addressed; Sam's return and all
the Chang talk were just too coincidental to be
ignored.

Mulder's arms tightened around her.  "Scully, Sam
is not working for Chang."

"I hope he isn't, Mulder."  Sam had given them no
indication he was anything but honest about his
amnesia; his actions since then were admirable. 
Mike raved about Sam's hard work and Emma - well,
Scully hadn't spoken to her in a week or more, but
all was well on that front, according to Uncle
Mike.  The two were slowly becoming an item, which
actually set Scully's mind at ease a bit.  Emma
wouldn't give Sam the time of day if he weren't a
gentleman.

"Sam is Sam, Scully."  Mulder pressed a kiss to her
hair.  "He's still a bit egocentric, but he's
coming around.  Do you know what he wants to do
with some of the savings I kept for him?"

"What?"

"He's giving it to the wife of the man who tried to
rob Mike's.  Says they look really down on their
luck."

Scully leaned back to look at Mulder with surprise. 
"He is?"

"Yep.  Surprised the hell out of me."

"Why?  Is he a Scrooge or something?"

"No, not at all.  He's just never been the sort
to..."

"Put other's needs above his own," she finished for
him.  "I see."

"You don't," Mulder insisted.  "Sam will do
anything for anyone - if he's asked.  He's not a
martyr, but neither is he an ass.  He's the most
courageous, brash, taking, *giving* person I know. 
An ordinary guy who took a helluva long time to put
aside the chip on his shoulder.  Get it?"

She nodded, musing on that development for a
moment.  If Sam weren't the honest sort, would he
give away money like that?  Then again, if he had
an unlimited source of ill-gotten funds thanks to
an association with Chang, what better way to get
in good with the object of Chang's vengeance than
by pretending to be charitable?  None of it made
sense - unless Sam were truly what Mulder said he
was.

"I think I do," she replied half-heartedly, knowing
she'd not heard the half of Sam's past from her
husband.  She didn't want to hear all the sordid
details.  But she knew her husband.  Brother or
not, if Sam was up to no good, Mulder wouldn't
hesitate to cut him out of their lives.

"Don't get me wrong, Scully.  Sam wasn't mean, or
uncharitable.  He was just so full of life, you
know?  There was always another adventure around
the next corner.  Another race to win, another
record to break..."

She couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice.
"Another party to go to."  With a sigh, she
apologized, "I'm sorry, Mulder."

"No, you're absolutely right."  Mulder touched her
cheek with a little smile.  "Sam was a different
person back then, Scully.  It's amazing to me how
much he's changed.  Like he's a new man."

Scully lifted an eyebrow.  "An alien?"

"Nah," Mulder laughed.  "That was an idiotic idea,
wasn't it?"

She couldn't resist pressing a kiss to that smiling
mouth.  "No more idiotic than mine."

"So now you think Sam has nothing to do with
Chang?"

She couldn't make those exact words come out of her
mouth.  But neither could she bear to dim Mulder's
faith in his brother.

"I think Sam is a lost soul, Mulder.  One who's
just finding his way back home.  He needs all the
help and support we can give him."

Mulder smiled, lowering his head.  "I like the way
you think.  Almost as much as I like the way you
look."

She pinched his arm, giving herself up to his kiss,
and losing all thoughts of the wayward brother for
some time.


**********


Sam kept a silent vigil at the ward door, watching
Cannon's wife sit at her husband's bedside.  He'd
have to leave soon, dodging Emma downstairs before
heading off to work.  Mike had given him the
afternoon off, telling him he wasn't needed until
the dinner crowd came in.  But he sure as hell
didn't want to run into Emma, even though he knew
she was already at work.

Like the interloper he was, he stayed a good
distance away from Cannon and his wife.  He'd gone
immediately from his brother's office to the bank. 
It took several hours to clear up all his business,
but the wait was worth it.  With a pocket full of
money, he'd approached the missus with a broad
smile, only to be quickly asked to leave.  She
hadn't even given him a chance to make the offer.

The woman didn't trust him, which he supposed was
only natural.  While he hadn't pushed the guy in
front of the bus, he had frightened him into a
serious accident, when Cannon had only been trying
to see for himself if Sam was okay.  Mrs. Cannon
had apparently had enough of Sam's loitering, and
in her fatigue, had let loose with a tongue-lashing
designed to make Sam leave them alone.  It had
worked; well, for the moment.  He'd heard whispers
among the nurses that, unless the Cannons could
come up with cash, Mr. Cannon would soon be moved
to the state hospital in Baltimore.  There was no
telling how long his coma would last, or if he
would ever recover.

But not yet.  Sam wasn't ready to give up on the
guy; he just *had* to talk to him again.  His money
could enable Cannon to continue to receive medical
care here in Annapolis - if only he could get past
the woman's vehement rejection.

"You can always give it to the hospital in Cannon's
name as an anonymous benefactor."

Startled at the soft voice, Sam stepped back from
the door to turn and face a black-garbed figure.

"I'm sorry, Sister," he said, addressing the nun
with a confused look.  "I didn't catch that."

"I suggested you give it anonymously to the
hospital."  Hands under the folds of her habit, she
moved in a glide to stand beside him, looking at
the couple at the end of the almost-empty ward. 
The interiors darkened as the late afternoon sun
dropped behind the building next door; the nun
looked like a shadow with a too-bright face.  "Mrs.
Cannon is just scared.  Of being alone.  Of having
to face death."  Those bright blue eyes swept up to
meet his.  "Then again, aren't we all?"

Something about the woman's soft-spoken, yet
probing manner, disturbed Sam.  As did her accurate
assessment of his situation.  "How did you know -"

"That you wanted to give her money?"  Off his mute
nod, she continued, "Easy.  You come every day. 
You obviously harbor some guilt about Mr. Cannon's
condition."

Guilt didn't begin to cover it.  If he'd just let
the guy have some of the pub's money, just a bit,
he'd have gone away.  The chain of events Sam had
set off with that one arrogant decision continued
to baffle him - and make him feel as if he was
simply biding his time until his complacent world
would come to an abrupt, disastrous end.

"There's an easier way to help Mr. Cannon, Sam. 
All the money in the world couldn't do for him what
one simple touch would."

He looked at the lined, elderly face, his brow
knitting.  "A touch?"

"Just one touch."  One gnarled hand came out from
behind the folds of her habit, and she reached up
in the direction of his forehead.  "Right here,
Sam..."

But Sam jerked back, wary of her encroachment. 
"How do you know my name?"  Even if the sister knew
Emma, he knew Emma well enough to know she wouldn't
gossip about him.  Not even with a nun;
*especially* with a nun.

"I know everything about you."

Looking at the twinkle in her eye, he gave a
thought or two to relaxing his guard.  There were
many ways she could know of him without having
spoken to Emma, especially if she worked at the
hospital.  He was certain others on the staff spoke
of his unusual appearance Thanksgiving night.  But
still, he didn't like being at a disadvantage. 
"I'm afraid we haven't been introduced, Sister..."

The hand that had tried to touch him lowered but
didn't disappear into her clothing once again. 
Instead, it slowly extended in preparation for a
handshake.  Wordlessly, she looked up at him, the
mirth in her gaze fading to an expectant glow.  Sam
stared at her, then lowered his lashes to give her
hand a look, feeling his breath catch.  This wasn't
the peaceful offering Fox had bestowed upon him
earlier.  The small fingers seemed to shimmer in
the dimness of the hallway, and he knew the pull of
that handclasp would steal, not give.  He took a
step back, fear lacing his reply.

"Don't touch me."

"Take my hand, Sam."  She didn't follow his
retreat, but her voice commanded in a way that
tugged at him, made him want to do as she asked.

"No."  He glanced about, wanting to run but
hesitant; the nurses and orderlies going about
their duties already looked at him askance because
of his worry about a man who should mean nothing to
him.  "Who are you?"

Images of the faceless man sprang up in his mind. 
Though by rights this nun should have nothing
whatsoever to do with that man, Sam knew she did. 
He felt it, as if she'd come right out and
confirmed it.  In the next instant, she did - her
gaze narrowed, her voice taking on the same
pressing urgency as the one in the shadows had that
night in the park.

"Who do you want me to be?  What will make you see,
Sam?"  Right before his eyes, she seemed to waver,
the liquid black lines of her shapeless garb
floating into a sharp coat and trousers.  The
feminine hand grew larger and more blunt as it came
up, this time holding a cigarette.  "Is this what
it will take to satisfy you?  To force you to
realize the truth?"

Sam gasped, hitting the wall behind him at he
stared into his father's face.  "Dad?" Disbelief
cut his father's name into a whispered croak.

No, it couldn't be.  His father was dead.  Dead and
buried.  He'd visited the grave himself, only days
after he'd returned... damn it, Fox wouldn't lie to
him about something like that!

"Your brother has nothing to do with you and me,
Sam."  The voice *was* his father's, right down to
the harsh, unforgiving tone.  "Now, give me your
hand before you get into any more trouble."  He
threw the cigarette to the floor and reached out,
though he remained still otherwise, not chasing
after Sam.  "Do as I say, boy!"

Real fear climbed over Sam's skin; the eyes, the
face, the God damned voice!  Even the words were
his father's!

"No!"  He felt like he was twelve again, standing
up to his father with a bravery he didn't really
feel through and through, but would never let his
old man see.  He never cowered, and he wasn't
starting now.  "Get the hell away from me, whoever
- *whatever* you are!"

The stern face softened.  "Time is running out,
Sam."  His mother's solemn face watched him now,
looking as she did when youth still held out
against the trials of life with Bill Mulder.  With
love and worry, as if he'd run to her for safety
from his father's wrath.  She was more beautiful
than ever, her dark hair untouched by gray and her
smile as sweet as sunshine.  "The time will come
when I can no longer help you.  Take my hand, son. 
Don't go through this again.  Come back.  Come back
to where you belong.  With me."

Sam swallowed against the rush of tears in his
throat.  He turned his back on his mother's
pleading gaze and walked away.

"Sam, only you can do it," she called after him.

Running.  Running now, like a coward.

"Sam."

His name echoed in his head all the way back to
Mike's.



End Chapter Sixteen