An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twenty


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"Think we'll get rain?"

"Maybe."

"It's sure nice to see the sun, even if it is
rather weak.  But me bones are aching like there's
damp around the corner."

The noncommital hum from his daughter - seemed like
the hundredth one this week - set his teeth on
edge.

Mike cradled his cup of coffee, watching Emma clean
up their lunch dishes.  The watery sunlight
streaming through the kitchen window cast her
porcelain skin in white-gold relief.  Its muted
glow did nothing to soften the burgeoning shadows
under her eyes, nor relieve the tightness around
her mouth that seemed to grow daily.  He leaned
against the counter at a discreet distance,
lamenting the loss of his Emma's smile.  He'd have
to tread carefully, lest he shatter the icy reserve
and find himself on her wrong side.

"I saw Dana today," he began casually, taking a sip
of his strong black brew.

One of his dear Fiona's crystal glasses nearly
slipped from her hand, but she recovered instantly. 
"You did?  She's doing well, I suppose.  She looked
fit enough to me yesterday."

"Brimmin' with motherhood on this fine Saturday,
she is."  Actually, Dana had a sort of peace about
her he'd not seen in weeks.  Try as he might to pry
details of her visit with Sam from her, she'd
remained placid and vague.  She wasn't the sort to
tell tales, but he had managed to catch her tone of
concern for the lad.

"He's not what he wants us to believe, Uncle Mike,"
she'd said at last, giving him a pointed look.  "I
don't think he knows himself."

Mike wasn't stupid, though he'd only managed to
barely eek out a high school education before he'd
had to take up delivering beer with his own father
to make ends meet.  Bill was the smart one, the
quiet one; something he'd passed on to his Dana. 
But Mike had the same intuitive sense all the
Scullys possessed, and he needed no words from his
niece's lips to confirm the suspicions he'd had
from the beginning.

Sam was in trouble.  Dana had done her best to help
him, as had Mulder.  But her subtle questions that
morning about Emma's frame of mind had set one of
the last puzzle pieces in place.  It was there in
Dana's solemn gaze, the nod of agreement when he'd
told her Emma wasn't herself still.  Dana knew, had
seen the common misery the two unknowingly shared. 
The boy needed Emma as much as she needed him.

"She saw Sam yesterday."

Damn, that wasn't how he'd wanted to continue. 
Cursing his clumsy tongue, he saw Emma's back
stiffen.  She scraped at a spot on one of their
older pans with unnecessary zeal.  "Really?"  Her
jerky movements belied her cool voice.  "I would
have thought he'd be livin' the good life in New
York by now."  Her snappish tone took on an angry
brogue, and Mike backed off a bit, knowing he'd
jumped in too soon.

"He's still at the Calvert," he mused in an off-
hand manner, knowing full well Emma had known Sam
was still in town.  A sore subject, indeed. 
Quickly, he changed tunes.  "Did you know Tommy and
Jenny are discussing marriage?  Oh, curse me
memory... you haven't been at the pub lately, have
you?"

"Aidan and Joseph are back, Da.  There's no need
for me to be lending a hand any longer."

"They're thinkin' of Valentine's Day."  His
youngest was *still* too young to be considering
taking a wife, but Mike wasn't blind.  He saw the
way the wind blew, and knew if they didn't tie the
knot soon, there'd be more to deal with than trying
to talk them into finishing college first.  After
his initial reservations, he'd almost reconciled
himself that Tommy was a grown man at twenty.  He
had a good head on his shoulders, and the energy to
juggle a wife and his studies.  The boy had his eye
on medicine as a living, his older sister having
put that gleam in those baby blues long ago with
her pride and dedication to healing.  "I'm thinkin'
she'll have a ring on her finger this Christmas."

"That's nice."  She retreated into herself, her
toneless reply speaking of her unintentional
disinterest in her brother's love life.

Not even a ripple of excitement, he noted.  Very
unlike his girl.  Something had to be done, and
fast.  She was so closed in now, he suspected only
a brick or two remained before her heart lay
encased in impenetrable mortar.

"So, what are your plans for this afternoon, love?" 
He poured himself another drop of coffee from the
pot on the stove, pretending an interest in the
sugar bowl he didn't have so he could buy time.

The pipes groaned a bit as she ran the rinse water. 
"Not much.  I have a bit of marketing to do, then I
promised Father Corkery I'd pick up the broadcloth
at Dickerson's for the new Lenten vestments.  Mrs.
Sweeney and I will measure the altar boys for sizes
after Catechism tomorrow afternoon.  She's a fine
hand with a needle, but her husband's off to
Baltimore today on business and she doesn't drive,
you know."

Actually, Maeve Sweeney did drive - just on the
wrong side of the road.  The poor woman had never
figured out she no longer lived in Dublin.  Mike
cursed the old bat (and the priest, may the Lord
forgive him) for innocently conspiring to give Emma
an afternoon's work.

But all was not lost.  Dickerson's was not far from
Calvert's.  "Picking up broadcloth, eh?  Have you
given any thought to a new dress for Christmas? 
Your mother so loved to turn out in green for
midnight mass."

"I can't do anything but cut and pin, Da, you know
that."

"Oh, I wasn't sayin' you were to make it, darlin'. 
Your mother gave that up once the little dress
shops sprang up on Maryland and Main.  Why don't
you take a look while you're downtown?"

If anything, Emma's face pinched more.  "I don't
need anything new, Da.  Besides, I haven't the time
to traipse all over -"

"Labovitz's is right on Main, so you've no excuse. 
Pick up something in green; I've a fancy to see my
girl in her mother's colors this year."  With any
luck, he wouldn't be the only man to enjoy the
sight of his lovely Emma by the Christmas tree. 
"And what's this about no time?  You said yourself
you're not needed at the pub this evening.  Take
some time for yourself, darlin'."

"Da, I'm bored stiff as it is."  Emma wiped down
the sink board with swift, economical passes of the
dishrag.  "Sure you don't need any help with the
pub?"

Ah, the opening.  Mike suppressed a smile and moved
to her side, where he dutifully rinsed his cup. 
"Now that you mention it, there is something you
can do for me."

She took his cup with a shake of her head and set
to cleaning it like she wanted.  His girl ran a
good kitchen, he had to give her that.  "Anything. 
Just name it."

Mike stepped to the laundry room in preparation for
a battle.  "I owe the lad a week's pay.  Would you
mind dropping by the Calvert House?  I'd sidestep
the queer little fellow behind the desk, though, if
I were you.  Sam's in 316."

He waited for the outburst as he donned his coat
and hat.  Several long seconds dragged by, Mike
slowly patting down the lapels of his coat as he
remained safely out of sight.  But there was
nothing.  Not a peep.  Her silence made him uneasy,
and he poked his head around the door.  "Emma?" 
She stood at the sink as she had since lunch,
hiding by keeping busy.  Would the girl ever face
him again?  "Did you hear me?"

"I heard."  One arm at her waist, she gripped the
dishrag in a rigid fist.  "This won't work, Da."

"Of course it will.  Here's what I owe him."  He
pretended naivete, pulling out his wallet to drop a
couple of twenty dollar bills on the table. 
"Labovitz's is right up Main from State Circle. 
Should be no trouble to pop in and out of the
hotel."

"I'm not speaking of the trip downtown Da, and you
know it."  Even with a slight bite, her words
lacked real anger.  What would it take to make
headway?

"Oh?"  He wondered how long he could keep up the
innocent act, then said 'to hell with it' in the
next breath.  "You're such a coward then, are you? 
Never thought I'd see the day one o'me own turned
tail and ran."

"I am not a coward."

"Then do as I ask, girl.  It's time for me to be
opening up the pub, and I don't have the
inclination to piss about with you over such a
trivial matter."  A stab of guilt pierced his heart
for speaking so harshly to his daughter.  But damn
it all, couldn't she see she needed this meeting? 
The outcome no longer mattered.  She and Sam would
embrace or sever the tie once and for all; at least
she could move on either way.

"I can't... I can't do this, Da."

The sheer heartbreak in her voice stilled him. 
He'd thought he seen a different Emma in the past
week, more subdued but still whole and proud.  But
this... not since Fiona's death had he seen his
girl sag.  It seemed as though a brisk wind could
blow her away.  He moved to her side, his own
discomfort with women's tears shoved down as he
took her in his arms.

"You can," he said quietly, feeling her shudder in
his embrace.  The tense line of her back melted
under the silk of her blouse, his fingers massaging
away her fear.  "You will.  If only because it's
there in you.  The pressing need to see for
yourself if it's true."

"If what's true?"

"That you love the lad beyond reason."  Mike drew
back, tilting up her chin with a calloused hand
made gentle with concern.  He gazed into her
tormented, swimming eyes, trying to give her back
the strength of generations of Scully grit.  "You
want to see if he still moves you, or if it was
just a passing fancy.  You need to tell him that he
did hurt you.  You need to see if he's hurting as
much as you are... and something tells me he is."

"But what if he doesn't want this?  What if he
hurts me again?"

"Then it's just another opening, Emmagirl.  Me Mum
used to say it's the cracked heart that's open to
love."

Her smile was instantaneous yet brief.  A flash of
levity that told him he'd broken through.  "And if
he still refuses my open heart?"

"Then he's a fool."  Mike brushed his lips over her
now warm cheek.  "One me and the boys should have
no trouble beating some sense into, don't ya
think?"

With a chuckle at her aghast expression, he left
her to seek the sunshine beyond the kitchen door. 
Half out, he turned to give her a stern look. 
"There's two twenties there, Emma.  He owes me ten
dollars and fifty cents, by my reckoning."  He
tugged on his hat with a nod.  "Don't come back
without it."

"Da?"

She had that sentimental look about her - the one
that said she was getting all mushy.  He buttoned
up his coat, answering in a gruff voice, "What
else?  I've got to go and get set up for the dinner
crowd."

"I love you, Da."

Oh, there it was.  Despite his determination to
remain manly about it all, he found himself with a
bit of tightness in his throat.  A chicken bone,
that's what it was.  He swallowed it down.

"That's enough of that now.  Go on with you and do
me proud, Emmagirl."

"I will."

He didn't let his car warm up like he usually did. 
Backing down the drive, it stalled.  With a curse,
he started it once more, chancing a look at the
house.

She blew him a kiss from the back stoop, her smile
the brightest thing he'd seen all day.  He raised
his hand as if to catch it, solemn and silent in
his acceptance of her gesture.

All the tiny fissures in his heart, those cracks
received over the years, most recently with the
loss of his beloved wife... they ignored his will
to keep them sealed and burst wide open, grabbing
her love to hold it close.


**********


There was no primping, aside from a quick look in
the mirror to check her braid.  She noticed a tinge
of color that had not been there for days now, and
dismissed it as a result of those pesky tears.  Her
cream blouse and brown skirt would have to do;
Labovitz's could wait as well.  Now that she'd made
up her mind - or rather, succumbed to her father's
not-so-subtle prodding - she wanted to get it over
with as soon as possible.

On the way over, the skies clouded, and she swept
dismayed eyes over the impending gloom.  A sign of
things to come?  No, it couldn't be any worse than
the sadness she'd lived through in the last week,
she told herself.  In the car, she had time to
think, to mull over her father's scheme.  A scheme
it was, too.  One designed to send her running to
him.  The man who'd broken her heart.

She'd tried not to think of him since he'd been
gone, but that was next to impossible.  Anger,
hurt, resignation... the last was the most
difficult to swallow.  She'd almost made it, too. 
Had almost willed herself into letting him go.  It
was easy to blame her sure lacking in his eyes at
first; after all, she wasn't a film star or glamor
girl.  Sam was used to those types, and he'd
realized he wasn't sharing the company of a woman
who'd melt over his good looks.

But that changed in an instant this afternoon.  Her
father hadn't said much, but it was what he didn't
say that made her re-assess the situation.  He'd
spoken to Dana, who'd obviously told him things
about Sam they didn't know.  Dana, of all people. 
The woman who'd not trusted her brother-in-law from
the beginning, who'd cautioned Emma to guard her
heart and not be fooled by Sam's easy smiles.  To
think her cousin had rallied to Sam's side gave
Emma the impetus to consider a meeting.

It was Mike Scully who sealed the deal, with his
concern and talk of love.  That she couldn't deny. 
She loved Sam, and a week apart had made his
absence in her life a gaping hole only his presence
could fill.  Would she be able to break through the
arrogance and get to the truth?

Time would tell.  She parked the car and took a
deep breath, eyeing the quaint hotel with
nervousness.  Maybe she should have refreshed her
lipstick.  Too late for that - her purse was at
home.

Her license!  She muttered a curse, quickly asking
the saints above for forgiveness.  This wouldn't
do.  She closed her eyes, summoning the calm she
had mastered the past week.

He wouldn't upset her.  No.  She slammed the car
door behind her and marched to the hotel.  She
wasn't a Scully for nothing.


**********


Sam winced at the tight feel of his cheek.  That's
what he got for not shaving for a week.  He didn't
know why he'd gotten up this morning and done so,
knowing he was stuck in the hotel for the time
being.  But it was as if a tremendous weight had
lifted from his shoulders after his talk with Dana
and Fox yesterday.  Hope had taken a tenuous hold
once again, as well as a bit of frustration. 
Monday couldn't come soon enough now.  By then,
surely Fox would have some answers for him,
wouldn't he?

He ate with gusto this fine day, did a few pushups
and situps to the toe-tapping sounds of Jimmy
Dorsey blaring from the radio, and phoned his old
agent in New York.  The future wasn't set, but it
was time he began to regain a sense of balance.  He
had a yen to try his hand at baseball again.  Once
this mess was over, he'd turn to securing a life
for himself and Emma.

Emma.  The next time he saw her, he'd be free.  Or
so he hoped.

She'd rave at him, that was certain.  He deserved
it, God knew.  What he really looked forward to was
the makeup kiss.  He could almost taste it now. 
Hot and clinging, her anger still on her tongue. 
Wow.  Just thinking of it made him shiver.

Of course, he'd act all cool and collected.  He'd
tell her he'd only done it for her sake.  Playing
the hero was his bag.

Standing at the window, he dropped his chin.  He
was so full of it.  He'd be lucky if he could
restrain himself from dropping at her feet like a
slave to beg forgiveness.  Hero, indeed.  Bum was
more like it.

Two sharp raps at the door made him swing around,
instantly on guard.  It was not yet three o'clock,
way too early for dinner.  The desk clerk hadn't
called with a visitor, and Sam didn't let the maids
in, preferring to just take the linens they offered
to make the bed himself.

Whoever it was, they were uninvited.  He walked
softly to the door and cautiously looked through
the peephole before staggering back.

Was it really her?  Dana had said he should expect
Emma would come, but he'd made his feelings clear
on the subject.  Despite her love for her cousin,
Dana would never go against his explicit wishes. 
Then who had?  Or rather, who the hell was that out
there?

His good mood vanished, replaced by anxiety.  He
was trapped.  He could just ignore the knocking,
but it was no use.  If this thing wanted him, it
would certainly not let a door stop it.  But Fox
had said it wanted Sam to make the first move. 
Well, he damn well wouldn't.  But neither would he
pass up the opportunity to get a few answers.  He
opened the door, and felt his heart drop to his
knees.

She was more beautiful than he'd remembered.  Her
pale skin should have suffered without the artifice
of rouge, but it glowed to his needy eyes.  She
kept her eyes downcast for a moment as if to
prolong his agony.  He wanted to blurt out her
name, his love for her, his absolute misery this
past week, but he couldn't seem to make anything
move.  Not his lips to speak, nor his arms to reach
out, nor his heart to beat with renewed life - that
stony thing hovered around his feet, a leaden
weight preventing the first step forward.

At last, she broke the silence.  Her lashes swept
up and he saw the blue ice of her gaze touch his
face.  "Can I come in?"

He felt a fool, stumbling over his own feet as he
backed away.  There was no stopping the tremulous
joy husking his voice.  "Emma."  He'd thought he'd
never say her name to her face again.  He tried it
out once more, just for good measure, hoping none
of this was a dream.  "Emma."  If not for his
furious grip on the doorknob, he'd be on the floor,
making his earlier thoughts of groveling a reality.

"I should have called first," she was saying, "but
I had an errand downtown..."

He saw her lips move, but the roar in his ears
drowned out her explanation.  He didn't care why
she'd come.  At this point, he didn't care if, in
the next instant, he found himself facing a demon. 
To have her near, to gaze upon her familiar,
beloved face, was more than enough to throw him
into a tailspin.  It made him sail over the edge
with subtle ease, as he took hold of her wrist.

It was so warm beneath the sleeve of her wool coat. 
Dimly, he realized she'd stopped speaking, but his
mind was elsewhere.  Fascinated, he ran gentle
fingers over the pulse that beat furiously under
her skin.  The tickle of silk on his thumb made him
smile, and he looked at the place they were joined
with wonder.

The jolt jumpstarted his heart.  Sizzling over and
under his skin, it pulled him in like he imagined
his ghost man would, should he ever get the chance. 
But this wasn't frightening, it never could be.  It
was exhilarating, and he let himself fall into her,
leaving his troubles behind to sink into the abyss.

She was real.  Just like Dana had said, she'd come
to him.  He was alone no longer.

"Sam?"  She stepped closer, easing the door from
his white-knuckled grip to close it behind her.  He
breathed his distress when she gently took her
wrist from his hand, then sighed when she came back
at once, her fingers curling around his.  "What is
it?  What's wrong?"

"Nothing."  Sam closed his eyes in relief, the
simple strength of her fingers helping to release
the knot of fear in his chest.  "You're here."

"Who'd you expect?"  Her voice shook, reacting to
what he knew had to be a vise around her hand. 
"Sam, you're scaring me."

"Sorry."  He loosened his hold, but didn't let her
go.  "You don't feel like a ghost.  You feel nice."

"A ghost?  Sam, have you been drinking?"

"Nope."  He wanted to say a million things to her,
but the best he could do was 'nope'?  What an
idiot, he thought.  Before he could gather enough
sense to converse logically, she'd pulled away.

He felt the room's cold loneliness hit him once
again.  Damn.  She was all tucked in as she'd been
beyond the door, her hands well away from his as
they slid into her coat pockets.

"As I was saying, I've come to give you your last
week's pay.  Da insisted."

Sam stared at the bills she offered, feeling as if
he was the last one in on a joke.

"That's what you came for?"

"Of course," she replied, lifting her chin.  "Why
else would I come?"

He'd made it plain enough back at the pub he had no
more use for her, and she'd taken it to heart.  Had
he hurt her so badly?  He knew he had; it was no
use pretending he hadn't.  He could not justify his
actions with lofty ideas about protecting her.

"Because you wanted to see me."  There.  Let her
try to deny that.

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?  You know damn well no one, not even your
father, could get you to come here unless deep down
you really wanted to.  Admit it."

"I will do no such thing," she said, her color
risen to furious glory.  She waved the money before
him.  "Here.  Take it."

Sam advanced, watching her back up to the door. 
"I'm glad you came, Emma."  A thousand or more
words fought for escape, but there was time for
that later.  Just seeing the shadows under her eyes
and the way she kept an unnatural cool told him all
he needed to know.  "You missed me, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and the moon is made of green cheese."  The
snapback was pure Emma, but her eyes were wary in
the face of his approach.  Her voice lost its edge,
taking on a softness that was more one of fear than
anticipation.  "Sam, what do you think you're
doing?"

He trapped her against the door with a hand to
either side of her head.  "Saying a proper hello."

His lips hovered above hers as he breathed in her
scent.  But just as quickly, she turned her head. 
He felt the lost moment keenly, but waited when her
hands settled at his waist.

"Don't do this to me, Sam."

It was a broken plea, one that shook him to his
bones.  He wished she'd get angry, so he could
fight back with kisses and soothing touches.  Not
this sad avoidance of what remained between them. 
He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, as he hadn't
really done or said anything to show her how he'd
missed her.  First order of business - distance. 
Emma couldn't be cornered.  It was unfair of him to
pursue his current path.  She couldn't be coaxed or
charmed into forgiving him.  His flippancy was a
bad tack to take with her, he saw now.

His traitorous body wouldn't move, however.  It
craved her warmth more than that of the inconstant
sun of late.  Clouds had settled over him in more
ways than one, and only Emma could chase them away.

"I missed you," he whispered vehemently, his hands
curling into fists beside her head.  So much for
distance.  "And I'm so God damned sorry I left
you."

"Sam."  Emma shifted, trying to make him face her.

But he couldn't, not yet.  He'd never before said
things like this to any woman.  Oh, he'd told her
she was beautiful.  Said smiling, easy praises to
her eyes and her hair.  But this... God, he was so
afraid he'd mess it up.

"I can't sleep, I can't think.  All I keep seeing
is the way you hated me that last time.  You don't
know, do you?  How much I... I - if you knew why
I'd left you'd think I was crazy."  He curled into
her, his mouth running away from his mind as it
closed in on her neck.  "But I didn't want to go,
Emma.  I didn't.  Don't hate me.  Please don't -"

His awful, clumsy explanation died the moment she
hushed him with her lips.  He tasted the slick
saltiness of tears; whether from him or her, he
didn't know, nor did he care.  Under her gentle
pressure, the wrap of her hands around his face,
all thought disappeared.

He fell into the kiss, the tumble more exhilarating
than falling from the sky under a balloon of silk. 
Finally letting his arms drop, he pulled her to
him, sighing against her eager mouth.

She was here, and that was all that mattered.


End Chapter Twenty