An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twenty-Three


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Emma was pleasantly warm, even if the heater in her
car picked an inconvenient time to give up the
ghost.  A small smile played about her lips as she
maneuvered her car through her neighborhood.  She
felt alive, her skin tingling with a hundred new
sensations.

Who knew a man's skin was so soft?  Or that the
stubbled arch of his neck tasted like the most
sinful dessert imaginable?  Just remembering the
feel of other, more responsive places on Sam's body
made her flush as if the heater had suddenly kicked
on with all the warmth of a volcano.

She should be saying prayers, she thought.  Get a
head start on asking for forgiveness before she
even stepped through the church doors for morning
mass.  But somehow, she couldn't reconcile her more
devout self with the well-satisfied woman who found
no sin in giving and receiving love.  In such a
profound, life-changing way, no less.  She wouldn't
feel this way with just anyone, she knew.  If she'd
wanted to experience sex, she could have gotten the
deed done years ago.  Though she'd not shared more
than kisses with the men she'd dated, she
recognized lust when she saw it.  Any one of them
would have been eager to relieve her of her
virginity, her father and brothers be damned.

But she'd never felt that all encompassing desire
with anyone... until Sam.  Even now, the way she'd
thrown herself at his head surprised her.  It was
as if, once accepted as right, she'd embraced the
physical as the only way to show her love for him. 
She'd run the risk he'd take her then discard her
as he had other women; it was a gamble the old Emma
would never have taken.

The new Emma, however - the one who'd realized how
much she really loved the arrogant fool who'd left
her - she didn't hesitate.  Yes, he'd made her
leave.  No, he hadn't said he loved her.  But it
was there in every kiss and touch, in the way he
looked at her like his heart would break when she
walked out the door.  He'd done what he had to
protect her, he'd said.

She believed.  She loved.  She would wait.

Two weeks.  At the most.

As she turned into her drive, she grinned.  Okay,
so she hadn't told Sam that little condition of her
agreement with him to stay away.  But a girl
couldn't be blamed if she suddenly took it upon
herself to visit someone she missed terribly, now
could she?  There was no way she could do without
Sam for longer than that, and he'd just have to
live with it.  She didn't care if they ended up
halfway across the world hiding from his past. 
Waiting years for something that may never happen
was a waste of precious time, in her opinion.

If he didn't agree, then she'd just have to make
him relent.  Keep him in bed until he was too tired
to argue.  Show him that going it alone was no
longer an option.  Even now, she could be pregnant
with his child.  She wondered if he'd given that
any thought, and decided he had.  That hollow stare
at the bedroom ceiling had 'Mike Scully's gonna
beat the crap outta me' all over it.  Sam looked
impossibly handsome when he was fretting, a nice
tidbit of information she stored with a sigh.

He also had nothing to worry about from her Da,
other than a bit of blustering should worse come to
worst.  She'd known from the start her father had
orchestrated this meeting; putting her in the same
room with Sam had definitely set the smolder to
flame.  So she'd swallowed a bit of pride.  She'd
taken the chance he'd hurt her again.  But one look
at his desperate face and she'd known she couldn't
refuse him, or herself.

Just how she'd stay away for two weeks, she had no
idea.  Two days, maybe?  Two hours?  Oh, that would
set the family on its ear, she thought with a
smile.

The house was cold, and she hurried to turn up the
furnace.  Since her brothers were home again, she
knew her father wouldn't stay at the pub too late. 
Even if he'd practically pushed her into Sam's
arms, it wouldn't do to face him looking like she'd
just rolled out of Sam's arms.  She could still
smell her lover on her skin, and she sighed at the
eventual loss of that slim tie.  But a bath was
definitely in order, not only for cleanliness'
sake.  Sam had been gentle with her, but he was a
big brute and already her body was sore in places
only warm water could soothe.

Dear Lord, she'd have to learn to tame those
blushes.  If just the thought of the things Sam had
done to her had the power to -

The ringing of the telephone startled her, putting
an end to her wandering, lustful thoughts.  It was
late, and a call after nine o'clock at the Scully
household could only mean one thing.  The family
knew better than to disturb anyone, especially her
father, with anything frivolous after a certain
hour.

Breathless, she grabbed the phone in the hall. 
"Hello?"

"Where have you been, girl?  I've been callin' ye
for a good half hour!"

"Ummm..."  Emma faltered, the lie not coming easily
to her lips.  She'd never been good at covering up
anything, and her father was the best at digging
deep.  Instead of stumbling through a feeble
explanation for her absence, she changed the
subject.  "Da?  What's wrong?

A broad sigh drifted over the line as all fight
left her father.  "Emma, we need you to come to St.
Catherine's," he said, his voice lacking its usual
booming tone.  "The damn fool doctors won't tell us
a thing.  We keep askin', but no one will tell us
anything.  You've got to come right away. 
You've... you've...."

The hospital?  A tremor of dread snaked through
her, her heart pounding.  "Da, tell me what
happened."

"Ah, girl..."  Mike Scully, her invincible father,
the man who'd faced down all manner of trials and
tribulations in his life - including the loss of
his beloved wife - spoke as if sadness bled from
his very soul.  "There's been an accident."


**********


Sam stood outside the ward door, peering through at
the man called Cannon, who laid as he had for more
than a week now.  So still, so alone, his face pale
and sunken as he slowly drifted into death.  The
late hour meant no visitors, so Cannon and the few
others in similar, static shape were lying about
the room like corpses.  No one moved except for the
lone nurse making the round of beds.  She checked
an IV here, tucked a sheet there.  Popped her gum
as if she flipped burgers on a griddle at a truck
stop, she was so disinterested in her work.

That would work in his favor.  He slid away from
the door and into a utility closet, cracking the
door to watch her exit.  Which wasn't long in
coming, he noted with satisfaction.  She stopped at
her station opposite the ward and gave the hall a
furtive glance before taking the phone off the
hook.  In moments, she'd pulled a cigarette from
her purse and was on her way to the restroom.

Bingo.  Sam quickly but silently entered the ward,
thankful for the room's darkness.  A small light
illuminated each of the occupied beds, its halo
protective of the edges.  He knew he wouldn't be
easily spied if he stood apart from that circle. 
Close enough to touch, but far enough away to run
at the slightest hint of danger.

He was losing it, he told himself as he approached
the unconscious man.  This was utterly ridiculous. 
Listening to a dream, for God's sake!  Imagining
himself as some sort of superior being just like
the ghost man, capable of controlling light and
sound with a snap of his fingers... hell, even
thinking things like that were enough to land you
in a padded room.

Okay, so he'd always been a bit superstitious. 
When it came to baseball, naturally.  Always used
the same bat, never stepped on the chalk lines when
heading to the dugout.  A baseball player who
wasn't a bit antsy about certain rituals wasn't a
true player.  It wasn't just baseball, either.  The
men in the 11th all followed the same pattern when
it came to preparing for a jump.  Right strap goes
on first, then left, then any number of little
details ending with the helmet.  Of course, one
slip-up could find you flattened on the ground like
a pancake, your parachute making a nice neat pillow
for your dead body.

But this was different.  This had nothing to do
with hitting one out of the park or landing in the
perfect tuck and roll.  This required stepping up
to the plate without a bat.  Jumping out of the
airplane without a chute.  An act of sheer
lunacy... or of complete faith.

Sam shook his head at his foolishness.  He wasn't
some god who could turn the half-dead into the
living.  That would be proven when he just did what
he came to do, no matter how stupid and
embarrassing it looked.  Besides, no one was around
to see him, right?  Touch the guy and go back to
the hotel to get a good night's sleep at last.

Damn Cannon if he didn't look like a corpse,
though.  As pale as the sheets tucked in around
him, his breath coming in a little rattle from his
slack mouth.  Creepy.  The guy was obviously on his
last legs; Sam had seen similar scenes in the war,
but those were the urgent throes of the immediate
death.  Nothing like this lingering wasting of the
body.

He swallowed down his revulsion and lifted his
hand.  It hovered in the light above Cannon's face,
casting a shadow that eased the stark lines of
struggle.  His fingers were a shade or two darker
than the cheeks beneath them, healthy and human. 
Sam hesitated, curling his hand into a fist with a
bite of his lip.  A whirl of possibilities depended
on that touch, and he wavered with the dread of one
afraid of the outcome.

No.  He'd never been scared of anything in his
life, and he wasn't about to start now.  His hand
eased and he let it fall.

The tips of his fingers touched cold, dry flesh. 
His first thought was that the nurse should really
get an extra blanket for Cannon.  The sheet wasn't
keeping him warm enough and the guy was in no shape
to ask for comfort....

A jolt buckled his knees; he snapped a breath into
his lungs at the fire traveling down his arm.  He
tried to remove his hand, but it wouldn't respond
to his pull.

Oh God, he thought.  I've been tricked.  It wasn't
the ghost man who could steal with a touch - it was
Cannon all along.

Sam let out a moan of distress, doubling over as he
realized this was it.  No more life, no more
laughing with Mike and talking sports with Chauncy,
no more watching Fox and Dana make eyes at each
other... no more Emma.

He fell to his knees, feeling everything drain from
him in an instant.  The slow beat of his heart, the
sturdy security of muscle, the passionate flow of
blood... it all left him in a rush, pinpointed in
the fingers he couldn't move.

It could have been hours later, he didn't know. 
His cheek rubbed against the starched sheets and he
grimaced, pulling his arms down.  His knees
protested the hard floor beneath them with a silent
scream.  It was difficult, but Sam finally got to
his feet, shaking his head to clear it.

What the hell happened?

He was still here.  Relief surged through his weak
body and he chuckled.  What a dope.  He'd managed
to scare the shit out of himself with his own fear. 
Everything still worked - arms, legs, heart -
though that still leapt like a jackrabbit.  Good
thing no one saw his collapse, or he'd find himself
in the bed next to Cannon.

Sam raised his head to look at the man.  He gasped,
stepping back.

Cannon laid there, his brown eyes open.  Not quite
alert, with the unfocused gaze of the newly
wakened.  His face seemed to bloom with healthy
color and his breathing evened out to a deep
natural rhythm.

No, it couldn't be, Sam thought, staggering back
into the darkness beyond the light.

"It is," came the murmur from the other side of the
bed.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam willed away the
familiar voice.  If his legs weren't so rubbery,
he'd have run.  Far away from who he knew looked at
him with satisfaction.  "Go away," he whispered,
grabbing the bed behind him in an effort to remain
upright.  "Please go away."

It hadn't been a dream.  None of it.  All so very
real and so incredibly frightening; the thought
added to his weakness and he slumped, only managing
to stand by sheer force of will.

"Do you now believe?"

"No, no..."  But he did, and the belief was the
most painful realization of them all.

"You do."  Sir sighed, his black figure blending in
with the shadows.  "Look at him.  You did this to
him."

Sam's eyes burned when he opened them; he avoided
the man who spoke and instead trained his gaze
firmly on the pillowed head.  Cannon blinked, his
mouth working to speak.  But his disorientation
lingered and Sam wanted nothing more than to get
away from the amazing sight.  "I didn't do a damn
thing but touch him."

"You gave him back his life.  A final act of
crossing over that has now set you on a path I
cannot follow.  So selfish... but you always were,
Sam.  And that will be your downfall."

"Shut up," he grated out, eyeing Cannon.  Strength
slowed returned to his drained body, along with
cocky anger.  His answers would come now, courtesy
of Cannon.  "Now that he's awake, we'll find out
who the hell you really are."

"He can't tell you.  He never could.  I put him in
your way to make you believe.  I put him here so
you could heal him.  And you have, though for your
own purpose.  You couldn't just once do something
for someone without gain?"  The voice softened,
becoming slightly condemning in its wistfulness. 
"You did this only for yourself.  You used to have
such a good heart, Sam."

The disappointment in those words infuriated Sam. 
He was not a bad person; why did everyone seem to
always expect the worst of him?  The denial burst
from him, a memory so long buried and still not
quite real, but one he knew justified his innate
decency.  His eyes snapped up before he could think
twice, and he said through thinned lips, "I made
that tire go flat in Utah, didn't I?"

The ward, so silent already, seemed to narrow and
define itself on those few words.  Sam held his
breath with wide, unseeing eyes, Sir's face
dissolving into a flood of images.  Fox, pacing the
floor of their grandfather's cabin outside
Piedmont.  Dana, impatiently wiping the frosted
window of a car as she slowly guided it down a
snow-covered road.  A more masculine version of
Dana's face - someone named Charlie? - holding her
as she cried on a dance floor.  The sound of water
gently lapping against the hull of a freighter. 
Chinese men with guns.  Dark.  Cold.  A train. 
Happy... sadness.

Taking Sir's hand.

Emma.

The last made Sam blink.  There was no more. Her
beautiful, smiling face was lost... the only
unknown in a sea of instantaneous, bright
comprehension.

Suddenly, the real world came into sharp focus,
Sir's unmoving figure staring at him with sympathy.

"Now do you see?  Do you believe?"

The melancholy question tore through Sam, leaving
gaping holes he scrambled to fill.  No, it wasn't
true.  He was alive, damn it!  He breathed, he
walked, he loved.  It just couldn't be!

Distress filled those empty places... and he
finally found the will to run.

Out of the ward and into the hall, ignoring the
nurse's angry "Hey!" as he almost mowed her down to
get free.  His lungs struggled for air and sweat
clouded his vision as he reached the stairs. 
Stumbling, his body aching in a thousand places, he
welcomed the cooler air of the stairwell but didn't
stop to savor it.  He had to get out.

He flung open the door at the bottom to a white
blare of lights and the sound of shouting from the
end of the hall.  Wincing, he wiped at his face
with shaky hands and knew he'd reached the
Emergency Room end of the first floor.  He took a
deep breath and commanded his body to move in a
normal fashion.  One step, then another; he stuffed
his hands in his pockets and kept his eyes focused
on the red lights of the ambulance outside.  He
could make it.  Where he was going, he didn't know. 
But it was safer outside.

A flash of red hair caught him by surprise and he
melted against the wall.  What was she doing here? 
And so obviously shaken, so pale, so damned...
familiar.

Sam dodged the trio of nurses working behind the
desk, mumbling an "Excuse me" to the one who raced
before him to the swinging doors at his left, the
one Emma had come from.  He ducked into the
opposite hall, carefully getting as close as he
could to her voice without making his presence
known.  A blur of bodies moved about her in the
waiting room, and she called for quiet.

A second later, she began to speak.

"It's not good.  She's unconscious and her
doctor... he - he says she..."

Sam felt the tremor in her voice down to his bones. 
His collision upstairs with his past faded to a
slow simmer as Emma's anxiety took hold of him. 
She'd been called to the hospital on her day off -
for what?  Someone she knew?  It didn't matter; he
couldn't leave her, even if his discovery here
meant stirring her wrath.

An unfamiliar voice piped in.  "What?  He says
what?"

No, the voice wasn't all that unfamiliar.  He'd
just heard it rise up from the black hole in his
mind.

Sprite, it had said with easy affection.  Sprite?

Emma sniffed, a heartbreaking sound that made Sam
want to intrude on the gathering of family.  "She
wasn't injured in the accident.  But she's been
borderline toxemic for a while now and the sudden
stress tonight made her blood pressure skyrocket. 
No one could have known."

"Ah, darlin'."

Mike!  That did it; Mike wouldn't be here unless
the person they spoke of was... oh, God.  No.

Sam took the final step in a panic, standing in the
door of the waiting room with a grim face.  Emma,
sheltered in her father's arms, didn't hear his
arrival.  But the man pacing beside them did, and
his sharp eyes settled on Sam.  Eyes that could
have been Dana's, set in a masculine version of her
face.

"Mulder?" he asked in a thin voice, looking at Sam
as if he were a ghost.

Emma saw him then, raising a tear-stained face to
look over her father's shoulder.  Surprise widened
her eyes, then immediate grief made them water. 
"Sam."

He wasted no time taking her offered hand; Mike
gave her up with a crinkle of his sad eyes,
understanding at once what she needed as he nodded
at Sam.  She came to him with a muted sob and he
gathered her close, uncaring if the whole family
witnessed their embrace.  Or the kiss he placed to
her temple in reassurance.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, though
without any real curiosity.  She was much too upset
to put any weight behind the question, and he knew
to forgo any explanation for the moment.

"Doesn't matter," he said, hushing her quiet
trembling with a soothing hand on her back.  "What
is it?" he murmured to Mike above Emma's head.

Mike shuffled on his feet a bit, delaying his reply
as he gestured to the man at his right.  "Sam
Mulder, this is -"

"Charlie," Sam answered, seeing the man's
mischievous grin in a vivid flashback.  He saw a
woman, a pretty blond in a wedding dress.  This man
giving Dana a wink.  He saw it all.  "Yes, I know. 
Charlie Scully.  Dana's brother."

A strange sort of peace settled over Sam; he still
let disbelief deny him the acceptance of what he'd
seen and done, but recognizing a man he'd never
before met gave him an anchor in his unstable
world.  Dana's brother was an easy man to like, he
remembered.  Nothing like himself, with a strong
sincerity that danced in those blue eyes.

"You call her Sprite," he said with a calm smile,
watching Charlie's anxious face bloom with wonder.

Mike, standing apart, gave Sam a narrow stare. 
"How'd you know that?"

The tension in the room doubled.  Sam, knowing
there was no sane explanation for what he'd said,
backed off.  "I guess I heard it somewhere." 
Realizing he and Emma were in a close clinch, he
cleared his throat and disentangled himself, though
he kept hold of her hand.  "Now, someone want to
tell me what's going on?  Where's Fox?"

"Sedated," Emma replied, head down.  Her father
pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and she
took it, wiping at her tears.  "They were in an
automobile accident tonight."

Charlie jumped in with a growl.  "They were run off
the God damned road."

"What?"  The fierce anger on Charlie's face made
Sam's grip on Emma's hand tighten.  Her fingers
squirmed in his, and he loosened his hold with a
mumbled apology before addressing Charlie once
more.  "Who ran them off the road?"

"Mulder told me they were Chinese. But he wasn't
exactly in any shape -"

"Chinese?"  Dana's wild tale of the man named Chang
swirled in Sam's head.  "Chang?"

Now it was Charlie who looked at him with
suspicion.  "What do you know about Chang?"

"Dana told me all about it.  Was it him?  Was it
Chang?"

"We don't know.  Skinner - Mulder's boss - is on it
right now.  They're looking for the car."  Charlie
looked as if he wanted to say more, but didn't.  He
slumped into the couch at the far end of the room,
hanging his head.

"But you think it's him, don't you?"

"Saints preserve us," Mike mumbled, turning away to
pace.

His reaction made Sam nervous.  "He's back, isn't
he?"

"We don't know for sure -"

"Damn it, you have to do something!  Get someone in
here to protect them."  He pulled away from Emma's
restraining hold to advance on Charlie.  "Where's
Fox?  Why aren't you doing anything?"

"Mulder is incapable of doing anything right now,
Sam.  We've got a couple of guards outside his room
and in the parking lot."

"Why don't you believe Fox?  He wouldn't lie."

"Sam, Mulder had to be sedated," Emma said, her
voice breaking slightly.  "Dana was in bad shape
when they brought them in.  Mulder... he wouldn't
leave her, even though he needed treatment
himself."

"Where is he?  Where's Dana?"

"Mulder's been put in a room upstairs.  His arm's
broken and he's pretty banged up, but he's okay." 
Emma avoided Sam's insistent look.  "Dana's still
in the ER," she finished quietly.

"She's gonna be all right, isn't she?"  But he knew
before Emma answered that Dana wasn't as fortunate
as Fox.  "Tell me."

Mike moved to his daughter's side, wrapping a
supporting arm around her shoulders as she
struggled to reply.  "They think she's had a
stroke, lad.  Waitin' on the final test results
right now."  He lowered his gaze; it was the only
time Sam had ever seen the man struggle for words. 
"They don't think she'll make it through the night. 
Even now, they're considering surgery to save the
child."

"No," Sam breathed, unable to believe what he was
hearing.  "She was fine yesterday.  No one could
just..."

"It's not unheard of in pregnancy," Emma whispered,
tears taking control again of her wavering
composure.  "The trauma of the accident must have
brought it on.  A spike in blood pressure,
especially since she's had trouble before this
carrying to term... it's not that unusual."

And she'd made a trip to the hotel yesterday to set
him straight, which hadn't helped.  Sam met Mike's
gaze above Emma's head and saw the guilt he felt
mirrored there.  But it was nothing compared to the
tremendous weight of responsibility he knew he
shouldered.

Fox had told him Dana was fragile.  All of Sam's
shenanigans since he'd returned had surely added to
her stress level.  He was as much to blame as the
phantom Chinese who'd crashed their vehicle.

But unlike Mike, he could so something about it
all.  Even now, Cannon laid upstairs awake and
recovered.  If his hand could bring that about -
and he still wasn't sure it had - then what was the
harm in trying with Dana?

"I need to see her."

"Sam, you can't -"

He pulled away from Emma's reaching hand and
growled, "The hell I can't."

"And just what do you think *you* can do?"  Charlie
rasped from his seat.  He stood, helpless fury
coloring his cheeks.  "You stay away from my
sister."

So Charlie had heard about Sam.  It was evident in
his distrustful gaze and tight mouth.  His eyes
raked Sam up and down, as if he expected Sam to
cause trouble.

"I can..."  Sam bit his lip, wondering how he was
to explain what he meant to do.  Tensions were high
and everyone already looked at him with curious
eyes.  He knew his behavior could be attributed to
worry over the situation, but to demand to see his
sister-in-law with the incredulous intention of
healing her... he'd never get past the brute who
called her 'Sprite'.

"Charlie!"

An older couple rushed in, Sam automatically
stepping away to let them by.  They both made for
the angry man who faced him down.

"Mom."  Charlie softened, Sam forgotten for now. 
"Dad."  He embraced the woman, and Sam saw Emma and
Mike join the group.

This was his chance.  He slipped quietly out the
door, knowing he had only moments before Charlie
discovered him missing.

One chance to save Dana.


End Chapter Twenty-Three