An Unchanged Soul Chapter Four Disclaimer, etc. in Headers The news had stunned his brother. Of course, it wasn't every day you learned of the disintegration of your family. Mulder asked Sam for the second time, "You want me to pull over?" A thin white line circled Sam's mouth; he was so pale in the sunshine that Mulder thought he was moments away from throwing up. Sam had always had the look of good health, even in the middle of winter. Somewhere back in their mother's ancestry was a Mohawk princess; of course, Teena Mulder never liked to discuss her Indian blood, minute though it was. Didn't make for good Washington socializing. But Sam had grabbed on to the gene, his skin darkening to the shade of a copper penny in the summer. "No." Sam didn't waver from his stare out the front windshield. "I'm okay, Fox. It's just... a whole lot to hear at once." Mulder lapsed into silence as he rounded the corner to his neighborhood. It *was* a helluva lot to take in and he couldn't blame Sam for being shocked. To be missing for over two years, to not remember anything of where you were or why you couldn't even recall a day of that time - to find out your parents had died in an automobile accident in that stretch of endless nothing and your brother had moved on with his life and gotten married. Mulder thought he could sympathize, having lost just about the same amount of time under Chang's influence. Hell, when he found out Sam was dead, he'd lost his sanity in one fell swoop, causing a chain reaction that almost cost him the only woman with the power to save him from total oblivion. "So..." Sam cleared his throat as Mulder slowed the car. "Tell me about this wife of yours." That Mulder could handle. He could talk about Scully for hours; he was certain Sam would take to her as he'd done Emma. Well, not quite in the *same* caveman fashion, he hoped. He didn't feel like breaking Sam's nose for what - the third time? His memory was as bad as Sam's. "Her name is Dana. Dana Scully Mulder." He couldn't have kept the overwhelming pride from his voice even if he'd tried. Nor could he let loose his breath at the possibility of Sam recognizing the name. Sam was Scully's 'hero', the one who'd taken a bullet meant for her in Los Banos; she'd even told him after the Chang business was done how she'd seen Sam in a vision. He'd called her by name. Of course, Mulder knew there was no way Scully had seen his brother, dead or alive. Her mind had simply conjured up a release valve for her fears. "Scully?" That brought Sam's head around. Maybe he did remember her after all. "Yeah. Sound familiar?" "As in Emma Scully?" "Cousins," Mulder explained, easing to a stop at his street as he heaved a relieved sigh. Nope, Sam never blinked twice at the name Dana, though he certainly perked up at the connection with Emma. But that would have to be explored later. Much later - they had too many other pressing topics to discuss. He looked both ways before taking a left; Sam probably thought he was crazy, driving like an old man. But he wasn't taking any chances with Sam's well-being. "Their fathers are brothers. It's how Emma knew to call us last night." "She knew me?" "Not exactly. She thought you were me." Sam shook his head with a snort. "As if anyone would find you naked on the street. They'd expect it of me, you know." Despite Sam's 'golden boy' status among his family and friends, he'd been in more scrapes as a boy and a young man than Mulder would ever have dared attempt. Instead of turning blue in the face trying to talk his brother out of his latest brush with an irate boyfriend or an even angrier cop, Mulder was the one who pulled Sam out just in the nick of time. Without alerting his parents, naturally. Sam wasn't bad, but Mulder could never make him see that. And of course, his parents never saw anything but good in Sam, which contributed to his rebellion. Mulder was surprised Sam had stayed in the war so long without ending up in the hands of the MP's; he wasn't a troublemaker, just very headstrong at times. "Lately, they would expect it of me as well," Mulder said quietly, capturing Sam's attention. "Of you? Please. You always had the brains, Fox. And the bravery to go with it. What kind of trouble could you possibly get into?" Chang, Mulder answered silently. Being a mole for Naval Intelligence. Falling in love with a woman who hated your guts, then having to win her by sheer determination and luck. Then there was this latest fork in the road, one that would make him the laughingstock of the Navy should they find out... "You don't know the half of it, Sam." He pulled into his driveway and killed the motor. "Here we are. Home sweet home." It wasn't much by his parents' lofty standards, but it suited him and Scully just fine. Sam got out of the car and stood in awe, turning to look at Mulder's exit from behind the wheel. "This is yours?" "Yep. Lock, stock and mortgage." The snow-covered lawn hid the sidewalk, and Mulder motioned Sam to be careful as he picked his way to the front door. "I'll have to shovel the walk before Scully gets home. Watch your step." "Scully?" Behind him, Sam was incredulous. "You call your wife Scully?" As he opened the ice-crusted door, Mulder smiled slightly. "Long story. Come on in and I'll make some coffee before I call Scully." Sam followed him into the kitchen. "Nice. I assume 'Scully' is just as nice?" "The best." It had been at least five minutes since he'd mentioned Scully's first name, five of the longest minutes of his life. Did it click with Sam? "Sam, what's the last thing you remember?" He put the kettle on to boil, taking his time with filling the basket full of coffee grounds. Nice and easy, almost nonchalant - that was the way to go. "That's easy - landing outside that prison camp." Sam sat at the kitchen table, looking up at Mulder with a grin. "Best landing we ever had. Taking the fence was a piece of cake. Hardly any resistance at all." "And then?" Sam's face clouded as he began to roll the salt shaker between his hands. "All of a sudden, bullets were flying around us. I remember... this woman... God, she looked like death warmed over. Speaking Japanese, begging me not to kill her." His back to Sam, Mulder closed his eyes and relived the incident once again. This time, instead of Scully's halting voice, he heard Sam's low tones. But the tale was just as horrifying. "I looked down into her face..." Sam paused, a note of wonder trickling into his words. "I mean, I knew there were women POW's in the camp, but it shocked the hell out of me to hear one speaking Japanese. I wasn't even sure she was one of ours until she looked up. She had the bluest eyes. American eyes. I told her something - God, something stupid about baseball - and when she looked up at me again I could tell she understood. She started crying and... damn, Fox, she was beautiful. Beautiful and so damned skinny she'd blow away in a stiff wind. I remember wanting to kill every God damned Nip I could get my hands on for doing this to her. Then -" Mulder couldn't turn around; he gripped the coffeepot with white fingers. "Then what?" A heavy sigh came from the table behind him. "Then nothing. Maybe an instant of pain, I don't know. Mostly fuzzy words and pictures after that, until I woke up last night. Not a damn thing." An instant of pain. Sam didn't remember being mortally wounded. "You think someone knocked me out? Is that it?" Mulder couldn't find the words to tell Sam the truth. There was time for that later; Sam had heard enough bad news for one day. Apparently he'd survived his injury. The time after that worried Mulder more than anything. "Maybe so," he murmured. "We'll find out, Sam." So Scully's hero had been exactly that. Sam. None of this made any sense, but one thing was true. Sam had been there, and had been officially declared dead by the Army. Mulder, while not one hundred percent sure her rescuer had been Sam, always clung to the hope it hadn't been him. It had taken a long time for him to let go of his belief he was second-best to Sam in Scully's eyes, even over her declaration of love for him and their hasty marriage. Would she now look at Sam and realize her mistake had been genuine? "About Emma..." Sam's abrupt change of subject made Mulder lift an eyebrow. "Yeah? What about her?" "She's not old enough to have been in the..." Sam trailed off, and Mulder turned, seeing his brother straighten in his chair, the salt shaker planted firmly on the table with a quick smile. "How old is she, anyway?" "Oh, I dunno - twenty-five or twenty-six. She's a great girl - she's taken care of her father since her mother died something like five years back, according to Scully. Any particular reason for the 'twenty questions'?" he finished with a wink. For an instant, a shadow of disappointment crossed Sam's face. It was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced with an even bigger smile than the last. Fake almost, but then again, Sam's smile had always come easier and broader than his own. "No reason. Just checking the ID, you know." "If she were underage, she wouldn't have been working at the hospital, you know." "Uh, yeah - right. You're still pretty sharp, Fox." He touched a finger to his temple. "Unlike me. My head feels like it has more holes in it than an outfield playing a pull hitter." "You just need time, Sam. Things will get better, I know it." "Sorry, Smokey," Sam said, using the nickname like a lifeline to pull Mulder back from his melancholy. Sam might think old Smokey had all the brains, Mulder thought, but Slammin' Sammy had his fair share. "I wish I could remember more. And I didn't mean to make you -" "You didn't," Mulder interrupted, reaching for the whistling kettle. He poured quickly, wiping at his damp face. "I'm just glad you're home, that's all." The ringing of the telephone was a welcome respite; with a mumbled, "Be right back," he left Sam at the table looking more confused than ever. The coolness of the central hallway was like a breath of fresh air. Even more comforting was the sound of Scully's voice after he said hello. "Hi there, sailor. How's everything so far?" For a woman miles away and battling to overcome the trials of pregnancy, she sounded like Ava Gardner and Veronica Lake rolled into one. The tremor in his reply vibrated out of him with such sheer need it felt like days since he'd last seen her. "God, I miss you." "Already? And here I was, thinking you'd abandoned me for a comfier couch." Her recollection of a long-ago conversation concerning furniture preferences made him chuckle. "You know you're my favorite sofa. Even if you give 'overstuffed' a new meaning these days." "Watch it sailor. This is your throw pillow I'm carrying around, you know." "You won't let me forget it." "Neither does he." Something in her tone alarmed him. "You okay? Scully, what's the matter?" "Nothing, Mulder," she assured him. "I just missed my before breakfast back rub, that's all. So did little Sa - so did the baby, apparently. He's been jumping around in there all night. Missing his dad, I think." Mulder noticed her abrupt change of direction and commented on it. "It's okay, Scully. Nothing says we still can't name him Sam. After his very much alive uncle." She paused for a moment and he heard her sigh. "How is he? Doing okay?" "As well as can be expected, I suppose. Looks like he stepped right out of one of those European spas." Actually, he was amazed out how utterly *fit* Sam looked. Whoever took care of him the past two years had done an excellent job; the only thing different was the pure lightness of his skin. Wherever he'd been, he must not have seen the sun too often. "And mentally?" "Doesn't remember a thing." He glanced at the open kitchen door, where he could see Sam pouring himself a cup of coffee. In a whisper he added, "He does remember you, however." A sharp gasp flew over the line. "Does he know who I am?" "He knows I'm married to a woman named Dana. He doesn't remember anything about the woman at Los Banos except for her blue eyes. Then nothing." "Nothing? But I saw him get hit, Mulder. In the chest. Mortally wounded." "Was he dead when they took him away? Did you actually see him die?" "I saw him close his eyes. He fell limp in my arms, Mulder. If he wasn't dead, he was sure to be soon. There was blood." The conversation affected her as much as it did him, as she choked out her next words. "So damn much blood." "It's okay, it's okay." Hell, he shouldn't have brought it up over the phone. "Listen, I'd like for you to spend the day at Melissa's. Can you do that? Emma's coming by later on and I want her to be here when he sees you." He didn't have to tell her the reason why; as a trained medical professional, she already knew Sam had suffered quite a shock and it wouldn't hurt to have Emma there should the sight of her cause him further harm. "Good idea. I can call her and have her pick me up. Save Missy having to pack the kids along. And I *won't* bring up Los Banos if he can't remember it, so don't worry." "Like you'd jump headfirst into that," he snorted, knowing she was the most level-headed person he'd ever known. "I just want to cover all the bases with him, Scully. He'll come to terms with whatever happened to him eventually, and until then, I think he needs to take it slow." "Agreed. Starting with some new clothes. Lots of good sales today, Mulder. Take him shopping. Spend some time talking. Bring home Uncle Mike's corned beef and cabbage for dinner." "Ha! I knew there was an ulterior motive behind all these helpful suggestions." "You'd better believe it, sailor. I'm not cooking for you *and* that hulk of a brother tonight." "He *is* bigger'n me, isn't he?" "I know. I remember." Silence drifted over the line. Sam may not remember much about Los Banos, but Scully had every detail burned on her brain. Mock jealousy crept into his reply. "Bigger isn't necessarily better." Well, he hoped it sounded teasing, anyway. Insecurity had a way of taking hold of him at inopportune moments. "I'm very happy with the couch I have, Mulder." Once again, he found himself sputtering like a fool. "So am I. Love you, Scully." "I love you too, Mulder." This time, her voice held the same low need. "I'll see you tonight, okay?" She gave him a brisk goodbye and rang off. Holding the receiver in hand, he smiled. "Either that was your wife on the phone or you've taken up all my bad habits with the dames." Mulder started, slowly hanging up the telephone as he pasted a smile on his face. How much had Sam heard? "She's at her sister's for the day." He nodded at the cup in Sam's hand. "Coffee okay?" Sam straightened from his lax pose against the door frame. "Perfect. You're out of milk, by the way." His gaze searched Mulder's frozen face and he looked as if he was about to blurt out something more important than the Mulders' lack of dairy products. "We can pick some up on the way home." Mulder hadn't even doffed his winter coat; he dug into his pocket for the car keys. "Ready?" "We just got here, Fox. Why do we have to leave again?" "You need clothes. Scully reminded me -" He broke off, biting his lip as he turned for the living room. Damn. So much for avoiding the telephone call. "Fox, I wasn't eavesdropping," Sam said with a chiding grin. "All I caught was the 'love you' at the end. Which was smoother than silk, you know. You *have* learned something from me after all." With a silent sigh of relief, Mulder turned back to face his brother with a heat building in his cheeks. "Believe me, 'smooth' never works with Scully." "Smart, huh?" Sam downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp. "As a whip. She's..." He trailed off, knowing there was something else Sam needed to know before they went any further. "She's strong but at the same time, fragile. She's pregnant, you know." "What?" Sam quickly transferred his empty cup to his left hand, beaming as he reached for a handshake. "Hot damn! Congratulations, Smokey! Now I really have to meet her. Why the hell isn't she here?" Mulder smiled through the jarring handclasp, accepting Sam's good wishes for a few moments before sobering. Quickly, he explained Scully's previous miscarriages and how they had to monitor her very closely throughout this pregnancy. Sam listened with concern, though his happiness dwindled little. "So, when can I expect to be an uncle, Smokey?" "Sometime after the New Year. Most likely the middle of January." Every time he thought of being a father, he shook in his shoes. The feeling was ten times worse than any time he'd faced down the wrong end of a gun. "She'll be okay," Sam said quietly, seeing Mulder's hesitation. "I know it. And it'll be a boy." "What - all of a sudden, you can predict the future?" Mulder laughed. His eyes took on a faraway look. "I just know it." Mulder's laughter died a quick death. "Sam? What is it?" Shaking off the mask of stillness, Sam grinned. "Nothing. The only future I can predict is the ass-kicking you'll get if you don't bring back dinner. C'mon, Smokey. Let's get some better duds for the prodigal son." As he watched Sam head for the front door, Mulder's heart skipped a beat. "Hey," he called out, following his brother. "How'd you know about -" "You have a pregnant wife who's spending the day at her sister's," Sam threw over his shoulder. "Don't tell me she's gonna come home tonight and cook?" The cold air was bracing, clearing Mulder's head of all suspicions about Sam's sudden gift for divination. "Bingo." As Sam practically bounded down the front steps he snorted, "And I said *you* had all the brains." ********** Sam took his time in the upstairs bathroom, reveling in the first hot shower he could remember in... well, years, he thought with chuckling self- derision. Everything he did today, everything he was liable to do tomorrow, he'd not done in years, if his memory was anything to go by. Adding to the overall creepy feeling that hung over him was the fact he was using the master bedroom and bath. At Fox's insistence, he'd hung his still-tagged department store clothes in the closet and set out his brand-spanking-new comb, razor, and toothbrush on the counter in the spacious bathroom. All was peachy keen. "Dana can't climb the stairs anymore," Fox had explained. "We use the guest bedroom downstairs." The logic made sense. But still, there was something unsettling about using a bed and bath that belonged to your brother and his wife. The whole house was warm and alive, awaiting the arrival of Fox's newborn with open arms. He, on the other hand, felt as if he were the walking dead. Not physically; he'd never felt better in that respect. He took his new comb in hand and filled his lungs with blessed, calming air before facing the mirror. Slowly, he tugged the tamer through his unruly hair. One stroke, then two, then three - all the while searching his face for signs of age. Where Fox sported more than a few gray hairs, his own was still dark. Where the corners of his brother's eyes fanned out in tiny lines, his were still unmarked by time. It was downright spooky, like he looked at a younger twin of himself. He didn't like it. He was lost, period. A lost man, a lost soul, whatever name, it didn't matter much. He no longer even had a home or the familiarity of his old clothes and personal items. All that was gone, disposed of after his parents' death. He'd had to finally tell Fox to shut his trap with all the apologizing. It wasn't his fault. No one was to blame. Because he wasn't *anyone* anymore. Despite the sibling connection, he and Fox were distant. Sam supposed that could be blamed on the awkwardness of the situation and his memory loss. They'd always been close as kids, only drifting apart when it became clear Fox's calling was in academia and his, athletics. Sam didn't like to think ill of the dead, but his father fostered those differences, practically pushing them both to excel in their respective strengths. In doing so, he further alienated them from one another. Still, they found ways to communicate; it wasn't like they were ever in competition with one another, even if Bill Mulder encouraged that behavior by rewarding the winner. And Sam knew how to win. Of course, winning at the local baseball tournament was flashier and garnered more attention than acing the top spot in French class. Fox never begrudged him the trophies and the newspaper clippings; in fact, when the time came to enlist and Fox was nabbed by Naval Intelligence, Sam deliberately walked to the nearest Army recruiting office and signed up, opting out of his minor league contract with the military service loophole. Fox was destined for greatness in the war and becoming just another foot soldier was Sam's homage to his brother's superior intellect. Besides, it pissed his old man off to no end. He kind of liked telling his father 'no thanks' for his offer to get him transferred stateside. "You have to think of your baseball career, boy," Bill Mulder growled. "Next year, you'll be in the majors, everyone says so! Don't throw all that away!" Sam could still see the ever-present glass of scotch in one hand and the cigarette in the other. Even more vivid was the mental image of his father's livid anger at Sam's defiance. It had been the first time he'd overtly disobeyed his father, and it felt good. He'd miss his too- meek Mom and his browbeating Dad, but he was thankful he didn't have to try to explain this mess to either of them. He didn't think he could stand the sure condescension and embarrassed attempts to hide him away from their friends. Mulders *didn't* have anything wrong with them, certainly not in their heads. A little amnesia would have been a first class ticket to an asylum for "rest and relaxation". The roar of a car engine snapped him from ancient history; sweater in hand, he went to the front window and wiped away the inside moisture. Even with darkness falling, he could make out two slight forms in the front seat of the Buick. Emma and... Dana. He shook his head at the lapse, grasping the name after a few moments of hesitation. What a way to greet your new sister- in-law. Hi, I'm Sam but I can't remember anything. Not even your name, though Fox told me just this afternoon what it was... but then again, I can't remember shit, anyway. Dragging the navy sweater over his head, he smiled. He had no trouble at all remembering Emma. Short and tartly sweet, with an hour-glass figure and a temper one shade shy of the fiery red of her hair. The attraction to her had been instantaneous; with her voluptuous body and smooth, round face, she represented home at its very best. The fact her face triggered a moment of recognition in him last night he discounted. No way was she his mysterious 'Red' of Los Banos, despite the way the spark hit him again this morning. He'd had confirmation when Fox had said she'd spent the last five years in the States. He may have been out of it a bit last night - and apparently missing the last two years - but he remembered that winsome face from the internment camp well enough to know it when he saw it, which he doubted he ever would again. No, what Emma stirred in him amounted to nothing more than plain lust. Just because he felt a bit of tenderness toward her - something he'd never before experienced with any woman - didn't mean he'd back down from the challenge she presented. However, he'd have to be very careful around his brother and sister-in-law when it came to wooing the girl. Now that he was back home, no matter where he'd been the past two years, he was determined to pick up where he'd left off with his life. Starting with one tiny redhead. End Chapter Four