An Unchanged Soul Chapter Six Disclaimer, etc. in Headers "I'll go." Emma laid a comforting hand on Dana's arm and reached for the bag she'd brought from the car. It contained a few medical essentials and would probably be useless in the face of Sam's emotional state, but it provided her with some semblance of authority and usefulness. Someone had to stay in control; Dana and Fox both looked shell- shocked by Sam's tirade. "He's just had quite a few shocks today, that's all." Giving her stricken cousin one last reassuring glance, she made her way up the stairs, wishing her bag contained a cattle prod for the insensitive lout who'd left the living room in a snit. She'd love to give him one last shock, this one guaranteed to knock that piss and vinegar right out of him. Of all the mean things to do to Dana. He should have just gone ahead and thrown curses at her head, for all the good his avowed temperance had done. Although the way he'd lashed out at Fox was understandable - well, barely - given his lack of memory, Sam should know his brother well enough to realize all he'd done so far was out of concern, not jealousy. Fox had tiptoed around Sam like he was afraid he'd disappear any second; any fool could see just how happy Fox was to have Sam home. No way would he give that up, or purposely have Sam taken away. The very *idea* was ludicrous, and Sam, if he'd stop to think, should realize his fears were baseless. But one thing she *didn't* have to do was step lightly herself. The distance afforded her as just a concerned relative and professional gave her the leeway to be firm with Sam, something she knew Fox wasn't ready to pursue. She wasn't going to lash out at him like he'd done earlier, but neither would she cut him too much slack for his outburst. Especially if he felt no remorse; she would wash her hands of him if kept up the tantrums. Emma poked her head into one door after another, finally finding him in what looked like the master bedroom. Standing in the dark at the window, his tense form silhouetted against the frigid night, he emanated stilted frustration, as if he wished to melt into the black beyond. Dropping her bag onto the bed, she alternated between anger of her own and a lingering compassion for the awkwardness evident in his stance, settling on the use of slight sarcasm in a tentative approach. "That went well." Fists at this sides, he stood like a statue, not bothering to turn around. Self-derision laced his reply. "You think so? Maybe I should have gone for the throat and insinuated the baby wasn't his. Really put the icing on the cake." An immediate rush of relief made her pause; he felt guilty, all right. Thank goodness for that. She hated to go back downstairs and tell Fox and Dana that Sam was ultimately a big jerk. Renewed sympathy for his plight blossomed within her. Sam knew he'd messed up big time. He also knew he'd seen Dana before and it had rocked his already unstable world. But did he know everything? If not, was it her place to tell him? Fox wasn't in the best shape now to deal with another scene, his hands full with She'd have to speak to Mulder first. Best to do what she could with Sam's end of the triangle. "And here I thought I'd captured your fancy," she murmured with a hint of laughter, though her heart was heavy with realization. Even when she'd seen the recognition on his face downstairs, she hadn't wanted to truly believe it. She thought maybe he'd felt the attraction between them for the same reason she did - because they were both lonely, lost people. But Sam, waking up from his two year sleep, had thought she was Dana. It made sense now, all of it. Didn't make it any easier to swallow, but she'd been through enough rejection to hone a fine sense of humor about things. "Guess I'm back to playing catcher." He turned, his face etched with shadows of bewilderment. "Huh?" "Never mind." He hadn't heard, and she wasn't about to spill her guts to him over her foolish fantasies. A guy like Sam went for dainty, like Dana. Not for sturdy, like Emma. Besides, he had troubles aplenty without having her bleeding heart attached to his guilty conscience. "Are you okay?" She flipped on the overhead light and turned it off again at his squinting grimace. "Sorry." "Still not used to it," he said softly. "It scares me sometimes. Like everything else." He turned to the window again, one hand rubbing his nape. She walked to his side. "I know seeing Dana was a shock, Sam, but -" "How the hell do you know about it?" His head whipped around, his face fierce, a cornered mutt starved but unwilling to sniff at the proffered hand. "Dana told me last night. She didn't know if you'd remember her." "So you came along for what? Dinner? Moral support? Morphine and a straightjacket?" She ignored his snide tone, knowing his sense of betrayal was at fever pitch and his sense of 'belonging' had taken a major hike. "We didn't know how you'd react. We didn't know if you'd react at *all*. You can't blame Fox and Dana for wanting to keep you safe." "I know. I know Fox wouldn't hurt me deliberately." He deflated in an instant, though he retained some defensiveness, crossing his arms to stare out the window once again. "But someone could have told me. Someone *should* have told me." "Mulder told Dana you didn't remember much about Los Banos. He thought it better to just wait and see. He wanted to spare you if he could." "Spare me what?" Emma bit her lip; she'd said too much. Despite his high emotional state, Sam was still sharp as a tack. And she herself wasn't sure Dana's story was all that accurate - after all, her cousin had spent years in a POW camp. Dana's tales of torture by the Japanese, while the soldiers figured prominently, could very well have applied to her own time spent at Los Banos. She'd come back a very different person, that was certain. Even now, Emma caught a glimpse of fear in Dana's eyes at her more emotional moments. Fear that hadn't been there before the war. What if Dana's imagination had conjured up the bullet wound? Sam was very much alive and well, and in his tenuous state of mind, wouldn't take to having her examine him for a scar without an explanation of some sort. He'd want to know every detail of her suspicions. *Dana's* suspicions, which, given Sam's immediate reaction to his sister-in-law, were best kept secret. She'd have to think of something, and think fast. "Spare me *what*?" he nearly shouted, startling her from her thoughts. Maybe a little of the truth would suffice, as well as soften his attitude toward her cousin. "Dana thought she'd seen you wounded." "Wounded? At Los Banos?" Incredulity lit his face. "Be serious." "Sam, you've got to understand what Dana went through. It was horrible; she spent the better part of two years living in that camp. It took her months of rehabilitation to be able to face the world again." "I wasn't wounded. That I'd remember." "Are you sure?" Actually, the time was ripe to lay their doubts to rest. "What exactly do you remember?" He sighed, as if telling the story was a burden. "I told Fox the whole story this afternoon." "Then you'll just have to repeat it, because I'm not going anywhere until you do." Jaw clenched, he flashed an impatient look her way. Within his tensed features, however, there was a begrudging respect for her steadfastness. "I remember seeing... Dana." He said her name as if it hurt. "Then nothing. I think maybe someone knocked me out or something. I sure as hell didn't get shot." "How do you know? Do you have a scar?" A little smile graced his face and he leaned in to purr, "I don't know. You tell *me*. Or were you too busy holding my hand last night to look?" She had to admit to a certain relief his anger had faded. At least he hadn't lost his charming side, even if he meant nothing by his flirting. But the way he could turn on the charm like a hot water faucet was disconcerting to her sense of balance. She'd always been able to handle men and their lines with a deft, diplomatic tongue. But this guy? Just looking at him made her work harder for it, something she'd never had to do before. Thank goodness for the darkness of the room, she thought, feeling herself tingle all over with heat. "There's only one way to be certain." Stern of voice, she left his grinning self by the window to switch on the bedside lamp. Too bad her insides felt like jelly, or she'd have the nurse routine down pat. "Let's take a look." She busied herself with removing a stethoscope from her bag; so what if he looked healthy as a horse and in no danger of a heart malady. She had to have *something* to keep from staring at his - one muffled thump, then two, made her turn around. "What d'you think you're doing?" She gaped at his sudden appearance by her side; he already had his belt unbuckled, the twinkle in his eye definitely mischievous. And where were his shoes? Was he going to strip right there? "You wanted to look, didn't you? Can't get the pants past the shoes, you know." "I didn't want to look at your... your..." God, she hated it when she lapsed into her childhood stutter. "It should be on your *chest*, you imbecile!" she finally managed to choke out. He had the gall to look genuinely disappointed. She wondered if he'd ever been told 'no' by *any* woman, considering how utterly tempting it was to kiss that pout. "You sure?" She whirled, unable to take his proximity any longer as she brought her bag to the dresser. "Just take off the sweater and lie down on the bed," she growled, pulling her glasses from her skirt pocket. Even something as sheer as a little round, thin layer of glass between them was better than nothing. "Cute," he murmured. She heard the rustle of clothing behind her. "You didn't have those on last night." "Because *someone* interrupted my crossword puzzle and made me forget them at the desk when he got hit by a car." Actually, she only used them for really close work, like crossword puzzles. And needlepoint. And inspecting a naked male chest for - good grief. If possible, he looked more sexually intimidating to her fractured nerves than he ever had. She thought by making him lie on the bed she'd have the upper hand, so to speak. Pretend they were still back at the hospital, where she had the cool white walls and starched sheets to bolster her detachment. Not so in the confines of this bedroom. Against the patchwork quilt she herself had made for Fox and Dana's wedding gift, his upper torso looked sleek and muscular, taking up more than half of the side he laid upon. He wasn't nearly as pale as he'd been last night; the lamp made his skin shine with an olive glow. Under the sprinkling of light brown hair, his chest rose and fell with each breath. She was mesmerized by the way that hair became thinner just above his navel... "Uh, Emma?" She licked her lips in an attempt to still her beating heart. "Yes?" "My chest is up here, doll." Mortification crept over her; she closed her eyes for a brief moment before looking into his amused gaze. "Oh, be quiet," she said, with as much haughtiness as she could muster. "And don't call me doll." Without further ado, she sat at his side, deliberately ignoring his chuckles as she placed the stethoscope over his heart. His laughter sucked into a gasp. "Sss... that's cold. What're you doing that for?" "Shh." She adjusted the earpieces and stared at the ornate headboard with feigned concentration. "You just got out of the hospital. You may be suffering from some delayed trauma." It was a load of bull, and she knew it. But she had to do something besides stare at his chest... well, until she had to *stare* at his chest. "Delayed trauma? Doll, I may not be an Einstein like Fox, but -" "Quiet!" There, that did it. She'd finally found her 'dealing with a 200 pound male patient' tone of voice. Directly below the ornate wood trim, she saw his eyebrows go up, but he remained silent. His heart beat steady and strong, and she kept up the ruse with solid, nurse-like inquisition. "Sounds good. Any dizziness? Blurred vision? Headaches?" "No, no, and no. Admit it. You just wanted to get me in bed." When his arms went up, she jolted back with alarm. But he just snickered, as those twin limbs of sinew cradled his head. "Relax, doll. You'll know when I want you to join me." "I'll know? Oooh..." Abruptly, she downshifted, noticing something immediately. "Where are your bruises?" "What bruises?" "From last night." His body remained remarkably unscathed from his waltz with the Buick, and she looked at it in amazement. "You should be black and blue by now." He glanced down. "Hmm. I don't bruise easily, you know. Years of baseball run-ins have toughened me up." Shifting a bit to his side, he showed her a glimpse of his backside. "But I landed pretty hard on my ass. Think you should check it out? Would be no problem to take off my pants..." She was thoroughly fed up with his teasing. "Oh, in that case, maybe we should take you back to the hospital. We didn't x-ray your pelvis, you know. You may even have internal injuries... any trouble urinating? We can insert a catheter into your -" "Never mind," he interrupted her cool litany, with a subtle gulp. "You said something about a scar?" "Scar? What scar? We're talking about possible -" She couldn't keep a straight face, dissolving into chuckles. "You're a cruel woman, Emma Scully." "So I've been told, and by bigger men than you, Sam Mulder." She straightened, pulling the stethoscope from around her neck. Sometimes, she gave as good as she got. "Now hold still." This was it. Proof of Dana's story. If she could hold on to her control long enough to finish the examination. Leaning in, she put one hand over his heart. Immediately, the smile in his eyes simmered to a slow burn. The same warmth rose from his skin to sear her palm and travel up her arm. Her mouth fell open as she struggled for breath; one, then two, then three. Concentrate, she admonished herself. Her other hand joined the first, spreading its fingers over the planes of his chest. The hair she'd thought coarse on first glance was baby fine, and it was easy to sift through its sparse covering to feel for puckered skin. Slowly, she watched her fingers search; unwavering, she felt his eyes never leave her face. It had to be there, it just had to. "Told you," he whispered. Suddenly, he sat up; the heat from him enveloped her like a blanket. One of his hands went around her waist, the other stalled her instinctive retreat by capturing her hands against his chest. "Maybe you should look closer. Just to be sure." Heavy-lidded, he encroached, his face dark and determined as he refused to let her go. Not that his hands held her all that tightly; just the shining sweep of his gaze over every part of her face was enough to hold her in thrall. She'd had her share of embraces from potential suitors. But nothing like this - though he only employed the lightest of holds, she felt like a rabbit caught in a silken snare. His tenderness and soft voice worked upon her senses like the most passionate of intimacies. It was all she could do to raise her eyes to meet his. "There's nothing there." Her words were paper- thin; she felt his breath tickle her nose. The hand over hers pressed down and she gasped at the vibration of his heartbeat through her fingers. "Oh, there's something there all right," he murmured. "Something neither of us were looking for." The statement, so blatantly forced into the open, frightened her more than anything she'd had to deal with before now. He couldn't be serious; from what little she'd gleaned so far in her time spent with him, Sam was a happy-go-lucky type of guy. He most likely went through girlfriends like a hot knife through butter. Intense pursuit followed by quick boredom. This play was par for the course, and she'd better remember that. Face relaxing into a smile, she brushed off his half-embrace as she stood. "I thought I'd heard 'em all, Sam Mulder." There. That was better - her back was to him now. Her emotions hidden as she gathered her bag. "Good thing I'm not like other girls, or I'd be in serious trouble." "You *definitely* aren't like other girls, Emma." With her back to him, his soft reply resounded with truth through her small form. So he knew it as well; she was nothing more than a pleasant diversion in the midst of chaos. Despite her inner vow to remain strong, she felt a break in her facade, as her answer came in a choked whisper. "Leave me be, Sam." She stuffed the stethoscope into her bag with more force than necessary. "That's all I ask." Don't get too close, she added silently. Don't look at me like I'm beautiful. Don't hold me up to Dana because I'll surely lose. Don't break my heart. "Emma -" Damn, he'd gotten close too quickly. A stealthy slide of her foot shoved one of his shoes deep under the dresser. That should stall him for a while. "Get dressed, Sam. I think explanations and apologies are needed all the way around, don't you?" Amidst his muttered curses, she left the room. ********** She found Dana and Mulder huddled together on the living room sofa. Once again, she silently cursed Sam's impulsive, hurtful outburst, as she saw Dana's red-rimmed eyes lift to her. "Is he okay?" her cousin asked, a study in control. Her crying was done, safely gotten past. Mulder, however, cradled her as if she would break into pieces at the slightest movement. "He's fine," Emma said with a smile. Herself, on the other hand... "And if he could kick his own butt, he'd do it. Of course, he'd have to get in line behind me." "Emma, you didn't -" "Can I get ahead of you in that line, Emma?" Mulder asked, silencing Dana's pleas with a harsh tone. "I mean, he's always been used to getting everything he wanted, but he's never been rude about it. And he's certainly not the insulting type. But he went a bit too far." "He knows that," she rushed to explain. "You've got to understand, Mulder - he's walking on eggshells. He doesn't know what's happened to him, or if he even belongs anywhere anymore." "I would never turn him out, Emma. Or turn on him, for God's sake. He knows that." "He remembered Dana." Her blunt words made them both stop fidgeting. "From what I gather, he saw her as some sort of stabilizing image. A way to hold on to his past, so to speak. It just threw him to find out you two were married." "Does he remember getting shot?" Dana asked. "No." Emma took a deep breath, gathering her strength for what was to come. "And there is no scar on his chest, Dana. No evidence of a bullet wound." "But... how can that be?" The confusion on Dana's face was palpable. "I know what I saw." The last thing Emma wanted was to get into the middle of their shared memories of Los Banos. "I think you and Sam will have to settle that amongst yourselves. But he has no scar, Dana. Not even a bruise from last night, though by rights he should be pretty beat up." Mulder piped up, latching on to her last sentence like a dog on a bone. "Are you sure he was hit last night? Did you see the accident, Emma?" "No, I arrived moments later. He *was* hit by the car, Mulder. The driver verified it for the police officer." Everything was so confusing. "Sam told me he was a pretty tough nut." "He always was," Mulder agreed. "And never a peep out of him when he was hurt. I don't think I've ever seen him shed a tear about anything, even when he broke his collarbone." "Um... speaking of that," she said softly, "I think maybe you should wait on the x-ray, Mulder. He's antsy enough about hospitals right now. And besides, when you get his fingerprints you'll have all the proof you need, right?" She looked to Dana for support, and got it, albeit with a dubious raise of her eyebrow. "This will be settled soon, Mulder," Dana said, showing Emma she still didn't quite believe with the clouds of doubt hovering in her gaze. Which she carefully hid from her husband by averting her chin. Mulder nodded. "Yeah, that's a good idea. He is Sam, anyway. I know he is." Emma shared a telling look with Dana, who flashed a miffed look her way. But Emma didn't know what else she could possibly say; she'd overstayed her welcome as it was, and now was not the time to debate the issue any further. She'd done what was asked of her and Dana would just have to be satisfied at that. "Emma?" Sam's shout carried down the stairs. Despite Dana's look, Emma knew she couldn't stay. Her own peace of mind hung in the balance; this was something the three of them had to work out, and she'd had enough of Sam Mulder for one night. She walked to the foyer, where she quickly donned her coat. Mulder, with a murmur to Dana, followed. "He's okay, isn't he?" "Physically, yes. Not a thing wrong with him. But I think he needs to talk to you both, Mulder. I'd just be in the way." "Emma!" More curses drifted downstairs, along with clumsy stomping. Seemed he was having trouble with his shoes, which meant she had mere seconds to make her exit. "Sounds to me like he's expecting you to stay," Mulder said, glancing up the stairs. "I'll see you later, okay?" Though she probably wouldn't, and she hated lying about it. She hated being such a coward, but it would take some time to rebuild her defenses against the man. "Just remember all he's been through, Mulder. Go easy. Call me if you need anything." She slipped out the door on Mulder's vacant offer of thanks, knowing they had more to do before the evening's end. It wasn't until she put the car into reverse that she chanced a look at the house. Sam stood in the doorway, hands on hips. She bit her lip and looked away. Away from the promise written all over his face. We're not through, that glowering look said. Not by a long shot. End Chapter Six