An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Seven


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Sam watched Emma drive away, his legs itching to
follow.  His mind, however, locked down on the
impulse, reminding him with a burst of pride that
he'd never run after a woman in his life, and he
wasn't about to start now.  Shivering in the night
air, he closed his eyes against the sight of her
turning the corner like the hounds of hell were at
her heels.

Coward.  He wasn't sure if the thought applied
more to her or to him.  What waited for him in his
brother's house couldn't possibly be pleasant, and
suddenly he wanted nothing more than to crawl up
in that big bed upstairs and lose himself to
sleep.

"Don't even think about stepping foot back in this
house until you apologize to my wife."

Nope, not pleasant at all.

He turned to face a furious brother.  Fox blocked
the entrance to the living room, standing guard
over his domain with clenched fists.  His anger
palpable in the warmth of the foyer, he had no
need to raise his voice.  Fox had never been the
kind for outbursts, unlike Sam, who stomped around
like a sore bear when riled.

Sam closed the front door against the winter night
and sighed.  "I'm sorry, Fox."

"Tell it to Scully."  He stepped aside, but made a
final show of dominance as he grabbed Sam's arm to
hiss, "You upset her, and brother or not, you're
outta here.  Got it?"

All the fight within had left with Emma's
departure, and Sam raised solemn eyes to his
brother.  "You don't have to worry about that,
Fox."  He watched as Fox sagged a bit, searching
his face for the truth to his words.  Sam added,
"I wouldn't hurt Dana again for the world.  Or
you."

Fox seemed satisfied with Sam's sincerity,
clearing his throat as he released him.  "See that
you don't."  He preceded Sam into the living room,
sitting next to his wife to take her hand.

The shock of looking Dana in the face was no less
than it had been the first time.  Sam caught his
breath, assaulted by memories of her pleading in
Japanese, her slender body dressed in rags.  He
remembered the feel of her wasted fingers in his,
so fragile he thought they might break at the
slightest squeeze.  Protectiveness rose within
him, along with a faint surge of anger at the Nips
who'd starved and abused her.

But that was past, and she'd obviously bloomed in
the years since.  The waif in Los Banos now had a
classic beauty, her cheeks full and pink, her hair
wavy and thick.  The added weight of pregnancy
didn't detract from her looks; if anything, it
filled out her body to the point where he imagined
it would be a joy to hold her and lean into her
softness.

His brother was a lucky man.

"Dana." He took a seat by the door, in the
overstuffed chair he knew to be Fox's by the way
it fit his own body.  A pair of reading glasses
sat haphazardly on the arm, and he moved them to
the side table atop the pile of books.  History,
westerns and astronomy - he'd have known it was
his brother's spot just by the subject matter.

"Sam, I'm -" she began.

"No, let me say I'm sorry first."  He ran a hand
through his hair, unused to the guilt that filled
his chest.  "I forgot my manners, and there's no
excuse for that."

Her face lit up with a small smile.  "You were
allowed.  We should have told you before you saw
me."

Sam looked at her with a steady gaze.  "That's
still no excuse.  I was rude, and I apologize, to
both of you."

"Emma explained a bit of what you were feeling to
us.  We all understand."

Just the mention of the girl who'd slipped away
from him after one of the most explosive moments
of his life made him bristle.  "She did, did she?" 
 He'd imagined her concern was something more, and
he felt more of a fool than ever.  She'd only
gotten so close to report back to Dana.

"She told us mine was the last face you
remembered.  It's natural to try to hang on to the
familiar." Dana looked at Mulder with the same
apologetic eyes.  "We never meant for you to be
upset."

"I'm not upset.  Not anymore."  Actually, he was
more exhausted than anything.  "Will you accept my
apology?"

"Apology accepted." Tentatively, she dipped her
head a bit.  "Feel like talking about anything
else?"

Despite her easy manner, Sam sensed a remaining
wariness.  He couldn't blame her; like a tigress,
she protected her own.  She held his brother's
hand more like a shared secret than a lifeline. 
She was smart and courageous - too probing with
those clear eyes for him to summon the energy for
questions.

"It's been a long day," he said by way of excuse. 
"Think I'll turn in, if you don't mind."

Fox, who'd sat silently for the last minute, spoke
up.  "You okay, Sam?"

"Yeah." He stood, more weary than he'd realized. 
"I guess you know she didn't find anything," he
added, implying he knew the reason behind Emma's
examination.  No matter what Dana believed, he
hadn't been shot.  Really, there was no need to
discuss it any further.  In his mind, Dana had
held on to a false memory, just as he had.

"We do," Fox replied, stilling Dana's eminent
reply with a hand on her arm.  "There's plenty of
time to get to the bottom of that.  I think it's
the least of our concerns right now.  Don't you
agree, Scully?"

Dana only nodded, keeping her eyes lowered.  Sam
knew she'd been through enough for one night, just
as Mulder did.  It was time to make an exit. 
"Good night."

Fox stood up as well.  "Want some dinner before
you go up?"

"Nah."  His appetite, once voracious, hadn't yet
made the return his big mouth had.  "I'll wait for
breakfast."

"Okay then.  Goodnight."

On slow feet, Sam trudged up the stairs.  He hated
confusion; he'd always been in control, no matter
what and where.  The precise team play of baseball
gave him the chance to shine as an individual
while still being a part of the whole.  The army
offered the same rigor and opportunity for
excellence, and he'd grabbed it with both hands to
confront an unquestionable enemy.

Now, he was adrift in a sea of lost days, with
only images of two women who could be one swirling
in his mind.


**********


They puttered in the kitchen, neither of them
making any real effort to scratch something up for
dinner.  Mulder had apologized once already for
forgetting to get food from Uncle Mike's, and he
looked ready to spit out another guilty request
for forgiveness when she looked up from the pot of
leftover soup.

"You can take us out to Uncle Mike's tomorrow
night, Mulder.  It's okay."

Mulder dropped a kiss onto her head as his arms
encircled her from behind.  "You look tired.  Let
me do that."

She was tired, and her bout of tears earlier had
drained her.  But since the scene with Sam, and
most especially Emma's pronouncement, she wanted
to pounce while the topic was still fresh. 
Before, she'd not wanted to voice her fears about
Sam's reappearance in their lives.  But seeing his
angry confusion only made it more imperative she
make Mulder aware of the possibilities.

"It's my soup, and I don't want you burning it."

"How the hell can I burn soup?"

Pausing in the act of stirring the chunky
vegetable broth, she lifted her chin to give her
husband a sidelong stare.  "Easter?" was all she
had to say.

He had the grace to flush, but remained typically
defensive in an all male way.  "That was gravy,
not soup.  And how should I know it's made with
flour?  I thought it was all liquid.  You boil out
the water, there's nothing left to burn.  Simple."

Scully went back to stirring the pot of soup with
a knowing smile.  They'd spent last Easter alone
in the house, begging off the traditional family
gathering with a little white lie about sickness. 
Actually, they'd received the okay to try again
the week before from her doctor.  No wonder Mulder
burned the gravy - she distinctly remembered
putting the kitchen table to the test that Sunday. 
As well as the living room couch, and the bathtub. 
Didn't take long for the results of their renewed
sexual activity to sprout forth, either.

As if his mind ran along the same lines, Mulder's
hands spread out over her belly.  "Guess naming
him 'Naugahide' is out of the question, huh?"

As well as naming him Sam, she thought, Mulder's
joke failing to make her smile.  "Mulder -"

"I know you have your suspicions, Scully," he
interrupted softly in her ear.  "But it's him, I
know it is."

"Then where's the scar?"

"You weren't exactly in tiptop shape, Scully.  A
stressed mind can conjure up all sorts of things."

"I know what I saw, Mulder," she insisted.  It
didn't matter if she'd been half-starved and
scared beyond belief, she'd seen Sam fatally
wounded.  "He died right in front of me."

"Are you saying Emma's a liar?  Or that she's
incompetent?  She said there was no scar, Scully."

"And I'm saying the lack of a scar is
insignificant in my eyes, Mulder."  She didn't
elaborate further by saying Sam could have easily
had the scar removed by plastic surgery.  She'd
seen battle scars turned into mere scratches by
excellent surgeons.  Scars which, when examined
closely, could be explained away as the results of
childhood accidents. 

Sighing, Mulder released her and flopped into one
of the kitchen chairs.  She covered the soup
before giving her sore feet a rest by taking the
chair at his side.  Reaching for his hand, she
said, "I know what stress can do to a person.  I
know what kind of stress I was under in Los Banos. 
Believe me, I'm not discounting my physical and
mental state, Mulder."

Sharp eyes challenged her.  "Okay then - let's
look at the facts.  Deal?"

She never expected less from her husband; Mulder
had never given her anything other than a fair
shake.  "Deal."  She squeezed his hand with a
smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.  So far,
she'd managed to keep her suspicions to herself -
and Emma.  And while not the ideal time to reveal
them to Mulder, she couldn't very well leave the
matter indefinitely.  Especially if what she
suspected turned out to be true.  "You start."

"Fine.  Number one - they never found Sam's body,"
he stated.  She knew it was his most convincing
argument and he didn't hesitate to lay it on the
table.  A flighty thought made her wonder if her
kitchen table could stand the weight of his
convictions.

"True.  My number one - I saw him die."  As strong
as her husband's, her own convictions threatened
to make that table tremble.  But she had more than
just that 'number one', and she knew she'd have to
use it all to at least make Mulder put his guard
up a bit.

"Which, sorry to say Scully, could have been a
delusion.  My number two - he has no scar from a
bullet wound to the chest."

"Fine.  Let's say he wasn't shot."  Which she
didn't believe for a second, but it was no use
beating a dead horse when there were other, more
pressing questions.  "Obviously he isn't
incapacitated, and hasn't been for some time,
judging from his glowing health.  Where has he
been, then?  Why didn't he come home?  He knows
who you are and remembers his family and hometown. 
This two-year absence is troubling, Mulder."

"I can't deny that." A frown settled over his
face.  "And the fact he can't remember just that
period of time looks suspect, I'll give you that."

"Try to look at this objectively, Mulder.  What
would be the first conclusion you'd draw when
presented with a case like Sam's?"

His frown became darker.  "That he'd been held
somewhere against his will.  If not, he'd have
come home."

"Exactly.  The next, when presented with his
amnesia?"

"You know, you're good at this.  Sure you don't
want my job?"

She answered his grin with one of her own; she had
been getting a bit too caught up in her detective
work.  "Missy once told me to get out of the Navy
and join the FBI.  Think it's too late?"

Mulder gave her a look so loving and sincere it
took her breath away.  "You can do whatever you
put your mind to, Scully.  Of that, I have no
doubt."

"You're just saying that because I let you sleep
with me."

"True.  No one else would let me."  She doubted
that very much; Mulder was more handsome now than
when she'd first laid eyes on him, with the
smattering of gray in his hair adding a certain 
seasoning.  He would have made one hell of a movie
star.  "Now, back to the matter at hand."

It wasn't just his looks that set him apart from
every other man.  One of his most endearing traits
was the way he treated her as an absolute equal. 
Not many women enjoyed that luxury.  "Right.  When
presented with his amnesia, what's the next
logical conclusion?"

"That his mind was deliberately wiped clean of any
memories of his imprisonment.  But the war is
over, Scully.  Who would have kept Sam for two
years?"

As ridiculous as it sounded, she had to say it. 
"Chang."

Mulder snorted, releasing her hands to rise from
his chair with impatience.  Hands on hips, he
paced before the kitchen sink.  "Don't be absurd. 
Chang is dead."

"Is he?" She pushed her chair away from the table,
angling her body in such a way as to keep his
attention.  "You said it yourself last night,
Mulder - they never found his body, either."

"You think he waited two years, held my brother
captive and somehow brainwashed him into what -
coming back here now as some sort of assassin?"

"He waited almost a year to make his move on you
the first time, Mulder."

"Scully, that's impossible, and you know it.  It's
more likely Sam spent the last two years in a..."

Noting his hesitation, she urged him on.  "In a
what, Mulder?  A hospital?  A prison?  Either way,
he ended up back here, with no memory of where
he's been.  I'd say that's pretty unusual."

"I agree."  Mulder sighed, pulling out the chair
he'd vacated so he could sit again, this time
facing her as he took her hands.  "Scully, I have
a theory about Sam."

She hung her head.  "Oh, boy.  Something tells me
I'm not going to like this."

Mulder hadn't resigned his commission with the
Navy after all once they'd married.  With his
boss, Commander Skinner, and her brother Charlie,
he'd moved up in Naval Intelligence under the
command of Rear Admiral Hillenkoeter, who'd been
tapped to serve as Admiral Nimitz's intelligence
office in the Pacific Theater after Pearl Harbor. 
A decorated survivor of the USS West Virginia, it
had been Hillenkoeter who'd hatched the plan to
bring down Chang's operation in Hong Kong.  He was
an affable, likeable man who had a brilliant mind. 
Charlie had nothing but praise for his
intelligence and authority, and he'd jumped at the
chance to follow him in his future endeavors. 
Mulder was rather lukewarm about the whole
espionage business, especially after the Chang
debacle.  But he'd stayed put, realizing the
opportunities to provide for his growing family
laid with the Navy in a post-war slump.

It was only since the past summer Scully had begun
to doubt Mulder's involvement with Hillenkoeter
and Naval Intelligence.  Her concern had tripled
when Hillenkoeter was named director of the new
Central Intelligence Agency in September.  Mulder
had gracefully declined an appointment with the
new agency, stating his career was with the Navy. 
But he had become privy to things she had no
knowledge of, and it scared her to see him go
deeper into the covert world in which he now
lived.  His loyalties to his country ran deep. 
She dreaded the day he'd get so deep he could
never get out - just like he had almost done with
Chang.

"You know I've heard about... unusual things. 
Especially since I went out to New Mexico this
past summer.  I've told you about some of it," he
began softly, watching her face with a pleading
gaze.

"Men who aren't really men," she sighed.  "Beings
who claim to be from another world.  Mulder,
Arthur Dales went whacko on a suspect not long
after you spoke to him."

"That was a set-up, Scully.  They knew he'd been
talking to me."

"They?  Mulder, we've been through this over and
over -"

"His brother works for the FBI, Scully.  He's seen
some of the same classified reports I have. 
Carefully wiped clean with a black marker, of
course."

"You never told me about a brother."

"His name is Arthur Dales, too."

"And these people are intelligent, responsible and
trustworthy?  Sounds like they're Li'l Abner's
first cousins."

"Did you know even their sister is named Arthur?"

She lifted an eyebrow and said with sarcasm, "Your
argument gets more convincing by the second,
Mulder."

"Okay, okay.  I admit they're a strange bunch. 
And other than their stories, I have no real
proof."  She hated to shoot him down like that;
seeing his disappointment weighed on her chest. 
One thing she never wanted to do was hurt him. 
Still, he had an amazing resilience, evident in
the way his eyes filled with determination.  "But
believe me, there are a world of possibilities out
there, Scully.  Things more wild than Chang and
his cronies."

Suddenly, she wanted nothing more to do with the
conversation.  Not at the moment, anyway.  Her
back ached and she'd lost all appetite for food
and for the truth.  Mulder's implication that he
was involved in something far more dangerous than
Chang made her weak.

"I may not believe in your outlandish theories,
Mulder," she said softly.  "But I believe in
*you*.  You will get to the bottom of this."

His eyes shifted as he played with her fingers. 
"*We'll* get to the bottom of this," he answered
in a light tone.  "We're in this together,
Scully."

"I know we are," she replied in a faint voice.  If
what she suspected turned out to be true, she
would be the one to pick up the pieces of Mulder's
life.  She prayed this whole thing with Sam turned
out to be nothing.  "There's just one thing I'd
like to say about this whole business."

"Just one thing?"

She tried to smile at his quip, but couldn't quite
do so.  "Don't let your love for your brother
blind you to other possibilities.  We've both been
through too much to let our guard slip on this. 
Sam may be just what he seems... the prodigal son
returning home.  Then again, he may not.  Promise
me you'll keep a clear head about all this,
Mulder."

Leaning in, he placed a swift kiss to her
forehead.  "I promise.  You and the baby are more
important to me than anything, Scully."  He
cleared his throat, getting up from his chair to
move to the stove.  "Now, let's give it a rest for
tonight.  Want some soup?"

"I don't think so.  But you have some - I trust
you not to burn it this time."  With a wink, she
got up from her chair, stretching under the harsh
light from the ceiling.  "I think I'll just turn
in.  I need some sleep."

"Are you sure?  I can bring a bowl to you in bed
if you'd like."

"Nah.  It'll only give me indigestion if I eat
this late, anyway."  Giving him a hug, she
accepted his good night kiss with a heavy heart. 
"I love you, Mulder."

"Love you too, Scully.  After I clean up in here,
I'll be right there to tuck you in, okay?"

"Hurry up," she said, heading for the kitchen
door.  "My feet get cold easy."

The next days would be tough.  She only hoped they
all had the strength to deal with whatever came of
this mess.  She was worried about Mulder... she
almost wished Chang *was* behind Sam's odd return
home.

That she could handle.


**********


Mulder watched her slowly disappear into the hall
leading to the downstairs bedroom, only sagging
when she was well out of sight.  Instinct told him
she was right in her suspicion that all was not as
it seemed, but he wouldn't go so far as to peg Sam
as one of Chang's operatives.  Not that he
believed Chang incapable of doing all Scully
suspected.  No, indeed - Chang was a clever and
inventive foe.  It wouldn't surprise him in the
least if his old friend from Hong Kong had
survived the explosion on the Severn River almost
two years ago.

But Chang wasn't responsible for Sam's return;
he'd lay money on it, he was so sure.  Why? 
Because he knew his brother.  Even if Sam had an
ego the size of Montana and a fiercely competitive
spirit when it came to dueling with his elder
brother, he was loyal to a fault.  Chang could
tamper with Sam's mind all he wanted, but Sam
would never turn against family and friends. 
Hadn't Chang tried to do the same to him with the
opium?  If there was one thing the two brothers
had in common, it was their courage in the face of
adversity.  The worst form of torture imaginable
couldn't sway the Mulder boys from fighting to the
end.  Sam had proven his patriotism time and again
in the months preceding his disappearance;
numerous commendations and medals dotted his file,
just as did Mulder's from his superiors.

No, Sam would die before he let himself become the
pawn of another.  So what remained?  Something
more sinister, more fantastic than a little rising
from the dead.  He was a fool to even consider it,
but the Josh Exley incident this past summer was
too coincidental to be denied.  The crash in
Roswell, Arthur Dales' story of a being who could
change faces right before your eyes, a being who
could miraculously heal itself - and others - was
impossible to discount.

Scully would roll her eyes if he ever told her
what he'd seen.  The documents, the photographs,
the physical evidence he'd only begun to tap into
before the CIG locked down and came up with the
'weather balloon' story.  They'd even tried to
muzzle Dales by getting him sacked on a bogus
police brutality charge.  Anyone who took one look
at the man could tell he didn't have a mean bone
in his body.

He shook himself from the path he'd automatically
taken.  Thoughts of alien beings posing as
baseball players?  Not Sam, certainly.  Scully's
suppositions about Chang made more sense, really. 
His brother was back, that was all that mattered.

That, and Scully would definitely let him have it
if she woke up to a dirty kitchen.  He got up from
the table and walked to the stove.  "Shit," he
muttered, smelling the acidic burn of tomatoes
when he lifted the lid on the pot of soup. 
Quickly, he put it under the faucet, grimacing at
the way it sizzled.  He was going to have a
helluva time scraping the burned stuff off the
bottom.

"Got you on KP, huh?"

Sam's voice made him start, but he recovered
quickly.  "Yeah.  She's moving slowly these days,
you know.  I help out when I can."  He turned, the
soup pot in hand, to find his brother all bundled
up in the hall door.  "Where the hell are you
going?"

"For a walk.  I can't sleep."

Join the club, Mulder thought.  He doubted he
would get much sleep between wondering about Sam
and watching Scully toss next to him in pregnant
discomfort.  He smiled ruefully, gesturing for Sam
to follow him out the back door.  "I'd join you,
but I don't want to leave Scully."

The night was clear but cold.  As he dumped the
unwanted soup into the garbage can on the back
porch, he heard Sam walk out into the chilly air. 
"Is she okay?" his brother asked quietly.

Mulder looked up to find Sam standing solemnly at
the edge of the porch.  The waning moon caught his
face at an odd angle, and he looked almost
ethereal, his pale face reflecting the meager
light.  His dark eyes were full of guilt and
regret; with his hands stuffed into his coat
pockets and his shoulders hunched against the
cold, he looked lost and alone.

"She's okay," Mulder said, hastening to ease his
brother's mind.  "She's made it this far without
any trouble, and her doctor said that's good. 
She's a strong person, Sam.  Much stronger than
me."  He didn't want to lay more guilt on Sam by
telling him of Scully's previous miscarriages, so
he concentrated on the positive.  "She's studying
to be a doctor, you know."

Sam was taken aback.  "Really?"

Opportunities for women were few and far between. 
Mulder took pride in the fact Scully didn't let
their male-dominated society stand in her way. 
Her experience in Los Banos had actually swayed
opinion her way when she'd applied at Georgetown
through the GI Bill; no way could they turn her
down when she presented them with a list of all
she'd learned as a trauma nurse in a POW camp. 
Having the bigwigs of the Navy, including her
father's office and his own, fire off letters of
recommendation hadn't hurt, either.  She'd balked
at first, but resigned herself to accepting a
little help when Mulder pointed out how much she
could help others like her when she succeeded.

"Not every woman aspires to living out her life as
a housewife, you know," Mulder chuckled, giving up
scraping the bottom of the pot.  Seemed he *had*
burnt the soup in a round-about way, as he'd
monopolized Scully's kitchen time.  Oh, well... he
tossed the pot into the garbage can, making a
mental note to buy another one like it before
Scully discovered it missing.

"She's good for you, I can tell."

Leaning as he was against the porch railing, Sam
seemed distant.  Mulder piled a few newspapers
from the stack by the back door on top of the
ruined pot before mashing the lid down.  Better
safe than sorry.  He moved to Sam's side and
together, they made similar figures against the
dark of the night.

"She is," he said with conviction.  "After the
war, I thought I'd never find a way to live again. 
But Scully made all the difference."  He didn't
want to get into his time in Hong Kong with Sam. 
"I know you're kind of at loose ends now, Sam, but
believe me, it'll -"

"I was jealous of you," Sam interrupted him
quietly.

Mulder fell silent; he knew that from the moment
Sam laid eyes on Scully.

"I know this sounds crazy," Sam continued, staring
out into the back yard, the mist from his words
drifting eerily into the darkness.  "But she was
*mine*, you know?  And to see her again with you -
God, Fox, I'm so sorry."

"For the longest time, I was jealous of *you*."

Sam turned his head, his eyes bright with
confusion.  "Jealous of me?  Why?"

"Because she thought... well, it's a long story."
He couldn't very well tell his brother all the
intimate details of his disastrous beginning with
Scully.  "Needless to say, she remembered you,
just like you did her.  And when she saw me,
she...."

"Thought you were me," Sam finished.  Hanging his
head, he grinned.  "I'd like to say you bagged her
because of me, but somehow I think she's smarter
than that.  Bet it didn't take her long to figure
you out, did it?"

Mulder rubbed his temple, one side of his mouth
going up in an answering grin.  "After she
walloped me one, no."

At that, Sam laughed, a rich hearty sound Mulder
had sorely missed.  "This I gotta hear one day,
okay?"

"Not a chance," Mulder replied.  Sam's mirth was
infectious, and he found himself chuckling along.
"She'd wallop me again."

The two brothers swayed in easy camaraderie for a
few moments until their laughter died down.  It
was going on ten o'clock, and Mulder knew Scully
probably squirmed in the bed already.  He needed
to get back inside, but hated to end the little
one-on-one with Sam.  Shuffling to and fro, he
felt cold seep up his woolen trouser legs and gave
Sam an inquisitive look.  "Still feel like taking
that walk?"

Sam's smile was warm and knowing, as if he too,
didn't want the evening to end.  "I'll take a turn
around the block and be back in ten, okay?"

Mulder dug in his pockets.  "Here, take my key. 
I'll get it back in the morning."  No one in the
neighborhood locked their doors, but Mulder always
had.  Being stalked by a Chinese madman had a way
of making one overly cautious.  "And tomorrow, we
see about getting you back in the swing of
things."

"The swing of things?"

Though delivered in a playful tone, Mulder's reply
was more serious than he wanted.  "Can't have you
sniffing around Scully forever, you know."

Sam took the key without question; he paused when
he hit the bottom step, looking back up.  "Fox?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd never come between you and Dana - you know
that, don't you?  That jealousy thing?" Sam waved
a hand in dismissal.  "That was just me being...
me."

"You mean, territorial and egotistical?"

Sam's smile was brilliant.  "Nah.  I just saw her
first, that's all."

Mulder snorted at the way Sam drew his own
conclusions, which turned out to be a simpler way
of saying what took himself years of education. 
"But I saw her last.  Remember that."

"As if I'd forget it."  With a wink, he turned to
follow the sidewalk around to the front of the
house.  "See ya later, Smokey."  

Mulder watched him fade into the darkness on the
side of the house, wondering where the hell they
went from there.  A job for Sam, he could handle.

A meaningful direction for his wayward brother -
that was something else entirely.


**********


Not bad, Sam thought, looking the street up and
down.  Fox had done well for himself and his
family.  A nice neighborhood, a good job, a baby
on the way - and a brother who was destined to be
a bum if he didn't get his shit together. 
Sighing, Sam made for the park on the corner; he
remembered passing it on their way home from the
hospital.  He needed to be alone to have time to
think, to plan what his next moves would be in the
face of his sudden lack of prospects.

He brushed the snow from the seat of a child's
swing and plopped down, resting his clasped hands
on his knees.  What the hell was he supposed to do
now?  He couldn't stay with Fox and his wife
forever; in fact, the sooner he made himself
scarce, the better.  Despite the way they'd
smoothed over his reaction to Dana, Sam knew there
would always be a lingering cloud over them from
the whole incident.  Especially since he couldn't
remember a damned thing - and until he did, Dana
would always look at him like she expected him to
fall dead at any moment.  Creepy.

No, it was better if he moved on as quickly as
possible.  Find a job and a place of his own.  He
rubbed at his cheek with dismay; that was easier
said than done.  Baseball had been his life, was
destined to be his career before he got
sidetracked by the war.  Even then, he'd shown
enough promise that his name was easily bandied
about among the major league scouts as a sure
thing once the war was over.  He knew before Los
Banos the war's days were numbered, and he'd been
in contact with his agent back home in preparation
for spring tryouts.  So what if he was a few years
older?  Lots of players left the leagues to fight
abroad, and everyone expected them to return to
play again.

But now, with two missing years behind him, he
doubted the scouts would spare him a glance. 
According to Fox, the war was long over.  Major
leaguers would be firmly ensconced in their
positions once again, and the best Sam could hope
for was playing backup on some farm club.  He felt
pretty good, but could he still play with the
finesse he'd honed in college?  Would anyone give
a chance to a man who'd essentially been dead for
two years - one who didn't even remember where
he'd been?  He'd be lucky if they didn't lock him
up and throw away the key.

No.  He just had to make up his mind he wasn't
going to be a burden to anyone.  A man could find
work and -

"You're very stubborn."

The low voice brought his head up; he squinted at
the figure standing in the shadows of the monkey
bars.  "Who's there?"

"Then again, I always knew you were.  But you
surprised me with your single-minded persistence."

Sam shot up from the swing.  Something in the
man's manner, his very stillness, filled him with
dread.  "Do you know me?"  Did this person know
where he'd been all this time?

"You make me waste my time chasing after you, when
you know I'm powerless against your will."

Dread turned to suspicion as Sam backed away. 
"Don't come any closer."

"How could I possibly get closer?  You won't let
me."  The man was faceless in the dark, with an
angry demeanor that emanated from him despite the
distance separating them.  "Listen to me -"

"Tell me how you know me!"

"You don't have much time.  Things will... change. 
You will quickly find yourself at the mercy of all
things human, and then I won't be able to pull you
back."

"Pull me back?  What the hell are you talking
about?  Why would I want to go anywhere with you?"

"Deep down, you know you don't belong here.  But
you had to come back because of her."

Her.  Dana?  Cold fright raced down his spine.  He
remained silent, knowing somehow the man spoke the
truth.

"You are in the middle of something beyond your
control.  Come with me.  Now, before it's too
late."

Too late for what?  This man, with his statue-like
stance and emotionless words, knew something Sam
didn't.  Whatever it was, it involved Dana.  He
knew it to be true, felt it in his heart.

Sam had never been a coward.  But at that moment,
he wanted nothing more than to turn and run.  Far
away from the pull of the man's voice.  A faceless
man who knew everything there was to know about
where he'd been all this time.  He was certain of
it, just as he was certain he didn't want to know. 
He was back with the only family he had left, and
the devil himself had no power to sway him.

"Go away," he growled, dropping his chin in a
defiant, narrow-eyed stare.  "Go away and leave me
alone."

Rigid, his hands clenched in fists, he turned to
walk away.  Away from what he refused to remember. 
Even if he never remembered, he now knew hidden
pain lurked in those memories and he wanted no
part of it.  One last look over his shoulder made
him pause, ready to fight tooth and nail should he
find the menace to his happiness at his back.

But he was alone.


End Chapter Seven