Truce
Chapter Four

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


The milky sunshine didn't do his wan complexion
any good; even with the dew on the window acting
as a misty buffer, the glass still mirrored his
fatigue.  Marvin kept throwing looks his way,
daggers of displeasure, really.  Mulder knew the
man was moments away from insisting he get some
rest.  Just as he himself was seconds from
strangling Bombay, who pecked furiously at his
laptop.  Bombay twittered under Mulder's
scrutiny, taking the time to wipe a bead of
sweat from his brow.

"One 'n' or two?" he asked, halting Mulder's
pacing by the window.

"What?"  He must have been more tired than he
thought, because he had no idea what Bombay was
after.

"Ana, right?  You said you were sure she'd use
the name.  So - one 'n' or two?"

Mulder swallowed, all at once unsure of himself. 
God, he should remember this, he thought.  Maybe
he was bordering on complete exhaustion, because
he'd typed out the name in the email he'd sent
her long ago, the one summoning her to their
final showdown in New Orleans.  Had he written
Ana or Anna?  Suddenly, it came to him,
surfacing through his murky mind like a mermaid. 
"One.  A-n-a."

"Last name?"

"How the hell should *I* know?" he barked, more
irritated by the passing second.

Marvin stood, placing himself between Mulder and
the object of his growing wrath.  "Could be
anything," he directed at Bombay shortly, then
turned his attention to Mulder.  "Fox, calm
down.  Let the man do his work." He took hold of
Mulder's upper arm, half-dragging him to the
chair by the window.  "Sit.  You didn't eat the
breakfast I brought you, did you?"

Mulder rolled his eyes at the obvious answer,
catching sight of the untouched tray on the bar. 
Bringing a hand up, he chewed at his thumbnail,
staring off at the watery sunlight on his vast
lawn.  "What if she's hurt?" he murmured,
drawing his eyebrows together.

Though he'd been angry more than worried hours
ago, he'd had time to think.  Just because he'd
seen her lope off into the trees, it didn't mean
she was okay.  When Marvin had finally come home
about an hour ago, Bombay in tow, he'd worried
himself into a frenzy.  Ignoring Marvin's
attempts at calming him - as well as Bombay's
huffy blustering for having been pulled from the
bed of his latest lover - Mulder immediately lit
into the computer expert, demanding he find the
woman who meant more to him than life itself. 
He'd told Bombay nothing more than he needed to
know; which was very little, really.  Instinct
told him she'd most probably used the same first
name alias as in her previous trips to New
Orleans, though he seriously doubted she'd let
'Scully' serve as her last name.  His gut told
him she was probably in a hotel very much like
the ones they'd stayed in before.  Just
picturing her amidst all that old-world, sinful
charm had churned his insides to mush -
especially since he had no idea if she was
visiting the city alone.

"We'll find her, Fox," Marvin said softly. 
"Don't worry.  Please eat something."

Mulder waved him off.  "I can't."  Yes, it
wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she
was here with someone else.  A new partner,
perhaps?  No, he'd have heard of any new partner
on the scene.  It wasn't a lover, that was
certain.  He kept close enough tabs on her life
that he knew she was just as lonely as he was.

No, what really shook his foundation was the
fact that he knew what this city meant to her. 
Even if she was here on FBI business, she could
easily find forgetfulness in a town full of
charming, attentive men.  He'd seen first-hand
what the oppressive, musical air of the French
Quarter transformed Scully into - an alluring,
sensual, *sexual* being.  Unfettered by
responsibility, willing to say what she wanted,
to take what she needed, to take a man to her
and wring every ounce of pleasure from him, to
give him whatever he asked in return.

Damn it, he wanted to touch her again.  To kiss
her and make love to her until they were both
weak-kneed with exhaustion.  He would *not* let
another take his rightful place.

He closed his eyes against his own superior
thoughts, feeling as if he'd lost touch with
himself in the months spent in this house. 
Scully would have his hide if he knew just how
territorial he was in his thinking.  He had no
one to blame but himself if she'd decided to
move on.  But no, he was sure her purpose in New
Orleans was not a romantic one.  Though when all
was said and done, he wondered if they could
ever go back to what they had before.  It was
going to take a massive effort on his part to
make up for his abandonment.

"Fox?"

Opening his eyes to Marvin's concern, he
shrugged.  "I'm okay," he muttered, unwilling to
listen to any more of Marvin's admonishments.

"Got it!"

Bombay's announcement made Mulder jerk up, and
he brushed by Marvin to hover over Bombay's
shoulder.  "What?  Where is she?"

"Well, I don't know if it's her, you realize -"

He focused on the screen, but his eyes were so
dry and itchy, it was a chore.  Something about
the 'Maison Blanche', whatever that was.
Information scrolled by at Bombay's touch,
tucked away in several frames - corporate
contacts, physical attributes of the hotel
property, even the hotel's quarterly financial
report.  The man was good, he had to give him
that much.  Still, it was so jumbled, Mulder had
difficulty finding the list of hotel guests.
"Just tell me, damn it!" he snarled, impatience
getting the better of him.  

Bombay's slender hand pointed at the screen.
"There's an Ana Petrie registered here - at the
Maison Blanche."

Mulder straightened, giving Marvin a firm look.  
Petrie.  Very French.  Very innocuous in these
parts.  Also very noteworthy because of one
distaste-filled remark so long ago.  One with a
name eerily similar to Bombay's pronunciation.

<We pronounce it "Pee-trie", actually.>

"That's her," he stated, already making for the
door.  "Download that information to my
computer, Bombay."

"Sure thing."

"Hold just a moment, Fox."

Marvin's stern voice usually wasn't enough to
stop him, but he found himself on shaky legs,
his adrenaline rush waning in a matter of
seconds.  He paused, leaning against the door. 
"What now?"

"You can't just walk up to her and greet her as
yourself, you realize."

"Why not?  I went out last night, didn't I?  And
no one recognized me."

"Fortunate, true.  But a second venture in as
many days?  Foolhardy.  You should lay low for
now.  I'll bring her to you."

One last grasp at anger spurred him to reply,
"No way.  I'm going."

"Look at yourself, man!" Marvin was well and
truly angry, for the first time Mulder could
remember having seen him so.  His voice boomed
across the room, and his face was tight, as if
his jaw would crack in multiple places should he
grind his teeth any further.  "You look like
hell.  One look at you and she'll never want to
leave your side again.  I thought you'd set
yourself apart from her for her own safety,
Fox!"

The accuracy of Marvin's reasoning could not be
denied.  Mulder sagged, knowing if Scully
thought he needed her he'd never send her away
again.  No matter how much he wanted her with
him, until it was safe, she couldn't stay.  But
with her so close... he had to see her.

Just once.

God, the memory of those words, the words she'd
made him give promise to that horrible,
wonderful night so many years ago... a swift
pain pierced him as he realized he was destined
to say the same to her when he saw her again.

Just once.  If circumstances never changed,
possibly the only time he'd ever see her again.

"I know you want to see her, Fox." Marvin's
words were sympathetic now, and Mulder couldn't
summon the energy to decry he needed sympathy. 
"Let me be the go-between, please.  I'm so
unknown it's pathetic; no one will look twice at
me.  Or at her, I'll make sure of it."

But she was bound to be startled at Marvin's
face, that was certain.  With a conciliatory
nod, Mulder said, "Just don't scare the
daylights out of her, okay?"

A pleased Marvin replaced him at the door,
patting him on the back.  "Never fear, old boy,"
he beamed.  "You clean yourself up, catch a nap. 
I'll phone you from the car when we're close." 
He turned to Bombay, who'd watched their
exchange with open-mouthed fascination.  "Come
along, lad.  I need a driver."

"A driver?" Bombay stood with an offended glare. 
"I'm no man's chauffeur, you pompous ass."

To his credit, Marvin didn't miss a beat,
hooking his thumbs into his vest pockets as he
purred, "Not even in exchange for the use of a
limousine?  I may be mistaken, but I've heard
that something called 'Petronius' is coming up
this week.  It would be quite a feather in one's
cap to arrive in a private limousine, don't you
think?"

At the mention of the premiere gay Mardi Gras
celebration in New Orleans, Bombay melted, the
allure of arriving in Mulder's stately vehicle
impossible to pass up.  Grabbing the jacket to
the tuxedo he'd hastily donned earlier in the
night, he smiled, practically purring as stopped
before Marvin, his eyes narrow.  "I'll drive
today... but I'll need a chauffeur myself, you
realize."  He walked past Mulder and Marvin and
out the door, grinning at his victory.

If Mulder hadn't been so bone weary, he'd have
laughed at Marvin's horror.  Instead, he turned
himself, heading for the seldom-used suite of
rooms he had on the second floor.  "I owe you
one, Marvin."

Marvin drew himself up to his full height,
retrieving his dignity in an instant. 
"Nonsense," he stated.  "If I have to drive the
little bugger to the ball, so be it.  It can't
be that bad, can it?"

Knowing that the gay community in New Orleans
went all out for Mardi Gras, Mulder kept his
mouth shut.  He wondered if Marvin had ever even
*seen* a drag queen, much less found himself
amidst a hundred of them.

"Can it?"

Marvin's voice followed Mulder into the hall,
but he didn't acknowledge the question, saying,
"Am I going to have to go get her myself?" His
face hardened, and he was gratified to see
Marvin scurry away.

"I'll have her back here in a thrice."

Somehow, Mulder didn't think she'd be that
cooperative.  Marvin was in for a skirmish.

Just as he knew he was in for a war.


**********


She'd slept far too late, in her estimation. 
But then again - why rush today?  This Sunday
presented a chance for a breather.  Time to sit
back and assess the operation with a clear head,
one not muddled by the whirling flow of liquor
and endless round of parties.  Robert wouldn't
come around again until tomorrow, to give her
the key she'd barely acquired the night before,
and escort her to yet another party.  He'd
better not show his face today, she thought. 
She'd had enough of macho posturing.

Sipping at her cafe au lait, she watched the
foot traffic on Decatur Street pick up, the
tourists vying for space on the small street
with the horse-drawn carriages and impatient car
drivers.  From her vantage point under the
outdoor canopy, she could peruse the growing
crowd at her leisure, ever on guard for even the
slightest threat.

Not that she really expected an overt assault on
her person, but it didn't hurt to remain
cautious.  Skinner had assured her that, though
her purpose in New Orleans was not without
danger, only he knew of her exact whereabouts. 
Kersh was privy to some aspects of the
operation; after all, it had been him who'd
alerted Skinner to what was about to go down in
this city.  But he preferred not to know every
detail.  His involvement basically boiled down
to signing her request for extended vacation
time due to stress, and denying any knowledge of
where she was and what she was doing.

Truth be known, if stress leave was imperative
in fact, she would not have picked this place to
relax.  For all its laid-back attitude, it held
too many unpleasant memories for her to totally
succumb to its lazy way of life.  And now, with
Mulder so near, she was more on edge than ever.  

He would try to find her, to see her.  She was
as sure of that as she was that the sun would
rise and set each day.  For a few minutes in the
early hours of the morning, she'd thought of
leaving the hotel, of disappearing into the
obscurity of Robert's townhouse.  But that would
have been opening up another can of worms she'd
rather not have dealt with.

Instead, she'd brushed off her nervousness and
summoned her courage once again... Ana's bravery
and determination, which had served her so well
in the past.  Mulder couldn't very well approach
her in broad daylight, couldn't chastise her or
insist she leave.  He had no real hold over her,
especially in light of his own circumstances. 
But she knew damn well he was going to work
around that; she expected a subtle message to be
waiting for her when she returned to her hotel. 
It had been hours since they'd had their run-in,
and if she knew him at all, she knew he'd been
working to find her since then.

Would she go at his call?  Would she allow him
to chance discovery and come to her instead? 
She really didn't know.  Part of her wanted to
embrace his beloved form and never let go.  The
other part, the one still pissed from his
abandonment, wanted to deny him any semblance of
surrender, even though the success of the
operation meant they'd be free to be together.

Sighing, she finished the last of her coffee and
signaled for the check.  The decision was
fraught with loopholes, and was not something
she wanted to think about today.  Time enough to
deal with personal wants and needs after the
operation was a success.  And it would be, she'd
see to it.

A slight shadow blocked the midday sun.  "Miss
Petrie?"

Scully jerked her head up, her sunglasses of no
use against the glare that surrounded the man
before her.  His face and body darkened by the
sun streaming directly behind him, she tensed,
her hand already reaching for the small pistol
in the bag on her lap.  A movement he picked up
on instantly, as he raised his hands in retreat.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Petrie," he said, his
voice breathless with sudden fear.  "I'm not
here to harm you in any way."

The words, while clipped and definitely British
in accent and tone, came to her in a voice
familiar, but long gone.  Her brow knitted as
she whispered, "Frohike?"

Good God, was she seeing the dearly departed, as
Mulder had done months ago?  She felt the blood
drain from her face, and the man before her
pulled out the opposite chair, his worry evident
as his face caught the light at last.

"No, no," he pleaded, one hand reaching across
the table.  Inches from touching her own, he
drew back, as if he realized the encroachment
was beyond the pale.  "I'm sorry, Miss Petrie. 
I didn't mean to frighten you.  Please forgive
me."

He sat before her, stiff in his immaculate suit,
his hair trimmed neatly, his hands devoid of
black, fingerless gloves.  Scully pulled herself
together at the realization that it didn't fit. 
"You're not Frohike."  Of course, he could be
one of the beings known as shapeshifters, and
her hand tightened around the gun in her bag. 
"Don't move.  I have a gun on you."  Little good
it would do if she shot him, however.  His blood
would be toxic to her and the others around her;
but maybe it would afford her some chance to
escape.

He brought his other hand up, laying it on the
table in a gesture of non-aggression.  "Please
don't use it, Miss Petrie.  I assure you that my
blood, however non-toxic, would very much like
to stay exactly where it is."  With a small
smile, he added, "And the name is, in fact,
Frohike.  Marvin Frohike.  At your service, dear
lady."

Though she didn't loose her hold on the gun, she
allowed her chin to drop as she drawled
sarcastically, "Marvin.  Marvin Frohike." Like
she was supposed to believe the outlandish
claim.  "Other than the fact you could be the
double of a dead friend of mine, I see no reason
to trust you.  Now, I'm going to ask you to
remain seated while I -"

"Ana, I was sent to retrieve you," he
interrupted quietly.  "By a very dear friend to
both of us.  Tall, lean fellow, with quite a
'Spooky' air about him." He lowered his voice,
leaning over the table to whisper, "He's very
worried about you."

"He is, is he?"  At the mention of Mulder's
nickname, she trembled, her foundation shaky. 
"Forgive me if I don't believe you.  You're not
telling me anything that isn't common knowledge,
including my name."

"Is it common knowledge that you attended a ball
at Ernest Balfour's last night?  Sans evening
dress, of course.  I doubt it's good fashion
sense to drape one's self in black and go
skulking about the upstairs rooms."

She was taken aback by his words, her mouth
settling into a grim line.  "I think you're
mistaken, Mr. Frohike - or whoever the hell you
are."

"Am I?  You gave Fox quite a headache, you know. 
As well as a serious case of worry.  He watched
you disappear into the darkness beyond the house
and he hasn't slept since."

"Is he okay?" The second the question was out of
her mouth, she cursed herself for her wavering. 
She still didn't trust this man fully, but the
incident last night, as detailed by him, could
only have been passed on by Mulder.

"He's fine." Marvin's hand lifted from the table
slightly and he paused at her stiffening,
asking, "May I?"

She nodded.  "Slowly, if you please."

With deliberate care, Marvin reached into his
vest pocket and produced a card.  She took it
from him, all the while keeping her eyes on his
every move.  Embossed with heavy black ink, it
wasn't hard to pick up the words when she swept
her gaze over it once.

Marvin Frohike.  Chief Executive Assistant, John
Robie Industries, New Orleans.

Handing it back to him, she said, "John Robie?"

"A little indulgence of mine, Miss Petrie.  I
figured 'George Hale' had outworn its
usefulness."

Feeling more at ease with every moment that
passed, Scully chuckled.  "He's not a George. 
Never was."  Slow on the uptake, it hit her that
Mulder appeared to have done very well for
himself in the months they'd been apart.  "John
Robie Industries?"

"I can explain all, Miss Petrie, on the ride."

"The ride where?"

"To see Mr. Robie, of course."

Satisfied the little man presented no threat,
Scully let the gun slide back into her purse. 
The waiter chose that moment to come forward,
check in hand.  She paid it quickly, standing in
the face of Marvin's astonishment.  "I'm not
going anywhere with you, Mr. Frohike."

"Marvin," he corrected, standing as well, his
face full of dismay.  "But you must.  Fo - Mr.
Robie wants to see you."

"*Mr. Robie* can go to hell."  She turned, her
bag slung over one shoulder.

"He'll only come after you."

Scully stopped at the quiet statement, fury at
their manipulations growing by leaps and bounds.

"He doesn't risk exposure unless necessary,"
Marvin added, "and I do believe he considers you
necessary."

Of course he would, she thought.  Rather like a
prized possession, to be admired from afar but
never really loved or needed.  

"If he considered me 'necessary', he wouldn't
have left me behind."

Marvin blanched at her cold tone, but said
nothing.  Like the good, honest man she sensed
he was, he stood there, holding his tongue
against her fury.  Scully felt no pleasure in
lashing out at Mulder through his friend, and in
her next thought, she chastised herself for her
anger.  Mulder loved her, she knew.  So much so
that he put her away from him in a misguided
burst of chivalry.

Much as she'd done when she sent him away after
William's birth.  The realization stunned her;
after all these months, all this time spent
directing silent anger his way, she could
honestly say he'd repaid her in kind.  With the
best of intentions, they'd both done and said
things destined for regret.

Taking a deep breath, she faced Marvin again,
the corner of her mouth turning up at his
obvious distress... and his unfailing loyalty to
Mulder.  "Let me guess," she said softly. 
"Melvin Frohike's twin brother?"

Marvin's face broke into an answering grin.  "I
can explain everything along the way, Miss
Petrie."

"Ana will do, Marvin."  She straightened, giving
the street beyond a sweeping glance before
sitting once again, grateful for the growing
bustle of the sidewalks.  It helped distract
her, set her on edge; behind her overt display
of watching the people around her, she could
listen to an explanation with cool detachment. 
It wouldn't do to show this man an ounce of
interest.  "And you can explain here."

"Miss Petrie, I'm not all that comfortable -"

"I don't care if you feel like you've been
thrown on a funeral pyre, Mr. Frohike.  I want
some answers."  She grabbed the back of the
chair once more, her mouth in a firm, implacable
line as she leaned over the table.  "Now tell me
your employer's purpose in this city."

Marvin's obvious good breeding prevented a show
of anger, but, as he straightened, Scully saw
how miffed he was in the clench of his jaw. 
However, he didn't flinch from her demand,
instead offering a truce of sorts.

"In the car, Miss Petrie.  This is not the place
to be speaking of Mr. Robie's business." 
Softer, he added, "He's worried about you, about
what you're doing here."

"What I'm doing here is none of his concern,"
she pointed out.  "In fact, it's best he not
know."

"When has he ever done what's best for him?"

True.  Scully gave the statement due
consideration, and her lapse in speaking gave
Marvin another opening, as he pressed, "He just
wants to see you, Miss Petrie.  Is that so wrong
of him?"

No, it wasn't.  It was the inevitable tirade
she'd have to endure from Mulder about her
purpose in New Orleans that she wasn't looking
forward to.  But then again - this was her
opportunity to give him a few choice words of
her own about his disappearance.

She apologized to the puzzled waiter who had
returned, waving him off before facing Marvin. 
"I assume you have transportation?"

"I do." He smiled and waved a hand at the
corner, stepping forward to offer his arm.

Scully felt a subtle warmth suffuse her at the
odd little man's gallantry, and she tucked her
hand into the crook of his elbow.  They hadn't
gone more than a step of two when a limousine
screeched to a halt before them.

"After you," Marvin purred, opening the door.

With wide eyes, Scully peered inside at the
luxurious, spacious back seat.  "What the hell
has he been doing all this time?" she asked,
giving Marvin a piercing glance.  "Or is this
some kind of joke?"

"No joke, my dear.  Our dear Mr. Robie can
afford it, believe me." He gestured for her to
sit, then followed her into the back seat.  The
door locks slammed into place and they sped
away.

As she watched the crowds part to let them
through, she growled, "If he thinks this
impresses me, he's sadly mistaken."

"He thinks nothing of the kind, Ana." Marvin's
face hardened a bit.  "All he thinks of is you."
Marvin looked away, his disappointment evident.
"And if I may say so, despite my dearly departed
brother's fascination with you - not to mention
Fox's rash decision to expose himself this way -
I really don't see the attraction.  From what
I've heard, one would have thought you Joan of
Arc and Snow White rolled into one.  You're
quite disappointing."

From a man with the face of one who'd once
adored her, the words were a shock.  A quick
flash of guilt assailed her; Marvin thought very
highly of Mulder, that much was evident.  And
her attitude was abysmal, despite his best
efforts to be cordial.  No matter what laid
between her and Mulder, she had no right to
treat his friend with such ill-mannered, overt
disdain.  A fact she sought to rectify
immediately.

"I apologize, Marvin.  I'm not usually so..."

"Thoughtless?  Confrontational?"

A tinny voice broke through the dark enclosure
of the back seat.  "I believe the word you want
is 'bitchy'."

Scully tensed.  "Who the hell is that?"

Marvin reached for a button at his right.  "Stop
eavesdropping, Bombay."

"Bombay?"

With a wave of his hand, Marvin dismissed the
driver and her question.  "The help in these
parts is insolent in the extreme.  Please excuse
my driver," he sighed, with stone-faced, angry
embarrassment.  He flicked off the intercom,
killing the huffs of indignation from the front
seat.  "Are you ready for the details?  We have
quite a ride ahead of us."

"Ready as I'll ever be," she answered dryly.  As
surprised as she'd been with the limousine, she
realized that nothing Mulder did really had the
power to shock her anymore.  How outlandish
could Marvin's story be?

With the flick of another button, a door opened
before them, revealing a minibar.  There wasn't
a drop of liquor inside, only a carafe, which
Marvin picked up along with a delicate china
cup.  "Coffee?"

Scully sighed, ready for whatever the tale ahead
disclosed.  "Sure.  Creamer please... along with
a healthy dose of the truth, if you don't mind." 
She grinned, sensing this man would be very
happy to spill all about Mulder's life in New
Orleans.

Marvin smiled, warming to her effort to drop the
prickly facade.  "My pleasure, Miss Scully.  It
all started in Mobile..."


End Chapter Four