Truce
Chapter Five

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


"My God," she breathed, at the sight of the
mansion looming beyond the wrought-iron gates. 
"This is where he lives?"  Marvin had explained
the circumstances of Mulder's wealth with
limited detail, and she'd not been really
surprised.  After all, he came from money.  Not
by Kennedy standards, but money nonetheless.  It
was the way it suddenly slapped her in the face
that gave her pause.

"We live here, yes," Marvin answered.  "It suits
our needs, I told you that."

Yes, he'd explained the importance of the
magnetite that surrounded the estate, as well as
the specially-made vehicle they rode in.  But
she hadn't expected such grandeur.  They'd
driven at least an hour from the city, exiting
the interstate a while back to travel up the
River Road.  She'd seen plantations dot the
fields of chopped, rotting sugar cane, but she
never expected that Mulder had taken residence
in a house just like those once owned by Creoles
who were masters of all they could see for
miles.

Nestled some distance from the road, the house
sat at the end of an oak-lined gravel drive, its
columns imposing.  A veranda encircled the row
of patio doors, on the ground floor as well as
the upper floor.  Scully didn't see anyone
walking about, but the grounds were immaculate,
something she commented on, curious as to just
who lived here with them.

"We have a minimal staff," Marvin explained. 
"We contract out for most of our needs,
selecting very discreet businesses for
landscaping, laundry, maid service, and whatever
else we may require.  Besides me, we don't
employ anyone who needs to live in the house. 
Our cook is a local woman; she comes in twice a
week to prepare meals for our later consumption. 
Not that he eats all that much," he added, with
quiet disappointment.

A pang of concern made her catch a jerky breath. 
She should have known he wouldn't take good care
of himself; he never did before.  At least he
had a good friend in Marvin, it appeared.  From
the way he'd spoken of Mulder, he cared a great
deal for him.

"Marvin?"

"Yes?" The car slowed to a stop before the huge
house.

"Thank you." She took his hand, giving it a
light squeeze.  "Thank you for taking care of
him."

He gave her hand a little shake.  "A duty I will
never shirk from, my dear.  Though I must say
I'm more than happy to relinquish some of my
responsibilities to you now."

"Umm... Marvin..."  But he was already out the
door, the early afternoon sun catching her by
surprise.  In the darkness of the limo, she'd
ridden in a cocoon of sorts, listening to
Marvin's account of Mulder's life with silent
fascination.

"Ana?"

At his call, she swallowed down her sudden
trepidation.  This was Mulder.  Her partner, her
lover, her friend.  An attack of nerves was
foolish and uncalled for; she took Marvin's
offered hand and stepped out onto the graveled
path.


**********


Mulder paced his study, unable to bring himself
to look out the window for the first time in
months.  Bombay had phoned him over an hour ago,
his cryptic message informing Mulder that the
package was on the way.

The package.  He snorted at Scully's ire, should
she know they'd spoken of her in such a mundane,
spy-vs.-spy manner.  Not to mention her certain
disdain at the prospect that she was considered
an object, not a person of stellar abilities
herself.  He knew Marvin thought of her as a
capable agent, due to Mulder's insistence that
they treat her as such.  But he also knew of
Melvin Frohike's regard of the woman within...
something he'd surely passed on to his twin over
the years.  Frohike may have respected her as a
professional, but somewhere deep inside, he saw
her as a woman to be protected.  A natural
assumption, given their gender differences.  And
Marvin, with the typical chivalry of a
gentleman, would not shy away from the role of
protector.

He couldn't wait to see how Scully reacted to
that.  Very seldom had he himself seen any sign
of vulnerability from her; an occasional wilting
of those strong shoulders, a few tears now and
then when her thin shell of self-reliance
cracked under the strain of the job.  The only
time he could truly say he'd seen the dam break
was their first time in New Orleans.  And then,
there were no tears, no hysterics.  But he could
tell from her eyes, her desperate touch, her
surrender to booze and cigarettes in a complete
about-face of her personality.

Scully was not one to wail and moan about life's
injustices, which is why her breakdown back in
New Mexico had startled him so.  Then, he'd run
from it, fooling himself into believing his
abandonment was for her own safety.  And it was,
really.  But deep down inside, he knew he
couldn't deal with Scully's overt display of
sadness.  That wasn't like her, it just wasn't.

Instead, when it became too much, she caved
inwardly, seeking release in an embrace of
practices designed to help bleed away the hurt. 
After so many years, he recognized it, even if
it took all his energy to deal with it. 
Something he still wasn't sure he could do;
their last time in New Orleans, he'd had to step
carefully around her, approach her with every
piece of armor-piercing ammunition he'd had at
hand.

She was going to walk in this room in a few
moments, all piss and vinegar at the high-handed
way he'd summoned her.  He welcomed her wrath,
as low and dangerous as it was sure to be -
because he could handle that.

It was the thought that she might not be angry
that alarmed him most.  Her response to his call
could range from total indifference to
heartbreaking tears.  He just didn't know her
anymore; this saddened him most of all.

The door to the study opened behind him.  He
stilled, straightening as he took a deep breath.

"Who do you think you are, Mulder?  And what the
hell do you think you're doing?"

Releasing his pent-up breath, he let a grin
burst forth.  Thank you, Jesus - she was angry.

"According to Marvin, I'm John Robie."

He turned, his grin fading as his gut tightened
at the sight of her.  Her petite form clothed in
jeans and deep green turtleneck, the black
leather jacket and sunglasses creating a
distant, touch-me-not attitude, he found himself
wanting to gather her in his arms.  To kiss away
the months of yearning and make her stiff form
remember what they were to one another.

But that was not yet possible.  There was the
little matter of a stealthy encounter in Ernest
Balfour's upper hall to be settled first - as
well as her reasons for being in New Orleans.

Scully didn't move an inch.  Hands in her jacket
pockets, she replied, "You are most definitely
not Cary Grant, Mulder."  Her voice became low
and steely.  "And you didn't answer my
question."

"I'm not?"  He sought to get past the rush of
ill humor with his usual play.  "Marvin thought
the name was appropriate.  My first choice was
Howard Hughes, but it seemed a bit too obvious. 
Of course, it's too late to change it now. 
Coffee... Ana?"  He moved to the bar, refilling
his cup as he poured one for her.

Expecting her to refuse, to storm out and demand
that Marvin take her back to the city, he was
gratified to see the way his use of her alias
took some of the wind from her sails.  Not all
of it, as her chin remained defiant.  No, her
fury was all too evident still, as the blue
flash of her eyes appeared when she whipped off
the shades.

Pocketing the glasses, she stepped forward,
joining him at the bar, though she kept a safe
distance.  "This was foolish, Mulder.  In the
extreme."

Their fingers brushed as he handed her the cup
of coffee, and they both paused, their gazes
locking for several electric seconds.  Despite
her bravado, she wasn't immune to him.  He sure
as hell couldn't hide his reaction, either,
feeling the warmth within him burning his eyes.

The time had passed long ago for double-talk and
hidden emotions; the truth spilled from him.  "I
had to see you."

For a moment, she allowed herself to wilt; he
saw it in the tremble of her lower lip.  Then it
was gone just as quickly as it had come, as she
lowered her eyes, pulling the cup from his
fingers.  "For what?  A convenient fuck, since
we both happen to be in town?"

Anger rose within him, but he denied its birth
on his lips, clenching his jaw.  She knew better
than that, but he understood her jab.  This was
going to be one helluva challenge, more imposing
than the one years ago, where he'd finally
broken through to her.

"You know that's not why I sent for you."

Scully walked to the veranda doors, her back to
him as she sighed, "No, I don't know, Mulder. 
You leave with hardly a word, stay away in
silence, then suddenly - with a magical wave of
your hand - you expect me to just be happy to
see you?"

Mulder moved behind her, careful not to get too
close, though the scent of her wafted over him,
making the knot in his stomach blossom as desire
threatened to overtake his good intentions.  "I
don't expect anything from you, Scully," he
said, knowing deep down it was a lie.  But there
was time for other truths later; at the moment,
he wanted nothing but his partner and friend. 
"Except an explanation for why you're here in
New Orleans."

She chuckled, dropping her head.  "Forgive me
for pointing out the obvious, Mulder - but I
don't have to answer to you."

"No, but if it's why I think it is, then we can
help one another."

A deliberate pause and then she replied softly,
"You assume we have the same goals."

His throat constricted at the implication that
she no longer wanted him in her life. *If*
that's what she'd meant by that cryptic comment. 
The possibilities for her night flight through
Balfour's house and yard were endless; that she
was on extended leave from the Bureau opened up
a whole world of reasons.  Could be she was
working undercover.  Could be she was a rogue
agent on a personal mission.

And the goals of said mission?  With all that
had gone before between them, fifteen minutes
ago he would have said she was doing this for
the same reason he was - to enable them to live
freely together.  Now he wasn't so sure.  Maybe
she was working with another agenda... the climb
up the Bureau ladder, perhaps.  No, she wasn't
the type, never had been.

Their son?  That was a very good probability,
one that immediately knifed him with worry.

"Scully?  Is it... William?"  He found his son's
name foreign on his tongue, as if the syllables
choked him.  He'd never had the chance to know
him, and despite his worry, it was like speaking
of the recently departed.  In hushed, aching
terms, guaranteed not to cause more hurt. 
"What's wrong?"  He took a step forward,
intending to touch her.  She repelled from him
like the positive pole of two magnets brought
into close contact, still not raising her head.

"He's fine, as far as I know," she whispered,
obviously uncomfortable with the subject.  She
nodded toward the state-of-the-art computer
system on his desk.  "You probably know more
about him than I do."  A fact that only caused
her more pain, he could see, from the tense line
of her cheek behind the swath of hair.

Mulder *did* know William's every move, his
every trip to the park, his preference for
riding his tricycle in the dirt of his parents'
chicken yard.  He wasn't about to tell her,
however.  He couldn't bear to try to fill her
empty arms with bare sketches of the son she'd
lost.  Instead, he shifted the conversation to a
safer venue, silently promising her she'd have
her son back.

"Then what is it?  Why are you playing the thief
in some of New Orleans' finest homes?"

"Don't you know that, too?"  Sarcasm slipped
through her whisper.  "I think you know
everything about me.  You sit here in this huge
house, keeping tabs on me from a thousand miles
away, don't you?"

And he keeps himself away from her, he heard in
the hurt-filled words.  "Scully," he began, but
she kept on, facing him with the anger she'd
tried to keep at bay.

"You couldn't be bothered to stick around, could
you?"

"I left you a note -" He pushed a shaky hand
through his hair, his voice rising as hers did. 
The argument had come at last, and he wasn't
prepared for it; he needed time to think, to get
his thoughts in order.  But he was angry, too. 
Mad at the world, at her, at himself.  And he
could no more stop it than he could stop her
tirade.

"No!  You made the decision for the both of us,
without asking me -"

"Like you did when you sent me away after
William was born?"  His question was cold,
slicing through the air, cutting off her words. 
And though he knew it would knock her down, he
couldn't stop the next jab with the knife of
accusation.  "Like you did when you gave him
away?"

The blood drained from her face.  Ashen, she
gaped at him, a swift rise of tears clouding her
eyes.  Wordlessly, she set her coffee cup down
on a nearby table and headed for the door.

"Jesus, Scully... I'm sorry."  He stumbled after
her, cursing himself and his words.  But she
kept moving, not running, just a slow, steady
pace to the study door.  "Don't go.  Stay. 
Please."  As her hand curled around the door
knob, he cried out, "We can't keep running from
each other, damn it!"

He held his breath as she stopped, her back a
rigid line.  Would she say something?  Or keep
going?  This was not the way he wanted this
meeting to go, or to end.  They'd come so far
since they finally admitted their love to one
another, only to face endless separations.  His
abduction, his pseudo-death, her sending him
away - and finally, his abandonment, albeit for
her own safety.  He was weary of doing without
her in his life, and he knew she felt the same. 
Pride and duty prohibited her from saying so,
but he could see it in the shadows under her
eyes, the ones that mirrored his own, speaking
of sleepless, empty nights.

"I want to help you," he said, his voice hoarse
from lack of sleep.  "I want to help *us*. 
Whatever it is you're doing, let me help."

I want to come back home, his heart cried.  He
couldn't step over that line, not yet.  But for
the first time in a long time, he felt it just
beyond the horizon.  She had to feel it, too.

Scully sighed, turning to face him.  She swiped
at the dampness on her cheeks and wavered like a
reed in the wind.  The torment on her face
pierced him, as did her valiant effort to stave
it off, to keep herself intact.  "I can't deal
with *us* right now, Mulder.  I have a job to
do."

He never meant to bring her to this
uncharacteristic uncertainty.  This was only
supposed to be a chance meeting, a time to speak
in low, hushed tones of love and need.  A time
to touch fleetingly, and make promises of a
future they would probably never have.  And if
he had to keep it business, he would.  Damn it,
he originally brought her here with every
intention of keeping it business.

"Tell me what's going on, Scully," he pleaded
softly.  "Let me try to help.  That's all I
want."  A lie, and she knew it.  But she also
knew he wouldn't push for anything else until
she was ready.

A small knock at the door startled them both. 
Scully moved away from it, her arms coming up to
encircle her waist as she moved past him to the
window once again.  With a small curse, Mulder
stormed to the door, wrenching it open with a
growling, "What?"

Marvin stood firm in the face of Mulder's
impatience.  "Lunch is ready, Fox.  Would you
like to eat here or in the dining room?"  His
eyes shifted past Mulder's tense form to the
woman at the window, but he said nothing.

Mulder wilted a bit, unsure if Scully was
staying.  One hand on the door knob, he turned,
asking softly, "Scully?"

The seconds ticked by, each one that passed
making him more certain she would walk out and
never come back.  Just as he was about to tell
Marvin to bring the car around, her voice broke
through the silence.

"What's for lunch?"

Grinning, Mulder faced Marvin again, the
question stuck in his throat.  Marvin's smile
was wide as he replied, "Shrimp gumbo.  I
recommend the dining room, dear lady.  Less of a
chance of mishap." He cocked a brow at Mulder,
who chuckled at the memory of the many times
Marvin had grumbled about the crumbs and food
stains on the study's carpet.

"The dining room it is," Mulder stated, his weak
happiness held close to himself as Scully
brushed past them both into the hall.

She rounded the corner off Marvin's 'after you'
gesture.  Mulder eyes followed her beloved form,
but he didn't leave immediately, leaning over
the man to whisper, "Where the hell's the dining
room?"

"Round the corner, third door on the left,"
Marvin murmured in return, grabbing Mulder's arm
to stay him for a moment.  "No more shouting,
Fox.  Bad for the digestion."  His stern face
carried a much more meaningful warning as he
headed in the opposite direction.

Mulder smiled.  "On my best behavior, Marvin.  I
swear."

Marvin's snort echoed in the hall; he snapped to
a halt, giving Mulder a sharp glance.  "I'll
return in moments with lunch, Fox.  Don't keep
the lady waiting."

Mulder, still basking in the knowledge that she
stayed, shook his head at Marvin's admonishment
and turned to follow Scully.



End Chapter Five