Truce
Chapter Seven

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers



"He says you're ruining his love life."

Marvin's dry comment as he hung up the telephone
was intended to break the tension, and Mulder,
after a second of anger, took the bait.  Marvin
was doing his best to restrain him from acting
rashly, and he knew he really should try to calm
down.  Taking a sip of his beer, he gave Marvin a
grin.

"I pay Bombay enough for his services, don't you
think?"  His wink made Marvin bristle, as did his
slow addition, "Of course... I could always offer
him you."

"I think not," Marvin huffed, straightening his
tie.  "Taking this plantation life a bit too
seriously, aren't we?"

"Hey - don't blame me if I begin to barter like a
slave master.  You're the one who set me up like
this.  Went straight to my head."  Mulder
laughed, the unusual burst of air from his lungs
taking him by surprise.  It had been so long
since he'd allowed himself a bit of joy.  He
wondered if he was doomed to a life of gloomy
existence if he could never get Scully back for
good; just speaking with her this afternoon had
made him feel more alive than he had in months.

Marvin reacted to Mulder's laughter with a gruff
snort, letting his body relax.  "Just remember
who gave you the means to live as a king, my good
man."

Mulder patted him on the back before moving to
the window.  "Relax, Marv.  I'd give away
everything I owned before I got rid of you."  It
was late in the evening, and he could see
practically nothing beyond the window but the
looming shadows of the gigantic oak trees, the
moss clinging to them swaying in the light
breeze.

"And for her?"

He should have taken offense at Marvin's gentle
prodding, but it was no use denying the man his
bit of concern.  "Too late, Marvin," he sighed,
hanging his head.  "Traded my soul for her years
ago."  Chipped away piece by piece, he thought. 
Bargaining with his father for a chip, giving
away what he thought was his sister for a partner
who, little realized at the time, meant more to
him than life... the last piece remaining behind
when he left her months ago... if he wasn't
triumphant in this last grasp at freedom, he
didn't know if he could continue to fight.

"Fox -"

Mulder pasted a grin on his face, deterring
Marvin's slide into sympathy, something he never
wanted.  "Don't mind me, Marv - I get a bit
maudlin now and then.  So, did Bombay say
anything else?"

Backing off, Marvin stood with chin raised, his
acceptance of Mulder's wish to change the subject
evident in his calm demeanor.  "He said it's too
late to find out if she's attending a social
event this evening."

Nodding, Mulder took a sip of his now-warm beer. 
"She stayed long enough to make sure of that," he
mused, silently giving her a gold star for her
ingenuity.  "What about tomorrow night?"

"He's checking into a few possibilities.  This
time, he thinks he can come up with guest lists. 
Upscale Mardi Gras parties are always by
invitation only."

Eyeing the stack of embossed envelopes sitting on
his desk, Mulder replied, "Was I invited to any
for tomorrow night?"

"Already checked," Marvin beamed, obviously
pleased at his planning ahead.  He walked to the
paper-strewn desk and pulled two envelopes from
beneath a battered copy of 'Moby Dick', not
noticing Mulder's fleeting, wistful look at the
novel.  "A fellow named Dupont, and another named
Lasseigne.  Both considered among the 'movers and
shakers' of New Orleans business."

The trill of the fax machine interrupted their
conversation; Marvin moved to hover over it as
Mulder moved to the desk.  He picked up the
novel, remembering how delighted he'd been to
find it among the books that lined the walls of
the library.  He'd pored over every word that day
and well into the sleepless night, picturing her
doing the same as a child.  Its yellowed pages
gave him comfort that first lonely week, as if it
were a treasured keepsake - of which he had none,
really.  He walked away from her with the clothes
on his back and little else but guilt.

"Looks like Bombay hit pay dirt," Marvin said
with excitement, moving to Mulder's side, a pile
of papers in hand.  "Guest lists *and* a few
photographs he managed to acquire through
friends."

Mulder snorted at the pages of publicity
snapshots.  "We've seen all these in the Times-
Picayune."

"These are mostly unused stills, he notes - see?" 
Marvin pointed out Bombay's handwriting on the
cover sheet.  "Said we might find them useful."

Mulder took the photos while Marvin scanned the
lists.  The small black-and-white copies were
crammed onto the sheets of paper edge to edge,
some more blurry than others.  It was difficult
to ascertain identities, but Mulder realized
right away the top sheet was a pictorial of the
party he attended last night.  Balfour's elegant
mansion figured prominently in the photographs;
with sudden excitement, he walked around his desk
to sit, flipping on the lamp as he pulled a
magnifying glass from his middle drawer.

"Dupont's bash has a few names on it we know,"
Marvin mused.  "Balfour and Strughold.  But then
again, we already know these men are well known
to one another.  Could be just coincidence."

"Read 'em off to me," Mulder requested absently,
giving most of his attention to the photographs.

"Arcement, Blanchette..." Marvin's voice droned
on as Mulder half-listened.

A familiar tilt of a female head caught his eye;
he recognized it immediately as Scully,
remembering how he thought he'd seen her from
Balfour's balcony.  It *was* her, he realized. 
Masked, certainly, but he'd know the determined
line of that jaw anywhere.  Heat suffused him as
took in the details, including the arm that
surrounded her waist.  Who the hell was that?

"Charrier, Diaz, Guillory..."

The unknown face in profile was masked as well,
but from his expensive evening dress and regal
bearing, he was obviously a man of means. 
Graying hair, but not too old; Mulder swallowed
back a moment of fear as he recalled Daniel
Waterston.  Scully had as much as admitted she
had a thing for older men, and this man fit the
mold perfectly.  

"Hamilton, Landry, Luquet, McMa-"

"Whoa, back up."  Mulder's head snapped up, his
mind rapidly intermeshing Marvin's words with
recent memory.  "Say again?"

"From the beginning?"

"No, just the last few."

"Hamilton, Landry, Luquet -"

"Luquet," Mulder breathed, reaching for his
printout of the information Bombay had dug up
earlier that day.  "Robert Luquet."

Marvin seemed surprised, looking up from the
guest list.  "Yes, but what -"

"One of the owners of the Maison Blanche,
according to the hotel's financial reports."

"Think he's her mysterious escort?" Marvin asked.

Mulder tossed the photograph to Marvin, tensing
his jaw.  "Get Bombay back on the phone.  I want
to know if that's Luquet."

"Not going to like this," Marvin mumbled, his
words muffled under the pile of papers clutched
to his chest as he flailed for the photograph.

"Bombay?" Mulder snorted.  "Who the hell cares?"

"That's not who I meant," Marvin warned, finally
dumping the papers on Mulder's desk to reach for
the telephone.

Mulder sighed, rubbing his grainy eyes; he could
just feel Scully's displeasure, though it had yet
to occur. "I know," he murmured.  "But I can't
just trust that this guy is legit, you know?"

Marvin echoed Mulder's soft words.  "I know."
Pausing, he gave Mulder a pointed look.  "You're
not thinking of following her to this shindig,
are you?"

Mulder ignored Marvin's concern with an absent,
"Of course not," much as he'd always done with
Scully's similar queries, dropping his chin.  But
he knew he was bound to follow, despite her
demands to the contrary and Marvin's
protestations.  After a few seconds of silence,
he looked up, right into Marvin's disbelieving
face.  "Bombay?" he prodded, raising an eyebrow
at the telephone in Marvin's hand.

Cradling the phone in his shoulder, he dialed
quickly.  "I'll get Bombay right on it.  Don't
worry, Fox.  We'll soon know everything about the
fellow.  No need for you to go anywhere."

Mulder pressed firm fingers to his temple, trying
to dispel the growing headache.  Something about
this whole business rattled him, like nothing
before.  He tried to pin it on the fact that
Scully was out there alone, but it was more than
that.  Besides, she wasn't out there alone,
according to the photographs.

Maybe that's what bothered him so much.

"Fox."

Marvin's voice shook him from his morose
thoughts.  "Yeah?"

"Bombay didn't have anything on Luquet at hand,
but he'll fax it over as soon as he finds out
something."

An unsure note in Marvin's voice, as well as a
hint of trepidation on his face, made Mulder sit
upright.  "What?"  There was more to the short
phone call, and Marvin was hesitating to reveal
the bad news.  "What is it?"

"Just a rumor, Fox," his friend began.

"Spill it, already."

"This party of Dupont's?"

"What about it?"

"Let's just say that Bombay may know nothing yet
on Luquet, but he's heard an earful about
Dupont..."

As Mulder listened, he knew he'd have to go, no
matter what Marvin said.


**********


"You have it?"

Robert leaned down, capturing her gaze with
concern.  They'd been through this in the car,
and she was beginning to think he was the worst
sort of mother hen.

"Yes, Robert," she purred, letting her lashes
lower with mock coyness.  They'd gotten a big
break, courtesy of Skinner's connections.  This
time, she knew what she was after, and they'd
prepared ahead of time.  A simple switch, and
Dupont would never be the wiser.

"I don't feel comfortable about this," her escort
muttered over his glass of champagne.  "What if
we get separated again?"

Scully smiled at Robert, lifting her glass of
champagne in a small toast.  "Same as before,
Robert," she reminded him.  "We get separated, we
just meet later.  I'm a big girl, you know."

They were openly discussing the operation amidst
the crowd, albeit in veiled snatches of
conversation.  It was best not to appear
suspicious; whispering and avoiding glances were
guaranteed to make someone want to listen in. 
Robert understood this just as she did, though
his eyes weren't as complacent as hers as he
leaned in close to answer, "Just try to keep your
lovely dress in one piece.  Don't make me have to
come find you."  His censure was typical of a man
used to giving orders, but it was edged with
concern atypical of simple military superiority.

She turned her head, averting her gaze with
displeasure.  Not because his attitude bred guilt
- no, she wasn't sure if she could resist the
urge to smack him.  No one pulled that
territorial bullshit with her.  Not even Mulder,
though she had to admit to some unwanted distress
the few times he'd tried.  Her thoughts drifted
back to her clandestine trip with Cancerman long
ago, and Mulder's angry reaction.  Distress?  She
was kidding herself with that tame word; she'd
practically fallen to pieces in that hotel room
once she'd caught up with him.

Not anymore.  She wouldn't let Mulder get to her
that way, and she most definitely wouldn't let
Robert get away with even a hint of manipulation. 
Times had changed, though her visit with Mulder
the day before almost tore down her carefully
constructed walls.  But she'd had enough space
today to re-fortify her defenses and get back on
track as far as the plan was concerned. 
Efficient work was the way to succeed, Robert's
*and* Mulder's worries be damned.

"I'm going to powder my nose," she stated with
haughty, loud firmness, giving Robert her glass. 
Her whole demeanor spoke of a lover's tiff, as it
had been designed to do - but it wasn't difficult
to harden her face with anger at Robert's
attitude.  "Do what you want - I don't care."

She moved away under his pinched glare, knowing
the others around them had fallen for the
apparent argument between the two of them. 
Having a few guests witness a quarrel was a good
way to explain her drifting apart from Robert;
they'd decided to take this tack in the car on
the way over to Dupont's party.  The rich older
man trying to keep his young, pretty mistress to
heel - perfect fodder to explain her temporary
absence and Robert's reaction, should she not
return.

Dupont's home was similar in style to Balfour's,
very Creole in design.  But the party tonight was
definitely different, confirming the rumors
they'd heard; while Balfour's was trendy and
almost staid in nature, Dupont's spoke of varied
personal tastes.  For one thing, the lights were
dimmed and the decorations were bordering on poor
taste.  It was a celebration of the more pagan
aspects of Mardi Gras, with statues of the gods
and goddesses around every corner, most engaged
in barely disguised sexual acts.  Candles
sputtered in every corner and lusty, Carribean
music pounded out of hidden speakers.  While a
respected member of New Orleans society, Dupont
apparently had limited the guest list to his more
gregarious friends, who embraced the easy flow of
liquor and women with open arms.  Several couples
were groping each other already on the dance
floor.  Scully had commented on the wildness of
the party to Robert when they'd discussed the
next objective, wondering just how he warranted
an invitation.  At her raised brow, he'd growled
that he'd never before attended a Dupont Mardi
Gras ball - *she* was obviously the one their
host was interested in, as his invitation had
included a personal note from Dupont almost
demanding that Robert bring her along.

She'd have to avoid Dupont; not that she was
worried she couldn't handle any overture made
toward her.  But having one smitten swain on hand
was quite enough, thank you.  Already, as she
moved through the half-drunk crowd, she felt
Robert's oppressive presence fall from her
shoulders.

Her freedom was short-lived, however, as a warm
hand stilled her flight, grabbing her elbow.  The
words were husky and laced with the smell of
expensive brandy.

"Going somewhere, Ana?"


**********


He drew her stiff form into his arms and pulled
her to the dance floor, ignoring the angry fire
of her gaze as it flashed up behind her mask. 
"What?  No kiss hello?" he asked, feeling her
fingers curl into his hand like talons.

Her silent fury quickly gave way to cold derision
as she kept up her pretense, relaxing into his
hold slightly.  But he knew it was all for show,
especially the smile that didn't reach her eyes. 
"Mr. Robie.  How nice to see you again," she
purred, as if they were old friends.  Or new
lovers, as her body moved sinuously against his.

Swallowing back the burst of desire, Mulder took
advantage of her wanton behavior, splaying his
hand over her bare back.  What the hell kind of
dress was this, anyway?  Did she know what she
was walking into by coming here tonight?

He'd noticed her speaking with Luquet from the
moment he walked in, taking in her plain black
evening gown, gratified its demure lines covered
her from neck to wrist, falling from her waist in
a soft flare to her feet.  Now, with hands-on
inspection, he found it was just the opposite on
the flip side, the gaping hole where the back of
it should have been ending just above her ass. 
If he cared to drop his pinky another inch, to
brush beneath the soft fabric, he would feel the
line where the delicious, round globes met.  He
was tempted to fluster her a bit by doing just
that, sneaking in under the light satin; maybe
he'd save that for later.  Who knows what he
would need in the way of tactical moves once she
decided not to play along anymore - which she was
certain to do shortly, if her annoyance was
anything to go by.

Under the safety of his mask, he smiled, lending
it a seductive quality as was the apparent theme
of the party.  "*Abandoning* your escort already,
Miss Petrie?" he asked, his emphasis on the word
that was so familiar to them both, in so many
contexts, bringing a renewed burst of anger to
her eyes.  "Lucky me... I get you all to myself."

Actually, he figured she would string him along
for a while yet, so he was surprised when she let
her anger get the better of her.  "Let me go,"
she hissed at his chin.  "I have something to
do."

"Alone?  Why, I would have thought you'd take
Luquet with you." He looked around at the couples
practically making out on the dance floor. 
"Seems this party has a definite purpose, Ana...
one not meant to be pursued alone.  If I could
offer my services to you?"

At that, her gaze snapped up, and her whisper was
pleading, "Robert and I have this all worked out
 - and you're only getting in the way."  He
knew she didn't want to make a scene by drawing
unnecessary attention to him, or she would have
left him on the dance floor immediately.  Leaving
her escort to find another dalliance was one
thing; spurning Luquet had hardly raised a brow. 
But brushing off two men in as many minutes spoke
of a purpose besides finding a bit of eager sport
for the night, and she couldn't risk it.  All the
more reason for him to jump on the opportunity to
have her to himself.

"Robert?  Oh, you mean Luquet," he murmured. 
"Good friend of yours?"  He moved her in time
with the slow beat of R&B bleeding from a hidden
sound system.

"He's a trusted ally," she bit back, suddenly a
bit more distant, in voice and in body, pulling
away slightly.

"What do you know about him?" Mulder pressed,
keeping her with him with slight pressure.  She
resisted still, and he considered his pinky once
again.  But not yet, he decided.  Instead, he
traced the ridges of her spine with his thumb,
feeling her shiver beneath him.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"  His thumbnail scraped across her
skin, following an imaginary line to her tattoo -
a trek he'd made so many times he knew it by
heart.  "Do you realize your tattoo is showing?"

Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip and
her eyes darkened.  "The only person here who
would recognize me by that is you... and its
exposure fits with tonight's revelry, don't you
think?"

She'd switched from angry rejection to cool
baiting in a matter of moments.  God, she was
amazing, he thought for the millionth time. 
Still, he didn't rise to the bait - not mentally,
anyway.

Damn it.

Ignoring his body's betrayal, he pursued his
former line of conversation.  "Luquet isn't to be
trusted, Ana."  To her pique, he noted
immediately, as she steeled her voice.

"He's a close friend of Walter's - *John*."

"So?  How much do you know about him?"

Lowering her voice, she countered, "He's retired
Army Intelligence.  Very well trained and
reliable, from what I understand."

"And you know this how?"

"I don't have to know everything."  She was
growing more peeved with every pointed question
of his; her voice was steady, but underlying
anger rippled beneath it.  "He's a good man."

Mulder tamped down his own growing wrath.  "Then
how come I can't find out a God damned thing
about him?"

He saw how his statement rattled her, but she
recovered quickly.  "You're not going to find out
a lot about a man in his business."

Frustration clenched his teeth and he whispered,
"What the hell ever happened to 'trust no one',
Ana?"

"I didn't tell you?" she whispered back, giving
him a taste of his own medicine.  "I changed it
to 'screw everyone'."

The way she flung a parody of his own words back
to him was dazzling; chin lifted, her eyes
sparkled with defiance.  Against his better
judgment, he rose to the bait this time,
snapping, "That includes Mr. Luquet?"  Her face
fell and remorse at the callous remark made him
whisper, "I'm sorry.  I'm just being..." God, he
didn't know how to explain.  How to tell her that
standing at the sidelines made him want to howl
with frustration, because he wanted to be there
with her, to share the journey like they used to
in days past.

"An ass?" she finished for him, back in cool
command.  "So what's new?"

"Was I really?"  Her casual comment sparked an
interest, something he desperately wanted to
resolve.  "Back then - before all this - was I
really that unbearable?"

"God, Mul - no... no," she said quietly, the
truth plain in her liquid gaze.  "You were just
being you."  Pulling away, she added, "Now, I
have somewhere to be.  Please don't follow me."

Though he wanted to keep hold of her, he thought
better of it.  "You need me, I'll be here.  Don't
forget that."

He watched her walk away, his body tense with the
need to go after her.  Hands in pockets, he took
one step forward, then was stopped by a firm grip
on his arm.

"Mr. Robie?  Can I have a word with you?"

Looking to his left, he came face to face with a
sore subject.  Hell, if he couldn't walk beside
her, he'd make damned sure no one else would.

Gesturing toward the bar, he replied, "After you,
Mr. Luquet," filling his invitation with all the
venom his life had acquired the past few months.

This was going to feel really good, he thought.


End Chapter Seven