Truce
Chapter Eight

Disclaimers, etc., in Headers


"Let her do what she has to, Robie," Luquet said,
waving for the bartender.

They stood apart from the mass at the front of
the bar, instead lingering at the end, with a
good view of all corners of the room, as well as
the exit Scully had taken.  Mulder kept a good
eye on the doors she'd walked through as he
addressed her companion.  He wanted to scream,
"Even if it gets her killed?", then decided the
statement was too extreme and revealing.  He knew
his love for Scully was obvious, and he didn't
trust this man not to make use of that knowledge
in the future; even if Luquet was legitimate and
ultimately trustworthy, Mulder had seen the way
he looked at Scully.  He wanted her as more than
a partner.  Time would tell if Luquet was
prepared to back off or take advantage of
Mulder's weaknesses as far as Scully was
concerned.  But Mulder didn't intend to give him
an ounce of edge in the fight for Scully's
attentions.

Instead, he attacked head-on, wishing to be away
from this potential snake in the grass.  "Just
who the hell are you, really?"

Luquet ordered two whiskeys, then faced Mulder,
leaning on the bar with what appeared to be
nonchalance.  But Mulder knew better - Luquet's
whole stance was designed to deceive.  His words
were quiet, but firm, letting Mulder know he had
the temporary upper hand.  "I'm a friend of
Walter Skinner's.  Of Ana's.  Of *yours*.  Surely
you know this... Spooky."

It was much more difficult to know what laid
behind the man's mask than it was to gauge
Scully's feelings in similar garb.  He was a
dangerous enigma, and Mulder had learned long ago
that the world he lived in was not black and
white.  It was gray, with men like Deep Throat
handing out lies as easily as they did truths. 
Scully might give - if not her total trust, her
partnership - to Luquet, but he himself had no
intention of succumbing to claims of friendship
by Skinner proxy.

And it didn't surprise him one bit that Luquet
knew who he was - even with the mask obscuring
his features, and the beard beneath completing
the ruse.  Taking his drink from the bartender,
he leaned close.  "You're no friend of mine," he
muttered, the man's subtle impudence driving him
to anger.  "Or hers."

"Believe what you will," Luquet answered, his
narrowed gaze reflecting Mulder's anger back in a
steely look.  "You always do, don't you?"

The slam barely made a ripple in Mulder's ire; he
was used to being mocked in his search for the
truth.  If Luquet thought one more dig would make
him lose it, he was mistaken.  "I believe you
aren't who you say you are."

Luquet's impassive face hardly showed surprise,
but it was there in the lift of his eyebrow. 
"Really?  Perhaps you'd like to speak to Walter -
we go way back, he and I.  I think he would know
better than anyone who I am."

"The military and I go way back as well, Luquet,"
Mulder said, all the times he'd had a brush with
death at their hands coming back to lace his
voice with sarcastic venom.  "Forgive me if I
don't quite embrace you with enthusiasm."

"I no longer work for the government, Mr. Robie. 
I'm doing this as a favor to Walter." Something
in Luquet's stare told Mulder he knew all about
the military's involvement in the conspiracy; it
was confirmed when he added, "I haven't seen the
inside of the Pentagon in years, but I still hear
things.  Things maybe my former friends wish I
didn't know about."

Mulder pondered the admission for a moment; it
was possible Luquet had parted on bad terms with
his superiors, hence the noted lack of
information about his background and work for the
military.  "Are you saying there's no love lost
between you and the Pentagon?"

"I'm not saying anything, other than the fact
that I am who I say I am."

"I didn't say you weren't Robert Luquet," Mulder
clarified.  "Former master military spy,
respected businessman, avid golfer.  It's not
your identity in question here - it's your
motives."

"My motives have no bearing on this operation,
Mr. Robie.  I know very little about Ana's
purpose in New Orleans; she tells me nothing. 
I'm just an errand boy to her."

An errand boy?  A man like Luquet wouldn't sit
still while he watched a woman like Scully do all
the work.  Something in the hard line of Luquet's
jaw told Mulder he wasn't too happy in the role,
and Mulder suspected he was snooping around on
his own.  About Scully, about the mysterious Mr.
Robie - who he apparently could see through like
glass already.  Marvin had been very careful to
erase all traces of Fox Mulder before presenting
him as John Robie.  But this man had known who he
was long before he set foot in New Orleans,
possibly had known about the X-Files from the
beginning.  But why?

"No matter what you do for her, you know more
than she thinks you do.  Why she trusts you is
beyond my comprehension."

Luquet's jaw tightened, the first real sign of
his agitation with Mulder's questioning.  "Ana
trusts no one, Mr. Robie, haven't you figured
that out by now?  Seems to me if anyone can earn
her trust, it won't be *you*." He pulled the mask
from his face, letting it dangle from his
fingers.  "I'm not hiding, Mr. Robie.  I learned
long ago the best way to make your opponent tip
his hand is to show him one of your own cards."

The barb was well-timed and deadly.  Was Luquet
speaking of Strughold?  Or of Mulder himself?  He
didn't feel any better about Luquet now than he
had when the conversation began - in fact, his
anxiety had tripled in light of the man's self-
assurance and veiled comments.

Time to back off, Mulder knew.  It wouldn't do to
press him when the man was just as adept at doing
the same.  But he wasn't leaving without a
warning, which he delivered with soft
deliberation.

"I'm watching you."  Tossing the whiskey down in
one fiery gulp, he set his shot glass down on the
bar.  "She gets hurt in this, you'll answer to
me.  Understand?"

"I'm only doing what you're incapable of at this
moment, Robie.  Watching her back." Luquet
finished his drink with equal defiance, giving
Mulder one last glare of arrogance before walking
away.

He was too glib, too polished, Mulder thought, as
he watched Luquet stroll through the ballroom
doors.  And no amount of protest on his part
could make Scully see that.  Not now, anyway,
with her hurt and anger temporarily blinding her
to any question of Luquet's motives by him.

The bartender approached once again, but Mulder
waved him away, lost in his thoughts.  He was
tempted to follow the man; hell, he was even more
anxious to know where Scully had gone to.  Was
Luquet seeking her out now?  Regaling her with
the tale of his encounter with her former
partner, the reckless, impatient fool?  She knew
better than to believe a wild story - after all,
he'd done far worse in their history at the
Bureau, and anything Luquet told her she'd
probably laugh off as typical.  Either that, or
she'd waste no time telling Mulder to butt out. 
He felt as though he were hanging by a thread in
her good graces, poised to fall forever from her
life should he take one false step.

He'd never lived his life in such fear of
failure.  This feeling had nothing to do with the
endless journey to triumph over the Consortium's
plans; despite his depression during and after
his so-called "trial", he'd not given up hope,
mostly due to Scully's insistence they would
prevail.  No, it was the sense that she would
eventually abandon him that ate at his
confidence.  A most unusual circumstance, he had
to admit.  One that made him want to throw
caution to the wind and gamble with one final
deal of the deck.

"Hell," he muttered, giving in to the urge to do
something - *anything* but stand around while she
put herself in danger.  He moved from the bar,
following Luquet's path.  If nothing else, he
could keep an eye on the man.

He didn't have to go far; a flash of the tall,
broad-shouldered figure caught his eye.  Luquet
stood at the far end of the entrance hall, almost
obscured in the shadows beneath the staircase. 
His back to Mulder, he seemed engrossed in
conversation with a woman.  A very elegant woman,
dressed all in black.  Her face was masked, but
something about her statuesque profile and dark
hair struck Mulder with an instant of
recognition, though he couldn't place her.  He
sucked in a gasp - Diana?  Could it be possible? 
He'd seen the dead before, as ghosts, and
resurrected, whole bodies, courtesy of the old
"faked" death syndrome.  An advantage he himself
had indulged in once; it was a specialty of his
adversaries, he realized long ago.

This time, there was no way he was standing by. 
He had to know who the woman was, and he took a
step forward, confrontation on his mind.

A sudden flurry of activity near the mansion's
entrance made him look over the crowd.  Mulder's
gut clenched at the sight of several people
flying by in the hallway; had she been
discovered?  Shouts of dismay and confusion
blossomed around him, and the disturbance quickly
filtered into the ballroom, as many took up the
call to leave in a swarm from the doors behind
him.  His head whipping around back to Luquet, he
noticed the man coming quickly forward, the woman
he'd been talking to nowhere in sight.  Clenching
his jaw over his disappointment, he knew there
was something going on that demanded his
attention more than Luquet's shadowy friends. 
Scully.  He had to get to her.

"Where is she?  Where did she go?" he ground out,
grabbing Luquet's arm with tense belligerence. 
The man had better cooperate, and fast.  

But Luquet was already poised for flight, stopped
only by Mulder's restraining grasp.  "I don't
know.  She's not free with details."  Shrugging
off Mulder's hand, he added, "I'll find her."

"Not if I find her first," Mulder growled, taking
off after Luquet.

"Back off, Spooky," Luquet said, turning to face
him.  "You'll only cause trouble if you
interfere."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Mulder replied
softly, sidestepping Luquet and his muttered
curses.  He didn't like the idea of her leaving
with Luquet, but at the moment, getting her out
was his first priority, no matter who she left
with.  "You take downstairs, I'll take upstairs. 
First one to find her gets her the hell out of
here.  If she's been nabbed, we'll know it
shortly."

They didn't run, not wanting to attract more
attention to themselves than needed.  Mulder
turned a deaf ear to Luquet's protests of his
involvement, swearing to himself he was going to
win this particular race.

Depressing the microphone tucked in his jacket
lapel, he barked, "Marvin?"

"Already coming 'round, boss," came the harried
reply, the tiny receiver tucked in his ear almost
buzzing with Marvin's excitement. "Almost there."

"You see anything?"

"The police have arrived - why, I can't yet
ascertain.  Dupont is greeting them at the end of
the drive."

Why would the police show up at Dupont's bash? 
Drugs?  As he took the stairs two at a time,
dodging the exiting crowd, he felt a bit more at
ease, but not much.  "Hold until you hear from me
again."  Unless it turned out to be a bust of
some sort, he wasn't about to haul ass without
Scully.

"Right-o.  Fox, I see -" A biting crunch of
static broke through Marvin's words.

"Marvin?"  Nothing.  He tried again, but to no
avail.  They'd been cut off.  Some kind of
interference?  Natural or designed?  This wasn't
looking good at all.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he hoped
like hell it *was* a simple bust.  Marvin kept
telling him he had enough money and influence to
buy anything.  Sticky situations he could get out
of; it was a pity all the money in the world made
no difference to Scully.  Her wont to brave any
danger was doubly staunch and immovable.

Like he expected anything else; with any luck, he
wouldn't have to carry her out of there like a
caveman.  With the *best* luck, she'd leave with
him willingly.

"Yeah, right," he muttered, hitting the second
floor landing at a run.


*********


Scully stumbled down the dark hallway, cursing
her stiletto heels, as well as her ineptitude in
tripping a silent alarm.  She didn't understand
why she suddenly fumbled about like a green
agent; she could blame it on Mulder's bulldog act
at the party tonight, but she'd learned long ago
not to let a small upset like that shake her to
the point where she made such a colossal mistake. 
If it indeed, turned out that badly.  Hopefully,
she'd recognized the signals in the yard below
early enough to avoid the possible consequences. 
The warning of an intruder - if that's what the
ruckus was about - hadn't been raised until she'd
been in the safe for half a minute or more, a
delayed reaction of sorts.  She'd disabled the
security system with her pass key, so why the
sudden furor from Dupont's men?  The only outward
sign of trouble was the glare of flashing red
lights from the windows beyond.  She knew what
she was doing, damn it, and she *hadn't* tripped
an alarm.

It was no use whining about it now.  No matter
how treacherous her exit seemed, she had to make
it out.  She'd gotten what she came for, and it
was tucked away in her purse.  If she could only
find a way to circumvent the guards sure to come
running, she'd be home safe.  A muffled thump of
running feet came from around the corner and she
melted into a dark alcove at the end of the hall. 
She held her breath while the figures ran past,
the muted flash of badges alerting her to their
possible identities as policemen.  A span of two
seconds later, she sidled away... only to be
brought up short by a pair of strong arms, a hand
coming up to silence her gasp.  The whisper in
her ear was urgent, but typically flippant.

"We seem to be meeting in dark hallways these
days, don't we?  People will begin to talk."

Mulder.  At her sag of relief, he let his hand
fall away, and he pulled her with him in the
direction of the staircase.  But she nearly ran
into his back when he froze, tense and alert. 
The sound of more men thumping up the stairs made
her heart leap, and she wondered if this was the
moment they'd finally bite the bullet.  It was
inevitable that she and Mulder would face death
together - very appropriate.

But no... in the next second, she was dragged
through the closest door and into more darkness. 
The smell of starch and bleach tickled her nose,
telling her they'd hidden in the linen closet. 
She didn't reach for the light switch and neither
did Mulder; it was unsafe to allow even a
smattering of light to bleed under the door.  The
cramped quarters made her breathe a bit heavier,
especially when Mulder's hands came up to settle
on her arms.

"You okay?" he whispered, the smell of whiskey on
his words almost intoxicating.

Adrenaline still pumped through her veins, and
his proximity contributed to her unsettled
nerves.  She tried her best to calm down, knowing
a cool head in this situation was tantamount. 
But her shakiness ruled unconsciously, her hands
coming up to grab at his waist in an effort to
regain control.  She felt him stiffen instantly,
and she kept her voice low as she answered, "I'm
fine," hoping she hadn't given him a reason to
lash out with her simple gesture of needing
comfort.  She really was all right, and, after a
second or two of allowing his warmth to steady
her, she began to pull away.

"Stay still," he ordered softly, keeping a firm
grasp on her through the satin.  His hands felt
like red-hot brands on the fabric, and her body
reacted, jerking to escape the contact.  "Don't
move," he insisted again.  "We'll have to stay
here for a while, Scully."

It was no use arguing; he had a good point.  It
was best to wait until the clamor in the house
quieted.  They could avoid most of it if they
just waited it out.  "What's happening?" she
asked, wondering if he had any more insight into
the sudden alarm than she did.

"Marvin saw cops outside.  Did you trip an
alarm?"

"No!"  She hushed her burst of fury, lowering her
voice.  "I was on my way out of the study when
all hell broke loose."

She felt Mulder's gaze pinpoint her in the
dimness.  "Did you get what you came for?"

Should she tell him?  She hadn't yet told him
about the key, but then again, she'd only gotten
it from Robert a couple of hours ago, in the limo
on the way to Dupont's.  It was burning a hole in
her purse, along with what she'd snatched from
Dupont's safe.  Actually, the second item excited
her more than the key did, and she couldn't help
the satisfaction that colored her voice as she
said with a grin, "Yeah.  I have to find Robert
and get out of here."

"Don't trust him, Scully."

Something in Mulder's voice told her his plea
wasn't just based on jealous posturing.  "Why? 
Mulder, if you know something -"

"I'll explain later," he interrupted.  "Just
don't leave with him, okay?"

The warning in his words was sincere, sending a
chill of apprehension through her scantily clad
body.  Mulder never was the type to fabricate
fear - in fact, his instincts had always been
much better than hers.  If he sensed something
dubious about Robert's trustworthiness, he was
probably right.  She herself had found Robert a
bit too possessive lately.

She had no qualms about leaving the party alone;
Robert wouldn't question her decision, not
openly, anyway.  With the ruckus outside however,
she was likely to be detained, and she had to get
her prizes outside Dupont's perimeter.  Her
excitement dwindled at the realization that what
she carried could get her into big trouble very
quickly, if discovered.

"Mulder?"

"What?"

"If I don't make it out of here, take my purse."
To insure his cooperation, she let go of him,
slipping the purse from her shoulder to tuck it
into his coat pocket.  "You'll know why once you
open it, okay?"

His hand grabbed hers, the palm slightly damp. 
"No, Scully," he rasped, protest at what she knew
could be her capture raw and laced with alarm. 
"You're gonna make it out of here.  With me."

The music beyond the closet door came to an
abrupt halt.  Muffled shouts replaced the
previous sounds of revelry, and it was obvious
Dupont's party had screeched to a dead stop. 
Something had happened, and she had an awful
feeling she was somehow responsible - and that
she was moments away from arrest.  She wondered
how long she'd stay in lockup before conveniently
disappearing.  It seemed Mulder thought the same
thing; she didn't have to see his face to feel
his fear.  She chuckled, squeezing his hand,
trying to force some levity into what looked like
an increasingly dire circumstance.  "C'mon,
Mulder.  You might be the almighty Mr. Robie, but
you can't stop these men if they find out what I
was doing here - and what I'm carrying."

He hesitated, as if some inner battle raged.  She
heard his ragged breathing, felt his frustration
waft over her.  Suddenly, she was in his embrace,
crushed to him as he muttered against her lips,
"Scully."

That one word held more meaning than any he'd
spoken - he knew as well as she did there may not
be another time to kiss, another moment to speak
of regrets or hopes for the future.  He waited,
his breath warming her cold lips, his hesitation
one of hope she wouldn't deny him.

It wasn't fair, or wise, or any of the thoughts
borne of a thwarted goal that screamed out for
life in her mind.  She lifted her face to his,
tears burning the back of her throat.  Her hands
came up, pulling his head down in a silent,
urgent plea for understanding.  A sharp exhale
brushed her chin as he took her advance to be an
invitation to kiss - but she offered not her
lips, but her cheek.  His jaw stiffened under her
hands, and she bemoaned the instant he realized
she wouldn't give him that much intimacy.  

Mulder's hands came up, making quick work of her
mask and his.  Scully heard them hit the floor
with a barely-there crunch, felt the cool rush of
air on her face quickly replaced by the heat of
Mulder's angry face looming before hers.  His
hands tilted her face up; though it was dark in
the closet, she saw a sheen of glittering fury in
his eyes at her refusal to kiss him.

But she couldn't, not even in the face of their
discovery.  What he was asking of her threatened
to make her lose what little control she had left
- couldn't he see that?

The hands that trapped her face moved, and she
knew his reply to her rebuff when he dragged her
resistant form closer, his mouth not taking the
friendly offering of her cheek.  Instead, he
opened his mouth over the vulnerable skin over
her racing pulse, a tactic designed to invade and
overcome her resolve.

It worked, at least as far as making her body
tremble and her courage waver.  She sucked in a
surprised gasp at the feel of his tongue, its
rough texture darting and retreating, his lips
dry and firm as they created a turmoil within
her.  Her head succumbed to his subtle pressure,
falling back as she let him make forays into her
carefully constructed self-denial.

His short beard tickled her chin and she couldn't
decide if she liked it or not... then, in the
next instant, all thought flew from her head but
the realization that she had him back.  He
smelled the same, that familiar hint of sweat-
laced desperation on him that he'd always had
when making love to her, as if every time was to
be the last.  Through the dressing of unfamiliar
clothes, his body wrapped around her like a
seductive, ensnaring rope, a whipcord of hungry,
lean power bent on taking what she now freely
offered.

Kiss me, she cried silently.  But he didn't,
avoiding her attempts to face him once again so
their mouths could meet.  It was punishment, she
realized sadly, the opportunity for forgiveness
lost.

That they should be careful never crossed her
mind.  She twisted with him in the confines of
the closet, their panting breaths mingling with
the shouts from outside.  The sharp edge of the
shelving met her bare back; she sucked in a
breath of pain and found a hand slide between her
and the hard wood.  One manipulation of her body
after the other, in which she could barely come
up for air, followed his rejection of her kiss. 
She couldn't see, but she could feel... and her
blindness heightened the wave of lust that grew
in her. Leaning back, she let him mold her form
to his.

A soft moan punctuated each devouring slide of
his lips over her neck and face, breathed into
the humid air between them.  They came from her,
not him, she knew.  He silently seduced her with
an anger that she felt fading with every second
that passed.  He was not unmoved by the
acceptance she displayed, but he was adamant in
his control of the situation now.  With his
hypnotic touches, he called to her, and she gave
in to his pull, letting him insinuate himself
between her legs.  Their contact was broken
briefly as he dropped a bit, but he came back,
bold as ever, his free hand already sliding along
her bare leg under her dress, the slinky material
offering no resistance to his sexual inroads.

Scully shook herself from drugged obedience and
took up his silent challenge, nipping at his neck
while she dropped her hands.  One curled around
his hips, her nails scraping under his jacket to
pull and grasp at his butt; the other, made
greedy despite the definite inappropriateness of
their location, rubbed at the bulge between his
legs.

"Scully," he moaned in her ear, that one word
demanding she say what her body was most willing
to declare already.

"Yes," she breathed, at his insistence, bringing
her knee up in a slow slide of her leg along his.

Mulder reacted as she knew he would, his pelvis
grinding into hers.  She freed her hand, now
using them both to anchor his ass as she
reciprocated, arching the cradle of her hips to
accept the simulation of the sex act, her mouth
dragging over his jaw in a relentless journey to
the pulse that hammered in his neck.  Her lips
and tongue tasted of his skin, and she felt him
reciprocate, his mouth latching on to the
softness beneath her ear with greedy, slippery
suction.

It had been so long, and she was ready to leave
all good sense behind.  Dimly, she knew it was a
mistake... but she could no more stop it from
happening than she could the earth from spinning. 
Mulder was her mate, would always be - and, as
animalistic as this was, it was right.

Light burst behind her closed eyelids as his
fingers slipped beneath the skimpy thong
underwear.  She jerked at his hot, rough touch...
he followed, pursuing, pushing in -

"What the fuck is going on in here?"

The hiss broke through the haze surrounding them,
and Scully, after blinking away her surprise,
faced the intruder.  Her hands automatically came
up to turn Mulder's face away from the black
figure standing in the half-open door.  He
resisted, but she was firm, pulling away from him
as she placed herself between him and
recognition, her chin high and defiant.  "Do you
mind?" she barked out, hoping her voice held
enough outrage to convince their unexpected
interloper that he'd interrupted a clandestine
tryst.

Really, he had.  She admitted it to herself
freely, though she didn't care to delve any
deeper into herself for motive - not while they
were moments away from capture.

The man, cast in obscure shades of black,
stiffened, straightening as he ground out, "This
is very stupid of you... Ana."

A contemptible familiarity accompanied the
reprimand, and her reply was equal in disdain,
ignoring his personal encroachment to put the
situation back on professional footing.  "Robert. 
What's happening downstairs?"  She felt Mulder
step forward behind her, his animosity bristling;
reaching behind her, she put a hand on his arm to
hopefully calm him.

Robert hesitated a moment, as if he wanted to
continue arguing, then thought better of it as he
said, "Some idiot knocked over a candle - caught
the living room curtains on fire.  Dupont's
security system automatically called the fire
department and shut the place down.  C'mon, we've
got to get out of here before they turn the
lights back on."

Mulder hadn't said a word since they were so
rudely interrupted, and Scully wondered if he
would.  If possible, the arm beneath her hand
tensed up even more, but still, he said nothing,
only reached up with his other hand to grasp her
waist in a gesture of possession.

The challenge was issued silently - he was asking
her to choose.

Anger burst forth anew; how dare he make this
into such a personal matter?  She stepped out of
the closet, Mulder close behind, his hand still
holding her.  She knew he was staring down
Robert, who faced Mulder with equal intent to
fight.

She had to do something to diffuse the situation,
and fast.  But she was reluctant to let go of
Mulder, and she made it known, her fingers
tightening around his arm.  "Is there another way
out besides the main stairs?"

Robert held out his hand.  "This way.  Around the
corner - back stairs to the kitchen."

Scully ignored his outstretched hand and walked
quickly toward their escape route, Mulder close
behind.  "Let's go." From the corner of her eye,
she saw Robert follow.

As they gingerly but rapidly made it down the
stairs, Mulder released her waist, only to grab
hold of her hand.  She let him, his presence and
touch lending her a sense of security she sorely
needed, and was hard pressed to muster.  The
almost discovery in the study, followed by
Robert's censure, had shaken her a bit.  She
wasn't embarrassed by anything she'd done with
Mulder in the closet; she was more worried than
anything else at the moment - for Mulder.  The
way Mulder had spoken of Robert, his quiet
insistence the man was untrustworthy, gave her
some pause.  She could take care of herself, but
she wasn't about to let Mulder walk out of this
house alone.  She wanted him safely in Marvin's
clutches before doing anything else.

As they went out the rear entrance, the night air
came up to caress the hot flesh of her cheek and
neck, which stung a bit from the rasp of Mulder's
beard.  

Their masks!  Tugging at his hand, she forced him
to stop, her hand coming up to touch her face. 
She saw him catch on instantly as he followed the
path of her fingers with his gaze; he quickly
pulled her away from the lights and onto the
slippery grass, avoiding the press of party
guests milling about the paved walkways leading
to the house.  They gained access to the back
lawn without any trouble, and Scully was thankful
for the near darkness of the night, though the
emergency floodlights at the corners of the house
were a bit too revealing for her tastes.  Between
the two men, they ushered her out of sight of the
lights; they stopped some distance down the
sloping yard, looking back at the dying clamor
around the house.  Guests were lining up in the
drive to await their cars, and she saw Dupont
frantically flit from one couple to the next,
could hear him plea for them not leave, that the
party was just getting started.  Several people
passed them on their way to the line, their faces
curious at the obvious romantic triangle playing
out on the back lawn.

"Our car is waiting for us on the drive," Luquet
said, giving the curious few a 'mind your own
business' look.  "Ana?"

Before Scully could reply, the roar of an engine
bearing down on them made Mulder catch her close. 
They both looked up to see a limousine approach,
its tires spinning in the dewy lawn.  With a foot
or so to spare, it slid to a halt before them,
and Marvin got out, a pleased grin on his face as
he leaned on his door.

"Need a lift?"

Beside her, Mulder spoke, the first and only word
he'd said since being in the closet.  It sounded
just as husky and seductive as it had back there,
subtly tinged with need, though it wasn't the
name she really wanted to hear.  "Ana?"

She looked from Mulder to Robert, who'd walked a
few hurried steps to the drive, impatience etched
on his face.  Her escort jerked his head, almost
demanding she accompany him to their waiting car. 
A dozen thoughts sped through her mind, each one
coming back to the decision at hand.  There was
more at stake here than Mulder's pride, and she
hoped he realized why she was doing what she was
about to do.  She looked down at their clasped
hands, then back up to the muted yearning shining
from Mulder's eyes, feeling as if her whole world
slipped away from her as she slowly pulled her
hand free.  He held on for a span of heartbeats,
unwilling to let her go, the grip of his thumb
and fingertips recalling a similar scene of years
past.  As it was on her deathbed years ago, she
felt her existence dim, wondering if this parting
would eventually rival the finality they thought
it heralded back then.

No, she wouldn't let it.  Surely Mulder could see
this decision was for the best?  Please
understand, she begged him silently, keeping her
face expressionless in the shadow of Robert's
unceasing stare.

The instant hurt on Mulder's face caught her
breath; his gaze turned frosty, icing over his
emotions quickly as he half-turned, hands
withdrawing to seek the protection of his
pockets.  It was too much to bear; with as much
dignity as she could muster, she turned her back
on him and walked to Robert's side.  A few
moments later, Mulder's limousine whisked by,
throwing grass everywhere, the whoosh of its
departure stirring her hair.  Robert took her
hand; his dry, cool palm no match for the warm,
damp, vitality of the hand she left behind.


**********


Mulder felt Marvin's indecision behind him, could
hear it in the shuffle of his feet against the
expensive rug that covered the study floor. 
Pulling at his tie, he half-turned.  "Marvin,
would you get a fire going, please?  It's cold in
here."

"Sure," Marvin replied, relief flooding his
voice.

The hour was late, and he'd ignored Marvin's
attempts at conversation in the car on the way
out of the city.  He was pretty sure his friend
had an idea what went on at the party, especially
in light of Scully's silent, but pointed
departure.  But Marvin would never come right out
and ask, or throw around insinuating barbs in an
effort to satisfy his curiosity - he was too
polite.  One thing he wasn't, however, was a
pushover.  He'd made himself Mulder's protector,
a job he took very seriously.

Mulder's calm demeanor had to have rattled him a
bit, and truthfully, Mulder was angry at the way
she'd left him standing on that lawn.  But he was
determined not to show it, especially in front of
Marvin, who would use any show of rash behavior
as an excuse to keep Mulder locked in this
fortress.

He kept telling himself she'd done it because
Luquet was there.  That had to be it.  She'd
accepted what he'd said about Luquet and was
putting him off because she was naturally
reserved in front of an unknown, possible enemy.

That she'd denied him a kiss back in the closet,
he wasn't yet prepared to think about.  One
stumbling block at a time, he decided.

"Fox, I tried to tell you about the firemen
arriving on the scene, but the radio went out."
Marvin, acting on a misguided notion that he was
somehow to blame for their failed communications,
seemed bent on shouldering part of the blame for
the almost catastrophe.

"I know.  Don't sweat it, Marv."  He walked to
the bar and poured himself a stiff drink,
reaching for the first bottle his fingers
touched.  He really should watch it, he thought,
or he'd become the lush his father - Bill Mulder
- had been at the end.  But tonight, he brushed
aside those concerns, feeling the need for a bit
of numbing alcohol.

Scully's abandonment of him had hurt.  It was
really no more than he deserved, he supposed, but
it pierced him like a knife through the heart,
anyway.

Warmth filled the room from the fire in the
fireplace, but Mulder was still chilled.  He
moved to join a watchful Marvin before the orange
flames, bringing the tumbler to his lips before
sighing, "Go on.  Say it."

"Say what?"  Marvin stood in profile, his hands
in his pockets, though his gaze skittered over
Mulder, lingering a bit with distaste on the
liquor in his hand.  "That you drink too much?"

Mulder chuckled, dropping his chin.  "Actually,
that wasn't what I thought you'd say."

"But it's the truth."

"It is," Mulder conceded, handing Marvin the half
empty glass.  He faced his friend, lifting his
shoulders from their defeated slump, drawing
strength from Marvin's subtle admonishment. 
"Would you make some coffee?"

Marvin took the false courage from Mulder's hand,
throwing it into the fire.  The vodka went up in
a cleansing ball of fire in an instant, leaving
the fire strong and hot.  He grinned, his faith
in Mulder apparent in his satisfied face.  "Of
course.  But at this late hour, I think it should
be decaf.  You've had a long day."  He walked
away toward the study door.

"And it's about to get longer," Mulder murmured,
turning as he craned his neck to and fro,
stretching the muscles on his weary, stiff torso. 
"I think you'd better sideline the unleaded
tonight.  I'm gonna need all the caffeine I can
get."

Wary surprise made Marvin turn around, his hand
resting on a wing-backed chair as he struck a
curious pose, his eyes narrowing.  "We're not
thinking of braving the streets again, are we,
Fox?  Because I have to tell you I think it's
foolhardy, not to mention hazardous after
tonight's -"

"We're not going anywhere, Marvin," Mulder
interrupted softly.  Grinning at Marvin's
confusion, he reached into his pocket.  The
slinky purse dangled from his fingers as he
watched Marvin's consternation dissolve into an
admiring lift of his chin.  "This time, the
mountain will come to Mohammed.  Or John Robie,
as the case may be."

"I'll prepare a tray for two," Marvin said, his
smile contained, but cautious.  "In case the lady
wishes for a light repast.  *If* she comes."
He scurried out the door, his excitement palpable
in the way his usual smooth walk deteriorated 
into a scramble for the kitchen.

Mulder watched him leave, shaking his head at the
way Scully managed to throw everyone off-kilter,
even the usually implacable Marvin.  Back at
Dupont's, Mulder had lost his head as well,
giving in to her allure while danger lurked
outside the closet walls.  But not now.  He had
something she wanted - and the negotiations were
just beginning.  So she didn't want personal
issues to cloud her investigation, did she?

That was too damned bad.

"Oh, she'll come, Marvin." Mulder weighed the bag
in his hand, feeling its contents poke through
the flimsy satin and sequins.  "Who knows?  Maybe
she'll stay."



End Chapter Eight