Gabriel
Chapter Nineteen


En route to Helena
September 24, 2001
6:25 p.m.


He hit the roof of the car with a dull thud and
immediately began sliding around on its snowy
surface as the train picked up speed.  Muttering
a muffled, "Shit!" he flailed, his numb fingers
searching for purchase as he spread-eagled his
body.  The train's forward motion worked against
him and he began to move backward on the roof of
the car, moments away from falling off the end. 
At last, he felt something sticking up from the
metal and he grabbed hold, wincing at the pull
on his shoulder.  It took some effort, but he
brought his other hand up, reinforcing the clamp
on what he now knew was an antenna.  Dropping
his head against the biting wind, he said a
quick, silent thanks for the skinny piece of
modern technology, hoping it continued to hold
out against his dragging weight.

By the time his heart rate had settled down and
he was able to squint against the blowing snow,
he saw the train had left the outskirts of the
city.  Not that he could see anything, really. 
Other than the black walls of trees to either
side of the tracks.  But it was what he couldn't
see that told the tale - lights.  No more city
lights.  He estimated they were now moving at
about forty miles per hour; not as fast as these
trains normally moved, but prudent, given the
weather.

Squirming, he swung his legs around and faced
the back end of the car, still hanging on for
dear life.  Relief made his frozen face crack
into a pseudo-grin when he saw he was only a few
feet from the back edge.  Easy to drop onto the
platform below.

Except for one thing.  As he peered over the
edge, he saw the unmistakable glow of a
cigarette.  Damn.  He should have known they'd
post a guard at the back of the train.  Though
the man looked like he'd much rather be inside,
dancing from one foot to the other as he stood
huddled in the wind, his rifle slung over his
back.

Gabriel's hands were almost frozen to the
antenna and he knew they weren't going to be
much good, but he also knew he couldn't stay
where he was, either.  Taking the man out was
risky; besides the chance of discovery should
his battered body fail him in the attempt, there
was bound to be someone checking on the guard
now and then.  He didn't want to arouse
suspicion by tossing the man over the side. 
They wouldn't stop the train for such an
insignificant menial, anyway.  But they would
conduct a thorough search for possible foul play
involved and he needed time to pass before he
made his presence known.

It seemed the gods were smiling upon him... the
guard took a quick look inside, then reached in
his coat.  He stumbled back, bringing a flask to
his lips.  It suddenly occurred to Gabriel that
the guard's swaying wasn't due to the train's
movement, nor was it an attempt to stay warm. 
The man appeared to be well on his way to
drunkenness, slumping on the stool by the
railing as he downed the rest of the liquor.  He
threw the flask over the side and crossed his
arms, settling in for the ride.  It took only a
few minutes before his head lolled to and fro; 
he was lost to sleep.

His chance upon him, he hoped he had enough
feeling left in his frozen body to ease down to
the platform.  Taking a deep, bracing breath, he
scissored his legs and let himself slide over
the edge, not knowing where he was going to
land.  He hung like a rag doll in the wind for a
second or two, constantly looking at the guard
for any sign of discovery.  But there was none; 
even above the roar of the train he could hear a
heavy snore flooding from the man's open mouth.

As Gabriel's boots finally touched the platform,
he grimaced, biting back a bellow of pain. 
Hundreds of tiny needles shot up his legs and he
swayed, grabbing onto the railing as the tracks
below wavered under his queasy gaze.  Quickly
glancing at the passed-out guard, he held his
breath as the man stirred, but didn't open his
eyes.  Hurry, he told himself.  No time to waste
in getting inside.

Fighting the cold and his lethargic limbs, he
turned, taking the door handle with numb
fingers.  It slid easily and he crept in,
narrowing his eyes against the bright lights of
the corridor.  Blessed warmth hit him in the
face and he forced his legs to carry him the few
steps to Julia's door.   Glancing down the hall
with panic, he heard the flush of a toilet
coming from the front of the car.  But her door
was locked; quickly but softly, he knocked,
praying she'd open the door in time.

"Who is it?"

Unbidden, it rose from his lips. "Mu -" But he
stopped just short, instead offering with a
shivering murmur, "Gabriel.  Or Moe.  Or Marty,
or whoever -" Please open up, Scully, he begged
silently.

His words died a swift death as he found himself
pulled into the room.  The lock clicked behind
him and a human ball of scented warmth
surrounded him, squeezing tight.

"Gabriel - oh, Gabriel."  Her voice was choked
with tears.  "The guard outside..."

He fell back against the door and gently
enfolded her into his embrace, rubbing his cheek
over the crown of ribboned hair.  "Shh... it's
okay.  He didn't see me."

Her arms clutched at him with desperate relief.
"When they came and told me we were leaving
tonight," she hiccuped, burying her nose into
his chest, "God, I never thought I'd see you
again."

Her fright was palpable in the shaky words. 
Shivering like he was, though not from cold, she
held on for dear life, as if she thought he'd
disappear.  "It's okay, Julia." He pulled away,
dropping a kiss on her brow.  "You aren't going
anywhere without me."

Lifting her damp face to his, confusion clouded
her eyes.  "But how did you know?"

He smiled, brushing away the last of her tears
with his reddened hand.  "The Colonel has his
ways."

She nodded, complete trust shining in her gaze. 
"I should have known. Is he responsible for this
too?" Her fingers pulled at the pitifully short
sleeves.  Bringing one hand up, she lightly
touched his cheek.  "Your beard is growing
back," she said absently, then worry creased her
forehead.  "And you're cold.  Come, sit over
here by the heater."

As she pulled off his coat, Gabriel surveyed the
room.  It was bigger than the normal passenger
drawing room, twice the size or more.  With a
small bed at one end, a couch and low table at
the other, it was made for comfortable travel
and isolation.  A door to the left of the bed
most likely led to a tiny bathroom.  The whole
compartment was decorated with tapestry rugs and
soft, indirect lighting, and a built-in, small
electric heater glowed in the wall by the couch. 
It looked as though Grandpa had spared no
expense on his personal mode of transport.

The rush of adrenaline had not faded, and he
found he couldn't sit, instead standing before
the heater in an effort to warm up as she sat on
the couch.  "You okay?" he asked, watching her
lay his coat tenderly beside her.

"Now I am," she said softly, giving him a look
that helped warm him more than the orange glow
that crept up his back.

For a few moments, he let his gaze wander over
her.  The cloak had hidden her garb from him at
the depot, and he was gratified to see she'd
dressed sensibly for the trip.  Covered in a
bulky, deep green sweater and matching knit
pants, her small black boots laced up tight, she
looked like a Colorado native on her way up the
mountain for a ski trip.  He was glad she wasn't
in one of those thin dresses; her clothes would
definitely help keep her warm once they left the
train behind for good.  Even more exhilarating
was the cross that laid upon the shiny velour,
nestled above her breasts in familiar, happy
repose.

Noticing his pleased gaze, she let her fingers
come up to touch it.  "I told him I wanted it
back, that it was mine."  Standing, she crossed
over to him, unfastening it.  "But it isn't -
it's yours."

"Julia, no."  He tried to stop her; it wasn't
his, not really.  He'd been gifted with it long
ago, but it had always been hers, would always
be.  He longed to tell her that its rightful
place was with her, but that would involve an
explanation he wasn't prepared to give.

His body reacted to her proximity, stiffening in
spite of the thaw of skin and bone.  She didn't
relent, her hands coming up around his neck with
the chain.  "It looks better on you, anyway."

And it felt wonderful; he nodded, unable to give
voice to just how much it meant to them both. 
How much he loved her, needed her.  But she
knew, mirroring his bright gaze with one of her
own, a small smile gracing her lips.  A sudden
lurch of the train threw her into him, and her
hands fisted in his denim shirt as his grabbed
her waist.  Her eyes darkened, but her voice was
calm as she gave him the means to move past his
emotional pause.  "What's the plan?"

"Huh?"  What the hell was she talking about? 
God, he thought, she felt good.  All round and
covered with warm green that felt like silk
under his calloused hands.

"The plan, Modell."

"Modell?"  Jesus, even the name had the power to
scare the shit out of him.  Still, though it had
been years since their encounter with that
smooth monster.

Apparently, she felt his heart speed up under
her fingertips and she said, "Relax, Gabriel. 
Just fishing."

It still amazed him that the little tidbits
continued to make their way out of her
subconscious mind and he chuckled, "Definitely
not Modell.  What the hell kind of name is that,
anyway?"  He knew damn well it wasn't a name
*he'd* ever consider taking for himself, but he
didn't want her to see the memory of that case
in his face.

"A last name."  Her probing gaze was steady. 
"After all, Scully is a last name, isn't it?  It
occurred to me today that last names could have
been the norm, don't you agree?"  She dropped
her eyes to his mouth and licked her lips.

Great.  Inch by inch, she was getting closer to
the truth about him and he was powerless to stop
it.  A diversion was needed, and fast.

"The Colonel and his men are going to hijack the
train."

It was her turn to say, "Huh?"

"The plan, remember?"

"Oh yeah, right."  Clearing her throat, she
stepped away and he inwardly bemoaned the loss
of her in his hands.  "Hijack the train? 
Where?"

"Somewhere between Cheyenne and Helena."  He
smiled, knowing she was just as affected by him
as he was by her.  "We can take it up into
Canada.  Into friendly territory."  Lots of time
to explain later about the safe harbor Skinner
had hewn out in British Columbia.

When she reached the bed she turned, worry
etched upon her face.  "But what about Matthew?"

"What about him?"  He knew where she was going,
but he couldn't let sympathy for the boy get in
the way of their escape.

"We're going to Helena because Mr. Spencer has
found a doctor there who says he can cure him. 
Gabriel, we can't let him die."

Damn it, he knew she wouldn't want to leave the
boy behind to die.  "Julia, I feel sorry for
Matthew, really."  He followed her retreat, his
feet bringing him to stand before her as he let
his hands settle on her shoulders.  "But this is
our chance to escape."

"Escape?  You make it sound like I'm being held
prisoner, Gabriel.  I can leave any time I
want."

"Can you?" he pressed, knowing the path he was
taking was dangerous, but necessary.  "Julia,
did you tell Mr. Spencer you wanted to stay at
the Ranch, to not go on this trip?"

"Yes, but he insisted Matthew needed me.  He
said Matthew was scared and needed a friend for
the journey."

"Julia, Matthew is an innocent, caught in the
middle of this.  But Mr. Spencer is not the
benevolent soul he's made himself out to be."

It was inevitable, her, "How do you know this?"

"A husband?" he pointed out with a subtle sneer.
"Julia, I know damn well you don't have a
husband."

"That doesn't mean Mr. Spencer had anything to
do with his arrival. *He* gives me the creeps,
not Mr. Spencer."

"Julia, you know I can't explain all this right
now.  You just have to trust me on it, okay?" 
He drew her close; thankfully, her resistance to
his plan did not extend itself to his bodily
invasion, as she let herself sink into his
embrace.  "I'm sorry about Matthew, really.  But
if we let this train make it undisturbed to
Helena, there will be too many of Spencer's
guards around for us to get away easily."  A
little white lie followed, one he knew she'd not
question.  "The company is still looking for me. 
We have to get away as fast as we can.  You
understand, don't you?"

She plucked at the back of his shirt, regret
coloring her muffled voice.  "Yes.  Doesn't mean
I have to like the results of our plan, as far
as Matthew's concerned."

"We'll have a truck nearby.  Won't get them
there as fast as the train, but it'll get them
there, okay?"  Sans the old man, he added
silently.  No way was he letting that bastard
get off this time.

She sighed.  "I guess that'll have to do."

There was one thing he needed to do, something
he dreaded telling her.  Fact was, he wasn't
going to tell her.  Not everything, anyway.  But
he had to slow the train down, and it was sure
to get him captured in the end.  She wasn't
going to like it, but he had to rely on Frohike
to get them both out when the time came.

Not yet, though.  They were still too close to
Denver.  Another hour or two and they would be a
good hundred miles down the track.  Well enough
away from reinforcements.

He dropped his mouth to her ear, giving it a
playful nip.  "Got anything to eat in here?"

Her mood lightened instantly, as she shook in
his arms, laughter warming his chest.  "Besides
my ear lobe?"

"Mmm... on second thought..." He caught the
tender flesh between his teeth.  "This might
do."

Julia shoved him away and flashed him a
chastising look as she moved to the door.  "I
told them I wasn't feeling well enough to dine
with them, but I can get something sent back
here."  Her thumb hovered over the intercom
button.  "You're staying, aren't you?"  The look
in her eyes was hopeful and warm, tinged with a
subtle hint of desire.

God, he knew he had to kill some time, but would
he be able to resist the invitation he knew
would come?  It was foolish to succumb to the
siren call of her body, especially in the middle
of enemy territory, so to speak.  But he
couldn't deny he wanted it, just as she did. 
Hot food, the rolling lull of the train, the
slumberous pull of her mouth and eyes... it was
impossible to deny himself.

"Will they leave you alone?"  His question was
husky and hopeful as he swallowed hard in the
face of her beauty.  She knew as well as he did
that there was a good chance this plan may never
come to fruition.  That he'd get caught on this
train and imprisoned like a criminal; they'd be
separated forever.  And God help him, he wanted
to spend time with her before all hell broke
loose.  He hadn't come here for this, but damned
if he was going to deny himself - and her - the
possible last chance for intimacy.

"I'll tell the servant I'm turning in for the
night.  As long as I show up for breakfast, they
won't disturb me."

He felt like he'd been handed an unexpected
gift.  With a pleased lift of his lips, he
walked to the bathroom door, throwing over his
shoulder, "Then tell them to make sure it's hot,
whatever it is.  Soup would be nice... I think
my toes are frozen."

As he sought his hiding place, he heard her
murmur, "Not for long... Michaud."

Pausing, he stuck his face through the crack of
the bathroom door and met her inquisitive eyes
with a regretful shake of his head.

"Too French?"  At his nod, she sighed and turned
back to the intercom, pushing the buzzer with
frustration.  "I should know better - you can't
possibly be French."

"I can when I want to be," he whispered with a
leer, closing the door on her blush as the
intercom burst to life.

"Miss, can I get something for you?  Miss? 
Hello?"


**********


7:45 p.m.


The last of his dinner was swallowed down with
the remains of his finally cooled tea.  With a
grimace, he set his cup down on the coffee table
pulled the knife from his boot, placing it
beside the cup.  Ignoring her raised brow at the
sight of the weapon, he kicked off his boots and
leaned back on the couch, propping his feet. 
Toes wriggling in his socks, he looked up to
meet her somnolent gaze.  "Next time, make it
iced tea, okay?" he poked playfully, admiring
the way she lounged crossways the bed on the
other side of the semi-dark room.  Julia had
doused the overhead lights, leaving a single
lamp burning by the bed.  The night passed
through the windows, peppered with white
snowflakes, the only sound the hum of the
train's wheels beneath them.

Head propped in one hand, she'd watched him eat,
refusing to share in the repast when it had been
delivered, saying, "I don't think my stomach can
take the food.  This movement is not setting
well with junior here."  When he'd approached
her with concern, she'd waved him off.  "He's
just a bit excited, that's all.  I fear the
chili would explode above his bouncing - and I
don't feel like being sick.  I'd rather wait for
dessert."  She'd kicked off her boots and
winked, climbing onto the bed like Cleopatra on
her barge, lazily drifting down the Nile amidst
luxury.

Now, as one hand pulled at her braided hair, she
murmured, "I like my tea hot... I like a lot of
things hot.  At least I think I do."

Admittedly, she looked very much at home in
their opulent surroundings, her pale skin and
loosened hair reminiscent of a pre-Raphaelite
femme fatale.  Yes, his thoughts were definitely
beginning to wander into 'French' territory.

She shook her hair free, then tied it loosely at
the neck with the ribbon before grabbing a
pillow from behind her.  She laid her cheek upon
it with a purr of contentment.  "Gabriel?"

He slid into a slump, his hands coming together
atop his pleasantly full belly.  "Yeah?"

Her face mostly hidden in the shadows of the
back-lighting, he couldn't tell if she was
tiring.  Though her voice was soft as she asked,
"You knew me before, didn't you?"

He'd already said so, with his agonized
confession that she was Scully back at the
cabin.  But he knew what she was asking was
different; she wanted confirmation that they had
been more than just friends.  The baby was
hopeful proof in her mind, as well as their
stolen hours just last night.  What else did she
need?  "Julia."  It was a warning, albeit a very
weak one.

"Just say yes or no."

He looked down at his clasped hands, away from
the pull of her voice.  "Yes."

Long moments passed as he waited for the obvious
question to come next.  Should he tell her his
name?  Would it be the trigger that would set
off another seizure?  Resolute, he clamped his
jaw over the name.  No way was he taking that
chance.

"Give me something."

The tender plea brought his head up with
surprise; it wasn't what he'd expected.  "What
do you mean?"

"Give me a memory.  It doesn't have to be
detailed - I know you're wary of my reaction. 
Just give me something of *us.*" She paused in
the face of his hesitation, then began to pursue
with innocent questions.  "When we first met...
tell me.  Please?"

Squirming just a bit, he considered lying, then
thought better of it, deciding instead to be
vague.  At least she hadn't asked about the
first time they'd made love.  What a disaster
that had been, for her, anyway.  "You had on
this horrible plaid jacket and I had on
glasses."  That he had to remove so he could get
a better look at the little spy invading his
lair.  So young, so... pretty, even in that
awful suit.  So dedicated and honest.

From where he was seated, he almost missed the
way her mouth dropped open.  "We were geeks?"

Julia... Scully.  Whoever she was now, whoever
she finally evolved into, he liked this side of
her.  For years, her smiles had been fleeting; 
around him, anyway.  She'd been compassionate
and dedicated, willing to play now and then, but
never fully receptive - she always kept a part
of herself in check.  Had she ever been this
open, this easy in word and manner?  He had a
sinking feeling that she had been, before she'd
been assigned to him.  He'd seen flashes of it
their first few months together, but they'd
quickly faded as she'd built a wall of
protection around herself.  Against the horrors
of the job, the manipulations of the men behind
the scenes... even against him, and what she
wrote off as harmless flirtation.

He liked this Scully.  Of course, he liked the
old Scully, too.  And he wanted her back.  But
he dearly hoped she'd retain some of Julia's
happiness and carefree, loving nature.

"Gabriel, please tell me we weren't geeks."  She
was appalled, and he couldn't help the chuckle
that rumbled from him.

"No... well, yeah, I guess you could say that." 
By today's standards, they'd been the most
horrid dressers - he still cringed when he
thought of that sportscoat he'd worn to Oregon. 
Even the well-worn denim attire he walked around
in these days was more attractive than that
reject from J.C. Penney.  "But the room was
dark, so it didn't matter."

Her lips curled into a flirting smile.  "Two
strangers whose eyes met across a dim, smoke-
filled room?"

Considering the hand his father had most
probably played in their partnership, he nodded,
knowing even then the basement had been tainted
with imaginary cigarette smoke.  "You introduced
yourself, I shook your hand."

"Then you bought me a drink...?"

He moved in for the kill, now enjoying their
play.  "Actually, we bypassed the obligatory
drink and I showed you my etchings."

"What?!"  She rose to one elbow, aghast at his
implication.  "You're kidding me."

"Nope.  Very provocative pictures, really." 
Arms crossed, he brought to mind the first of
many slideshows, titillating her mind and
peaking her curiosity.  He congratulated himself
on the right approach back then; she stayed
because she was just as interested in the
unexplainable, though for different reasons. 
His wicked grin slashed above his stubbled jaw. 
"You threw yourself at my head, Julia.  Dropped
your clothes before me like you'd known me
forever."  In a hotel room in Oregon, afraid the
bites on her back were more than just hungry
mosquitoes in search of a sweet snack.

"You're not serious."  Her denial was a thready
whisper and she sat up, looking away.  "No
wonder I've forgotten my life.  I was a slut...
God, is that why I'm pregnant?  Did I ever use
birth control?"

Playing was one thing, but her mind was racing
out of control.  He stood, running into the
coffee table in his haste to get to her. 
Cursing under his breath, he gasped, "Julia,
no."

"If I slept with you on our first date..." Her
conclusions escalated rapidly, as did the tone
of her voice, the words choking from her lips. 
"You say I have no husband."  Frightened eyes
lifted at his approach.  "What if I do?  What if
I'm just a whore who decided she wanted someone
new?  This baby could belong to *anyone*."

Finally, he reached the bed, dropping to one
knee on the coverlet as he loomed over her,
putting a stilling hand on her cheek.  "Julia,
you are *not* a whore.  You have no husband, and
that baby is mine.  Damn it, we knew each other
for eight fucking years before I even kissed
you!"

Astonishment blossomed on her face, now inches
from his own.  "Eight years?  I mean - look at
you.  Look at *me*.  Was I blind?  Were *you*
blind?"

For a woman with no memory, she sometimes made
perfect retro-sense.  "No, just very
professional."  He ran his thumb over her
flaming cheek and smiled.

Sighing, she pursed her lips.  "Then I wasn't a
whore."

"Right."

"I was a prostitute.  And you were the cop on
the beat who felt sorry for me."

"No!  Damn it, Julia -" He broke off, noticing
the mirth she could no longer hide.  Despite his
waning anger, he decided he liked her very much,
indeed.  "Witch."

Bringing a hand around his neck, she pressed her
mouth to his chin.  "You're a bad liar, you know
that?"  Her lips wandered down his neck as he
planted his hands on the bed to either side of
her, stretching above her like a satisfied tiger
under her petting.  "Etchings?  I'm the artist,
remember?  And eight years?  Who would ever
believe we kept our hands off of each other for
eight years?  Gimme a break, Slick."

Groaning, he was careful not to put his full
weight on her as he followed her fall to the
bed.  This time, it was her slender throat that
enjoyed the nip of his kisses.  "That part is
true, you know," he muttered against her skin. 
"Eight long, frustrating, years where I took a
lot of cold showers and gave my right hand lots
of exercise."

"Amazing," she breathed, her hands moving to the
buttons on his shirt.  "Maleeni?"

Stilling, his mind insisted he ask, "Julia, are
you *sure* you can't remember anything but the
vaguest details?"

Giving his ear a shiver-inducing swipe with her
tongue, she whispered, "Are you sure you're not
French?"

Snickering silently, he pulled away, arching his
brow with a leer.  "Little girl," he purred,
affecting his best French accent, "want to see
me pull a lapin out of my chapeau?"

"Your French is horrible, Bullwinkle."

"How do *you* know, Rocky?  Besides, that's not
my best French.  This is."  He lowered his lips
to hers.

Her squirrely whine tickled his lips.  "Again?" 
As his tongue darted out to wet her soft, dry
lips, her voice became low, throaty, and
demanding.  "Again."



End Chapter Nineteen