Julia
Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 9. 2001
9:20 p.m.


The door opened, a slice of harsh fluorescent
light slashing across the floor.  Mulder
stumbled in, leaning back against the door to
close it, his face hidden in the shadows.

"Julia?"

Julia sighed, thankful he'd not spoken the name. 
She rose from the couch and he spotted her
immediately, holding out a hand.  Relief at the
sight of him spurred her on and she crossed the
room like a thief, grabbing him in an embrace.

Mulder tensed at once, then relaxed and enfolded
her in his arms, his lips resting in her hair.

"Julia."  The whisper inflamed her and she
tightened her circle around him, burrowing her
nose into his chest.  "You have it?"

It took her a moment to realize he was speaking
of the manifest.  She nodded against the warmth
of his sweatshirt.  If he wasn't sure before, he
couldn't help but know it was her now.  With a
smile, she pressed into him even further.

Mulder inhaled sharply under her cheek and Julia
was suddenly aware of something that wasn't
quite right... a rusty iron smell that
overpowered his natural scent.  She pulled away
in panic, then rushed back when he slumped in
response to her withdrawal.

What had they done to him?  Was this because of
the missing manifest?  Had they noticed
Skinner's was gone?  Would they come looking for
it?

She knew he felt her questions.  He rushed to
explain, in a louder voice meant for the bugs,
"I'm not supposed to leave the office with them. 
So I brought them back - piece of cake.  I just
made a mistake, that's all."

A mistake?  They hurt him like this for a
mistake?  With frantic hands, she drew his arm
around her shoulder and led him to his bedroom,
her lips forming his name over and over, though
he couldn't hear her silent pleas.

"I'm all right," he murmured.

No, you're not! she wanted to scream.  Don't
tell me you're okay;  I know better than that.

"Really, Julia.  I'm fine."  His words were
slurred.  A head injury?  The endless
possibilities of the severity of his injuries
fluttered through her mind, each one worse than
the last.

Finally they made it to the bed, where she
helped him to sit, then flicked on the lamp.  A
soundless gasp escaped her lips at the sight of
his face.  His right eye was puffy and the cheek
below it was scraped and bruised; a small cut on
his lip completed the puzzle.

Someone had backhanded him.  Hard.  Julia
seethed, a red haze misting her eyes.

Noticing her response, he tried to smile at her,
grimacing when he pulled too hard on his split
lip in the attempt.  "It's not as bad as it
looks, believe me, Julia."  Raising a hand to
his mouth, he wiped at the oozing cut.  "It's
already stopping, see?"

Irritation flashed in her eyes and she pursed
her lips, bringing her hands to his head. 
Feeling through his short hair, she avoided his
piercing gaze.  It seemed as though he was
trying to see under her skin.  Drinking in her
every move with dark, greedy eyes.

"That is so you," he said under his breath,
knowing as she did that it was likely their
every move was being monitored.  While he'd been
gone, Julia had considered sweeping the
apartment for bugs.  But it was not something a
concubine would do and it took all of her will
to tamp down the ingrained urge.

<Shut up, Mulder,> she mouthed and was rewarded
with half-hearted grin.  She snapped her
fingers in front of his face and he complied,
tracking the sweep of her index finger with
complacent eyes.

After allowing a moment of her worry, he grasped
her hand and brought it down, tracing the fine
bones with his thumb.  He drew in a shaky
breath, his eyes dropping to look upon their
clasped hands.  "I should have known.  Still the
same..."  His eyes were unblinking as they
abandoned the lure of their clasped hands to
lock with hers.  "But not."

Sadness heightened his cheekbones with sharp
color and regret bloomed in the shadows under
his eyes.  And something else... simmering in
the air between them, rising up like steam.  He
was remembering; picturing her hands upon his
skin.  She could see the memory in the black
pupils ringed with gold.

Julia flushed, remembering their aborted tryst
in the shower not so long ago.  Suddenly, she
felt sickened by her earlier behavior.  Had she
so lost herself to the role of concubine that
she used it as an excuse to touch him?  At the
time, she'd told herself that comfort was the
goal.  Easing his pain the only way she could;
the only way he would let her.  Now, it seemed
so tawdry.  So unlike Scully.

Unable to withstand the disgust in his gaze, not
knowing if she could trust herself to remain
strong enough to tend to his injuries, her eyes
broke away, settling upon the pulse that
steadily beat in the column of his throat.

"We need to talk," he whispered.  At her
continued avoidance of him, his voice took on a
sorrowful plea.  "Julia... we need to talk."

<No, you need to rest,> she signed, standing and
moving away to the bathroom.  Trying to avoid
his questions, she wet a hand towel and searched
his vanity for something to tend his cuts.  She
slammed the doors with anger; he didn't even
have a bottle of antiseptic.  How did he live
like this?

"Julia."

Not even a bottle of mouthwash.  Maybe if she
dawdled enough he'd forget about talking... she
turned to the cabinet above the toilet.

"God damn it!"  The muffled thump made her turn.

Mulder was on one knee at the foot of the bed,
grabbing his side with a grimace.  As she rushed
back to his side, he held up a hand.  "I'm okay. 
Adrenaline's wearing off."

The urge to cry overwhelmed her, but she tamped
it down as she helped him up to sit back on the
bed.  His hiss of pain spurred her on and she
dropped the towel to gently pull his sweatshirt
over his head, blanching at the sight of the
reddened skin on his right side.  Mulder saw her
reaction and caught her hands before she could
touch him.  "Nothing.  It's nothing," he
whispered fiercely.  "The guards were a little
rough, that's all."

Pulling her hands away, she brought furious eyes
to his. <What if your ribs are broken?  Or
worse?  Internal bleeding.>

"They're not broken.  I've had broken ribs
before, *Julia.*"  His raised eyebrow punctuated
the name.  "I think it's just a bad bruise."

<Let me check anyway, please?> She pleaded with
her eyes as well as her shaking hands.

To her relief, he sighed and nodded, letting his
hands fall to grip the comforter.  Julia began
by picking up the wet towel to wipe the blood
from his face, her touch firm but soft.  He kept
still, though she could feel his gaze touch upon
every new curve of her face.

Keeping her mind on her task, the only outward
betrayal of her wavering confidence was the hot
color that crept up her cheeks.  He was studying
her, adjusting to the subtle differences in her
bone structure.  Her face wasn't really all that
changed; after all, he'd mistaken her for Scully
when they'd first met in the shadows of the
living room.

She stilled at the brush of his fingers on her
face, holding her breath for a second.  Other
than the seemingly endless parade of surgeons,
it was the first time anyone's hands had touched
her face besides her own.  It was rather
unnerving, like it was a pop quiz she had to
pass or risk missing graduation.  The feeling
was silly and she knew it.  With an inward
rebuke at her nervousness, she resumed her
cleanup.  This was Mulder; he wasn't going to
hurt her.

Julia let him explore while she washed the dried
blood from his lips and face.  His fingers
touched the square jaw, tracing the bluntness of
it with the wonder of new discovery.

Satisfied his facial injuries were minor, she
dropped to her knees before him and laid her
hands at his waist.  Again, he drew in a quick
breath, but said, "Cold.  Your hands are cold."

<Sorry,> she mouthed, then continued to probe at
the already bruising skin over his right side. 
Other than a muffled, "Watch it," when she
touched a particularly tender spot, Mulder
didn't flinch.  After a minute of examination,
she determined that he was right.  Nothing
broken.  But she was going to keep an eye on him
anyway, whether he liked it or not.

All the while she worked, he kept touching her
face.  She sat back on her heels and watched his
eyes follow the path of his fingers to her nose. 
His brow creased with sadness.  "What happened?
Accident?  Were you hurt?"

Pain rose in her chest at the choking questions.
He thought she'd been injured.  It was a natural
assumption; it would never occur to him that she
might have done this of her own free will.  With
a small shake of her head, she dismissed his
worry, then watched as his confusion became
profound, his face tightening.

"Then why?"

Why do this to herself.  It was a question she'd
asked herself in the beginning.  One she knew he
was bound to ask; and the only answer she could
give him rested in her pocket.  She took the
letter from the folds of her dress and held it
up, but when he reached for it, she shook her
head and put it back.

<Later.  After you've settled down.> They still
had time and his well-being was uppermost in her
mind at the moment.  Besides, after the events
of the evening, the last thing she wanted was
the inevitable confrontation over her reasons
for being with him. <It can wait until morning.>

"Julia," he warned, narrowing his eyes.

<No.> She pursed her lips in a matched stance of
determination.

Thankfully, he relented with a sigh.  Fatigue
was getting the better of him, she could tell
from the slump of his shoulders.  "Okay.  You
win.  For now."  Before she could stand, he'd
effectively trapped her in place, his palms
wrapping around her neck.  "It's so close, but
not... I liked..." he sighed, tucking the fall
of her hair behind her ears with both hands
before cupping her face and letting his eyes
meet hers with regret.

She knew exactly what was left unsaid.  He liked
how she *used* to look.  Her nose, her chin...
even her lips had been altered slightly, though
not by design, when her skin had been stretched
across the new network of bones.

So did I, she thought, but in the interest of
avoiding his eminent journey into self-blame,
she brushed away the air of guilt surrounding
him by affecting an affronted stance, hands on
hips.

<And you don't like me now?> her eyebrow
demanded.

Instantly, he was rerouted as her plan worked,
his hands dropping away.  "No! No... I didn't
mean it that way, Sc - Julia.  Damn it.  You
know what I mean.  Shit... you're *beautiful* -
not that you weren't -"  His sputtering stopped
at the mischievous light in her eyes.  "You
little -"

<Your ribs are fine,> she interrupted, diverting
his reprimand. <Nothing broken.>

"Not anymore."

The soft reply halted her playful attitude and
melted her tenuous hold on strength.  She felt
the firm lines of her cheeks soften and knew she
was going to lose it.  Cowardice made her drop
her gaze to her lap.  Mulder brought his hands
to her face once again, soothing the hot skin.

"I feel whole again."

At the fervent whisper, she raised burning eyes
to meet his heated gaze.  He was looking into
her very soul and if he still had doubts about
her identity, she knew he couldn't help but see
the truth now.  She felt it drive its way out of
her through her eyes, manifesting itself in slow
tears of undeniable relief.

Her arms went around him once again.  This time
she didn't hold back, her body shaking with the
onslaught of release, crying at his pain. Most
of all, crying out her guilt for even
entertaining a moment's thought that he'd given
up the fight.

"Shh.  Stop, Julia.  I'm here and I'm staying." 
He kept up the litany of murmured reassurances
during her brief loss of composure.

Though he hadn't yet explained to her his role
in all of this, she knew now he was not here
voluntarily.  Whatever he had hoped to
accomplish on the inside, whatever he still
hoped to accomplish - it was because he'd never
given up the fight.

He was still Mulder; a more scarred Mulder,
inside and out, but his heart still beat with
the fire of the quest.  As she quieted in his
arms, Julia resolved that his months in this
prison would not have been suffered in vain. 
Beginning with her tender care of his physical
pain.  It was something she did best of all.

Sniffling back the remaining tears, she pulled
herself from his arms, composure returning in
gentle waves as she stood.

"What?"  He kept hold of her hand, apprehension
making his bruised face darken.  He said nothing
of her flirt with hysteria moments before and
for that she was grateful.  The tears had come
and were now gone;  she felt better for it and
Mulder knew her well enough to recognize she was
once again in control.

<Bed.  Doctor's orders.> She hoped her mouthed
words were understood; he had a deathgrip on her
hand.

Mulder sighed and reluctantly released her hand. 
"We still have to -" He broke off; Julia
finished the sentence for him.

<Talk?> She forced a reassuring nod; though she
knew she'd have to tell him of the plan - that
was the easy part - she didn't relish the more
personal discussion that was certain to come.
<Tomorrow.  You need rest.  So do I.>

"There's something I have to tell you."

Its urgency was written in the somber tone of
his voice and the unblinking depths of his eyes.

A sinking panic settling in her stomach.
<Skinner's manifest?> It was the only thought
that came to mind.  She *knew* she should have
put it back in the file.

"No," he rushed to assure her, then brought his
hands up as well to clarify. <They know a
manifest is missing, but they don't suspect me. 
Not yet.>

The 'yet' made her pale.  Mulder saw her
reaction and pressed ahead. <This is something
else.  Something that involves you.>

<What?> Now she was *really* panicked.  Did the
Appointing Authority suspect her presence here? 
Had she slipped up somehow?

Mulder stood gingerly and she steadied him with
her hands at his waist.  "Don't worry," he
murmured, rubbing her arms with his hands.  "He
thinks I'm dissatisfied with you.  I told him I
wasn't."

Julia sensed there was something he was not
telling her.  It wouldn't have been the first
time Mulder glossed over the details in an
attempt to spare her feelings.  Her missing ova
came to mind immediately; he'd said he'd not
told her to protect her from further hurt, even
though he'd known she would want to know.

<He wants to replace me?> she mouthed, her
throat tightening with fear.

"I won't let him." Mulder's statement was
adamant as he drew her to him.  He brought his
lips to her ear and added in a whisper, "I'll
think of something."

Julia shivered, fear draping her shoulders.  If
his father wanted to get rid of her, he could. 
There was little Mulder could do and he knew it. 
But why?  Her mind raced over the possible
reasons.

Obviously, she and Mulder had not hit it off, as
far as everyone knew.  It was very easy for them
to know this, as they were constantly listening
to everything that went on in this apartment. 
Was it so very important to the old man that his
son be happy?  She doubted that - his injuries
spoke for just how little Mulder's happiness
mattered.  What else could it be?  Something was
missing from this puzzle and she was determined
to find it.

"Enough."  Mulder pulled away.  "Stop thinking. 
I'm tired, aren't you?"

Yes, she was, she conceded with a nod.  And
exhaustion wouldn't help as far as figuring out
the motives of the man upstairs, nor would it be
conducive to the execution of the plan.

As she moved to turn down the covers of his bed,
she gave Mulder a small smile, knowing he took
her silence for what it was - the workings of an
investigative mind.  She remembered his playful
words of many years ago in a Florida forest;
yes, their communication extended beyond the
spoken word.  Like so many other matters between
them that surpassed the physical limits of the
human body.  Faith in each other... trust in
themselves and their ability to overcome any
obstacle.

She decided to put that 'unspoken' thing to the
test, crooking her finger with a wink as she
beckoned him to the bed.

Mulder's mouth dropped as he brought a hand to
his chest with mock surprise.  Moving slowly
forward, he said quietly, "You comin' on to me,
Julia?"  His eyes twinkled with mirth.

<In your dreams,> she mouthed with a roll of her
eyes.

"Or in my shower?" he threw back with a grin,
then waved off her embarrassment as he drew
closer.  "Sorry.  Couldn't resist it."

<Mulder,> she began, the need to explain gnawing
at her fluttering stomach.

"Later, Julia," he said, sitting back against
the pillows with a groan.  "Take my shoes off." 
His smirk became broader as he made himself
comfortable.

Now it was her turn to let her mouth drop.

"You heard me, woman."  He was teasing, but he
was also half-serious, testing the limits of her
patience.  Trying to see how far she'd go now
that he knew who she was.  She could see it in
the way his smile didn't quite reach his worry-
tinged eyes.  "My shoes?"  He nudged her leg
with his foot.

She realized he would never force her to do
anything she didn't want to do, even in the
pretext of their situation.  She raised an
eyebrow at him, then quickly pulled off the
sneakers, much to his delight.

<Anything else, master?>

"Foot massage?"

<You're enjoying this way too much.>

"Damn right I am," he murmured, reaching for the
bedside lamp.  With a click, they were plunged
into darkness.  "C'mere."

He was in no condition to take this any further; 
she knew it and more importantly, so did he. 
Was this some sort of retribution for keeping
her identity from him for so long?  If so, she
supposed she deserved some of his payback.  With
a sigh, she moved closer to him, shuffling
slowly through the pile of clothes he'd
discarded before his shower.

"That's better," he whispered from the shadows
of the bed, his words husky.  "Now, lose the
dress."

At that, she froze.  Her heart slammed against
her ribs.  This was not necessary to keep up the
ruse and he knew it.  What was he playing at? A
bit of teasing was one thing, but outright
humiliation was quite another.

The whisper became softer, more like a plea. 
"Julia... you know I would never hurt you."

Unable to resist the lure of his voice, she
complied, pulling the dress over her head.  He
shifted a bit, reaching for the floor.

"Here."

His dress shirt clasped in his hand, he offered
covering, keeping his eyes lowered.  Though he'd
seen it all before and there was only a trickle
of light from the bathroom door, she was
grateful for his concession to her modesty.

She took it from him and donned it quickly, her
senses suddenly alive with the scent of his skin
and sweat.  Heat traveled up her face at the
feel of the wrinkled cotton that once graced his
skin.  It was so very intimate, and suddenly, it
made her very aware of their close quarters. 
And just exactly what she was supposed to be to
him.

"Now, come to bed."

Was this part of his plan to keep her here? 
Pretend for those listening that they were
sleeping together?  Having sex?  God, she didn't
know what to think about all this.

But she did it anyway.  Pretense or not, she
wanted nothing more right now than to lie in his
arms for the night.

He gathered her close to his left side, letting
her adjust to his nearness until she relaxed. 
One arm went around her back and the other
brought her arm around his waist, carefully
avoiding the bruise.  Stroking her skin with his
fingers, he murmured, "I picked out that dress
for you, you know."

Lifting her chin, she tried to look at his face
in the darkness, her surprise hovering between
them.

"It looked like you.  I could see you wearing
it."

Joy suffused her at his admission; even though
at the time he'd thought her to be just another
in a long line of concubines, he'd been
sensitive to her need for normalcy.  He'd known. 
Somehow, subconsciously, he'd known she was
uncomfortable in the barely-there clothing.

"Did you like it?"

She kissed his jaw, saying yes in her own way,
her lips touching the puckered skin of the scar -
that which had changed his looks forever, just
as the precision of a surgeon's scalpel had
forever changed her.

"It's true, you know," he whispered, catching on
to her train of thought.  "Everything looks the
same in the dark.  It even smells the same...
feels the same... it's not what can be seen that
counts."

As she let her cheek rest against his heart, she
smiled.  So true.  She sniffled, pulling the
tears away from her eyes where they insisted on
breaking free.  Happy though they were, she
refused to ruin the moment with even an instant
of clouds.

For several minutes they laid together, touching
here and there, reacquainting themselves with
each other.  Breathing in sync, hands entwining
at last on the warmth of their embrace.

"I can't go to sleep." A broad yawn punctuated
Mulder's statement.

She chuckled, a breathy shake against him.  It
wasn't surprising; she didn't want to waste
another moment of this precious time, either. 
But they needed the rest.  Yawning herself, she
closed her eyes and snuggled closer, willing her
body to relax.  Communicating her desire for him
to do the same by letting go of his hand to feel
for his face.

At the brush of her fingers over his eyelids, he
smiled, grabbing her hand to enclose it once
again in his firm grip.  "All right, I get the
message.  You pinch me if I snore, okay?"

Sleep came easily, for the first time in months.



End Chapter Fifteen