Julia
Chapter Twenty-six

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers



Washington, D.C.
February 11, 2001
3:25 p.m.


She couldn't seem to stay away from the window. 
Just the prospect of breathing in fresh air was
tantalizing; she looked outside like a child who
was stuck inside with the measles.

"Hey."  Warm hands settled on her bare shoulders
and she jumped.  "It's just me.  Sorry."  His
murmur was apologetic.  "You didn't hear me come
in?"

Shaking her head no, she sagged against him.

"You're cold.  Come on, get away from the
window."  He guided her to the couch and moved
to get the fire going again.  He'd shed his suit
coat and, spying it on the arm of the couch, she
pulled it on.  Mulder gave her a grin at the
sight, but said nothing other than a casual,
"Did the laundry man come back with my shirts
today?"  After throwing a few logs onto the
fire, he stood and faced her, hands on hips,
serious in face and form.

<Yes.  Message is in the garment bag in my
room.>

<What does it say?>

<'White paneled truck, rear entrance.  Will wait
for you at service exit until 9:10.'> She quoted
the message back to him, word for word.

He passed an impatient hand over his jaw as if
ready to leave now.  "Good.  Sounds good.  Get
it for me."

She did as he asked, and he scanned it before
balling it up in his fist.

<Mulder, I saw Krycek today.> Now was as good a
time as any to tell him.

He stilled at her statement, his eyes narrowing.
<Krycek?  When did you see Krycek?>

Quickly, she told him of her trip downstairs, of
bumping into Krycek in the lobby.  Of wanting to
be prepared in the best way possible by doing a
bit of looking around. 

Anger flushed his face and he turned away,
mumbling, "Stupid.  Fucking stupid."  He walked
to the fire and fisted the paper in his hand,
throwing it into the roaring flames like a
missile.  She could tell he was about to explode
in a ball of overprotectiveness and it was time
for her to put a stop to it.  In three strides,
she was at his side, wrenching him around to
face her.

Similar fury rose up in her and she walked to
his side to grab his arm.

<Stop this.  I did what I had to do, what *you*
would have done.  Stop treating me like a
helpless female.>

His anger dimmed into a slow, worried hurt.
<What if you'd gotten into trouble?  We're so
damn close, Scully.  It was foolish to chance
it.>

<I can take care of myself, Mulder.  My putting
myself on the line never bothered you before.>

<This is different.>

<How?  This is just like a hundred other tight
spaces we've had to get out of, Mulder.>

He sighed, lowering his eyes for a moment.  As
he looked back up, she saw him work for words. 
"It's different because -" He paused, then
added, <Because this time, I think I would truly
die if I lost you again.>

All the fight went out of her at his admission. 
She enfolded him in an embrace, reaching up on
tiptoe to get as close as possible.  His arms
held her tight and he whispered, "All the other
times... I thought I could go on if - if you
weren't there.  Even the suicide attempt was to
get back at *him*, not because I'd lost you. 
This time, I don't think I could.  There would
be nothing left for me."

She didn't doubt him; he'd been through so much,
and while he knew better than to live his life
dependent on her existence, he'd reached a point
where the trauma had made him vulnerable.  Truly
unable to contemplate life without her... she
shivered at the thought of his death at his own
hand.

Pulling away, she cupped his damp cheeks with
her hands. <I'm here, Mulder.  I'm not going
anywhere.>

Smiling wanly, he murmured, "You promise?"

Her mind drifted back to their morning
conversation and her flight into panic.  His was
so similar, it was eerie.  But expected - the
fight of their lives loomed before them and they
wouldn't be human if they didn't experience
fear.  As he did for her this morning, she gave
him back what he needed.

<I promise.>

What they had, what no one could take away from
them, was their belief in one another.  Just
like his promise had settled her, she watched
hers bring him calm.  His hands loosed his grip
on her waist and his shoulders relaxed, his head
drooping.

"I'm such an idiot, aren't I?"

Cocking her head to one side, she pretended to
ponder the question before answering with a
grin, <Sometimes, yeah.  But no more than I am. 
We're made for each other, don't you think?>

"That we are," he laughed, then sobered just a
bit to point out, "Dinner is liable to be a
protracted affair.  We should try to get some
rest. "

She saw the possibility in his eyes; once they
were out of here, it was very likely they would
be sprinting for several days.  She'd told him
of the bunker in the West Virginia mountains,
which was their ultimate goal.  It was the only
safe place she could think of.  She just hoped
it hadn't been discovered by the government yet.

Of course, it would be impossible to sleep, much
like when she was a child, squirming in her bed
the night before a family vacation.  She gave
him an 'are you serious?' stare.

Which he ignored, as he pulled her with him to
the couch.  "Come on."


**********


4:45 p.m.


Despite Mulder's good intentions, neither of
them was able to relax enough to sleep.  She'd
made one attempt at a little diversion, which
he'd nipped in the bud, saying, <Next time I
make love to you, it won't be with an audience. 
And I'm beginning to look like a prune.>

She couldn't argue with that.  So they'd doused
the lights, settled onto the couch and watched
the snowfall by the light of the fire.  Mulder
half-sat, half-reclined at one end, Julia
resting against his chest.  It was warm and
wonderful, she thought, very little reason to
move except for the simple small talk by way of
their hands. 

<What's it like?  On the outside?>

Mulder's question gave her pause.  Memories of
life on the streets these past months were not a
time she wanted to re-live, but she knew he
needed some perspective before venturing out
from the relative safety within these walls.

The pain and uncertainty came back to her like a
fist in the chest.  It wasn't that she wanted to
spare Mulder the gruesome details; she knew he'd
seen things just as, if not more, horrible.  At
this point, she realized that keeping it short
and simple served to spare herself the regret of
not having done more to help.

With a sigh, she began.  <Hard.  Not very many
people left.  Those left work in the facilities,
or in support positions, providing food and
health care for the workers.  Even they won't be
needed eventually.> Everyone would go to the
ships one day; it was foolish to think
otherwise.

<And the Resistance?>

He already knew there was some connection
amongst those like Krycek, the Gunmen and others
like them, hidden underground.  What he wanted
to know was if there was any hope; she knew it
from the feel of his tense form behind her.

<If we can generate the vaccine, there would be
a chance for survival.>

"You," he pressed a hand to her stomach, "can do
it.  I know you can."  He kissed her cheek with
the promise; she could feel his easy smile drift
over her.

Even now, she felt the tug on her lips as she
realized just how easily he was falling back
into his old self.  Despite their dire
circumstances, his courageous, bright nature
thrived, just as it always had.  She'd thought
it gone forever when she'd first seen him again,
and had grieved for its loss, sure his psyche
was scarred beyond repair.

His torture, the suicide attempt, the role he
played in the demise of so many unfortunate
souls... in a lesser man, she could very well
understand total madness as a result.  But
Mulder had always been resilient, just as she
had.  Together they could do anything.  And they
*would* survive this.

Smiling, she replied, <Oh, yeah?>

"Yeah."  Once again, he brought his hands up.
<You're saving my ass again, aren't you?  What's
another few million to Dr. Dana Scully?>

She nodded derisively. <Right.  Except Julia
Longfellow hasn't been Dana Scully in quite some
time, Mulder.  She's a little rusty in her
research skills, you know.>

"Just like riding a bike."

<Easier said than done.>

"If at first you don't succeed...."

<Shut up, Mulder.>

He chuckled, switching back to sign language.
<Just making conversation.>

<Well, talk about something else.> Her attempt
to re-create the vaccine had always made her
feel like a failure, and failure was never an
option before these troubled times.  Just
thinking about how she could fail now, when she
was so close to getting Mulder out, was not
something she wanted to dwell on.

"Okay."  He must have felt the direction her
thoughts were taking, and he did as she asked,
quickly diverting his hands with a curious, <Why
Julia?>

<Why what?> She didn't understand the question.

<Why the name?>

She shrugged a bit. <No reason.  I've always
liked the name, I suppose.  I had to pick
something before I left the bunker, so I picked
Julia.>

<Nice.  At least you didn't pick Esmerelda.> She
joined in his shiver of revulsion before melting
back into his chest. <Or Vixen.  Well, that
would have been kind of cool, actually.>

Pinching his hand, she replied, <Yeah, like a
bad porn movie kind of cool.>

Mock hurt colored his voice.  "Now, did I say
that?"

<You didn't have to.> She lowered her chin,
struck by just how sordid her life was as Julia. 
Perfect fodder for a sleazy movie, much to her
shame.

"Hey."  Mulder turned her to him, lifting her
chin.  Regret at his unintentional implication
shone in his dark eyes, lit by the orange glow
of the fire.  "Stop."

<Okay,> she mouthed, sorry she'd put a damper on
the situation.  Matters were dire enough without
her gloomy mood swings.  Time to become happier
once again. <You always said you hated your name
- if you could pick one, what would it  be?>

Without missing a beat, he said, "Elvis."

<Elvis?> Her brow shot up. <You're kidding.>

"No.  I always thought Elvis was cool.  Great
voice, nice cars, lots of chicks hanging around. 
Gotta love the Memphis Mafia.  Even his name was
unique."  Was he serious?  Julia doubted it, but
she could see the familiar logic - Mulder style
- in his face.  Just as she could see tthe
mischief break free in his eyes.  "Of course,
the polyester jumpsuits left a lot to be
desired."

A small finger came up to poke him in the chest. 
<Be serious.>

"I am."  His lips pursed and he huffed, "Okay -
what would you choose?"

<For you?> At his nod, she waited a few moments,
pretending to give it due consideration.  He
rolled his eyes after a while and gave her a
little shake.  Served him right after teasing
her like that, she figured. <Michael.>

"Michael?  How bland."

<I like the name Michael.  He was the warrior
archangel, you know.>

"Someone paid attention in catechism, I see," he
muttered.  "Well, I hate it.  Every Tom, Dick
and Harry is named Michael."

At his oxymoron, she couldn't help but break
into what was, for her, gales of laughter. 
Mouth open, she gulped for air and tears came to
her eyes.

"That was ridiculous, wasn't it?"  He smiled and
brushed the moisture from her cheeks.  "Pick
something else and I'll try not to make a fool
of myself this time."

Her mind went blank; at his mention of religious
studies in Catholic school, all she could think
of was Sister Raphael's stern looks that could
silence a lunch room full of children... and
Sister Gabriel behind her back, summoning the
mean old nun away to Mother Superior's office
with a wink at the relieved kids.

<Gabriel.>

He sagged.  "*Again* with the Biblical."  His
hands came up. <I'm not the angel type, you
ought to know by now.>

<Now, did I say that?> She smiled at her use of
his words.

"Then what gives?"

<Gabriel means 'strength of God' - he sits at
God's left hand and delivers His messages.  He
even has a counterpoint in Islam, you know. 
'Jibril' - bringer of truth.  He revealed the
Koran to Mohammed.>

Mulder brightened at her explanation, saying in
a soft voice, "Bringer of truth?"

She nodded, holding his gaze with her own. <Just
like you,> she pointed out, touching his heart
with one slim hand.

He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a
firm kiss to her palm, his lashes lowered in an
effort to hide his emotions from her, she knew. 
After a moment, he looked up again, though his
eyes were still misty.  "Jibril, huh?  Sounds
like he could be the starting point guard for
the Knicks."

Her smile widened, then her lips came together
as she replied, <Unfair advantage, though.>

"How?"

She pulled her hand away from his and curled one
thumb around another.  Then, flapping her
fingers like wings, she raised one eyebrow.

Mulder's words took on a stadium announcer edge. 
"Jibril flies above Kareem and *slam* dunks for
his eighty-ninth basket of the night!  And it's
just the second quarter, ladies and gentlemen!"

Dropping her hands with a wry look, she said,
<You see my point, then.>

"That I could be Jibril?  Definitely," he
teased, pulling her closer and tucking her head
under his chin to whisper, "You always liked me
sweaty and in gym shorts... admit it, home
girl."

Julia lifted her head and brushed his cheek with
a kiss before settling back into the nest of his
arms.

"I knew it."

They both fell silent and Julia thought she may
be relaxed enough to doze when Mulder shifted
and said sleepily, "But I still like Elvis."


*********


7:45 p.m.


"God, Julia, you look amazing."

Mulder didn't look half bad himself, she
thought, catching his eye in the mirror.  His
suit was severe black, and the crisp white shirt
and red patterned tie completed the dapper look,
despite the bruise on his face.  But most of
all, he looked happy.  Even with the sure
dangers of the evening ahead, he was calm and
assured.  Ready to blow this joint, he'd told
her a few minutes ago with sign language.

Julia, on the other hand, was apprehensive to
the point where she was having trouble clasping
her earrings.  They'd finally napped on the
couch, but came close to oversleeping, waking up
when Mulder's watch had beeped the seven o'clock
hour.  He didn't seem to mind, but she'd always
been one for allowing plenty of preparation
time.  And this dinner was unarguably the most
important appointment they'd ever had.

As the eight o'clock hour approached, she became
more and more nervous.  It was a wonder she'd
put on her makeup as well as she had, she
thought.  Applying mascara with shaking hands
tended to make one look like a raccoon.

Mulder, on the other hand, was bouncing around
the apartment with a burst of energy.  The two-
hour nap had totally refreshed him, erasing any
cobwebs from his mind.  He walked around her
with an ecstatic smile; she could see the
prospect of freedom had overtaken any
trepidation about the danger they would face
tonight.  Krycek's presence and the laundry
man's note were encouraging, though she secretly
fretted about the time constraints.

-- Will wait for you at service exit until 9:10. --

Which meant they only had ten minutes to get
from the dining room on the third floor to the
rear exit.  Mulder seemed to think it was no
problem; they'd probably be lost in the chaos of
Krycek's attack.  Keep low, use the stairs,
fight only if you had to.  That was the plan. 
He figured the Guardsmen would be too busy to
worry about them.

The disclosure of her conversation with Eliza,
however, had given him pause.  He didn't get
angry, just wary.  She assured him that the
woman knew nothing and she couldn't find it
within herself to let Eliza face certain death.

As he saw her insistent assurance on the matter,
he relented. <I trust you,> he'd signed, looking
upon her as he'd always had.  As Scully.

But was she still Scully?

Despite her outward pretense, seeing his
determination manifest itself as their goal
began to take shape in the near distance
frightened her.  They both knew this wasn't
going to be a cake walk out the front door.  And
the variables in the equation were many, each
one carrying the possibility of lifelong
imprisonment or worse - death.

What if she'd lost her edge?  Faked right
instead of left when faced with a gun?  Put
Mulder in danger because of her now rusty FBI
skills?

All this and more she could have said in the
hours since Mulder had arrived home.  But she
said nothing, unwilling to dwell on the what-
ifs.  They were both trained professionals and
for years, they'd survived numerous perils to
life and limb.  She didn't want to make Mulder
as nervous as she was, so she said nothing.  One
of them had to stay calm.

"Let me."  His voice startled her from reverie,
and she turned to look up into his face, trying
to keep panic from her eyes.

Mulder brushed his hand on her cheek, his
fingers reaching for the earring.  "It's going
to be okay, Julia," he whispered.

Damn, she thought.  He'd noticed; not that she
could ever keep her worry from him before.  But
just as it had gotten easier as Julia to keep
her emotions hidden, they'd all come rushing
back once she'd revealed herself to him.

Just as she'd never felt so helpless in her life
as when she'd first come to this place.

Once again, she questioned her ability to resume
a role she'd played for so many years.  The ease
with which she'd succumbed to the pampering in
this place was alarming.  Had she grown soft? 
Never before had the prospect of confrontation
with the enemy made her shake so.

She'd faced down armed killers, men and women
moments away from ending her life, or Mulder's. 
And the strength she'd learned at her father's
knee had never failed her.

Though sure of her identity as she'd slept in
Mulder's arms, now she wondered if the next test
of reinventing Dana Scully would prove to be her
downfall.  And if she faltered, then Mulder
would suffer as well.

She couldn't quite meet Mulder's gaze as he
pushed the earring through her lobe and fastened
it.  But she felt his eyes probe her very
soul... a soul that may not be her own.

"*You* can do this."  She saw him pick his words
carefully, tiptoeing over the fine line between
Scully and Julia.  His hands cupped her cheeks
with a light caress and she raised her eyes to
siphon the commitment from his.

<I'm not the same.> Moisture sprang to her eyes. 
Her mouth barely moved, but she saw him realize
her meaning, as his jaw tightened.

"You are," he insisted.  "I have no doubt in my
mind that you can do *anything.*" A slow smile
spread over his face.  "My father will be very
surprised by your particular brand of charm."

He told her earlier he'd received a call from
the Appointing Authority, congratulating him on
his happiness with his new concubine.  As
expected, he knew they planned to dine
downstairs tonight.  And while he wouldn't
intrude, he hinted that he would be there as
well.  Posturing with pride over his success,
she knew.

Pushing thoughts of the Appointing Authority
from her mind, an answering smile broke free at
Mulder's confidence in her.  His hands fell to
her shoulders as she took a deep breath.  The
time for second-guessing herself was past.

<My *particular* brand of charm?  I don't think
they taught me manners at Quantico, Mulder.> She
winked, knowing full well what he'd been
referring to in order to keep up the ruse, but
unable to resist the joke.

"Precisely."  His short laugh was relieved. 
"Just remember what you *were* taught, okay? 
And we'll be fine."

With a kiss to his cheek, she agreed.

Mulder replied in kind, lingering just a moment
over her lips before murmuring, "Ready?"

She nodded, moving past him to retrieve her
jacket from the bed.  He was right behind her
and, after she shrugged into it, she turned to
face him.

<How do I look?>

"Beautiful.  But I think I told you that
already, didn't I?"

She raised her head to catch his warm, easy
smile.   She smiled as well, though it suddenly
dawned on her that they were forgetting one
important item.

<Skinner's manifest.> Mulder had taken it from
her, promising to memorize, then destroy it.

"All up here now," he said, pointing to his
head. "Don't worry."

Okay, she thought, looking around the room for
the last time.  There was nothing here she
wanted to take with her, just as she was sure
Mulder wouldn't miss any of these luxurious
trappings either.

But one thing she still wished she had... a pair
of shoes.  Her feet were going to get really
cold in a matter of hours.  And she told Mulder
so, raising the hem of her dress to look down at
her feet.  When she looked back up, intending to
tell him that they *had* to at least steal a
pair of boots before they departed, he was gone.

She walked into the living room and grimaced at
the steady snowfall shimmering in the darkness
beyond the window.  It was beautiful, but
deadly.  A chill ran through her body as her
bones remembered the cold of Antarctica.  But
she survived then, and she would now.

It was time to brave the storm, in more ways
than one.  Turning, she frowned at Mulder's
absence.  Faint thumping sounds drifted from his
bedroom.  As she approached his door, she was
brought up short by his tall form.

"I think this will do," he said, pulling a pair
of heavy gym socks from each of his pants
pockets.  "Improvisation is my forte, you know."

And well she did, remembering the moment she
came to full awareness on the ice.  Mulder laid
beside her, shivering in unconsciousness.  And
though she was cold, it was nothing like when
she'd first seen his face.  A thin blanket of
warmth surrounded her, and she knew he'd seen to
her comfort.  From the neck down, she was
covered in his outerwear.  She'd gaped at the
socks on her feet, knowing they'd do little
good, but amazed that he'd taken the time to
strip them off and put them on her.

<I know,> she agreed with a wink, grateful that
he was trying to protect her, though it would
once again be useless after several minutes in
the cold.  However, this time they'd have
immediate transport, so she didn't press the
issue, just gestured for him to hide the socks
back in his pockets.

"Are you trying to insinuate something, Julia?"
he drawled, stuffing the socks into his pants. 
He patted the bulges down, flattening them.

When he looked back up, she was ready.  Moving
closer, she brushed a light hand over the front
of his pants before backing away.

<Believe me, Mulder... that's one area in which
improvisation is totally unnecessary.>

For once, she seemed to have him at a loss for
words, his face bright with color.  But as he
opened his mouth to reply, the lights dimmed,
giving them both pause.  They came back up in a
few seconds, and Julia released her pent-up
breath.

"Must be getting bad outside," Mulder said.

No, she thought.  This was different.  She
couldn't explain the feeling, but she knew the
weather had nothing to do with the power surge.

<Mulder.> She raised wary eyes to him.

"What?"  He moved closer, reacting to the worry
she could feel on her face, his eyes skimming
her features.

The lights muted again and she jumped, nervous
energy dancing through her like the flickering
glow of the lights.  This time, they stayed low
a few seconds longer before coming back up.

The hum was barely imperceptible, but it was
there.

<Do you hear that?>

"Yeah."

Her body felt as though the electricity was
shooting through her.  Hands that trembled began
to move, and she cursed their slowness, her
words disjointed in her rush. <Electrical -
disable - Mulder! The chip disrupting - can't
you see?  Starting - it's starting - >

"Whoa, slow down, Julia," he murmured, grabbing
her hands.  "I know."  Leaning in closer, he
murmured, "I'd say it's a good sign.  Except for
one thing."

What?  She was impatient to speak, but he held
fast, giving her hands a slight shake.  His eyes
bored into hers and his voice became whisper
thin.

"If we can feel it, they can, too."

She swallowed down her excitement.  Mulder was
right; if anything was amiss as far as security
was concerned, they would seal this place up
tighter than a drum.

"Let's get to the dining room."

He didn't have to tell her twice.


**********


8:10 p.m.


They walked into the restaurant amidst a flurry
of activity.  Guardsmen were streaming all over
the third floor, weapons ready.  The elevator
hadn't given up the ghost yet, though for some
reason, it had to stop at every floor; she
supposed the electrical problems were playing
havoc with its smooth operation.  Mulder had
become impatient and tried to get off at one of
the lower floors to use the stairs, but his
guards had quickly vetoed the idea.  Julia
thanked their lucky stars they'd made it this
far without being ordered to return to the
apartment.

It was a packed room; men and women in evening
dress murmured to one another as the lights
continued to flicker.  Some were already
deserting the room in fear.  Julia held on to
Mulder's hand as they were escorted to their
table.

As they were seated, she looked about the room
for his father, though the lighting was too
haphazard to make out anything more than a few
concerned faces.  She half-listened as Mulder
ordered wine, then told the waiter they wanted
their steaks well done.  That penetrated her
concentration and she turned to him, raising a
brow.

"It may take a while longer than usual, but we
don't want half-cooked meat, now do we?"  The
soft explanation was delivered with a pointed
glance; it was obvious he wanted to stall as
long as possible.

She nodded in agreement and fiddled with her
napkin.  Mulder reached under the table for her
hand and squeezed it tight.  "Stay calm," he
murmured.  "Everything is going okay.  You're
doing fine."

Turning worried eyes to his, she gripped his
hand, siphoning the strength in his clasp and
the determination in his gaze.  Silently they
sat, Julia calming under his slow, easy smile. 
The voices around them became louder and more
fretful, but they ignored them, taking comfort
in the fact that the end was near.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your
attention, please?"

Mulder's face tightened at the interruption, and
his gaze broke away from hers to look somewhere
past her shoulder.  She hadn't really been
paying attention to the announcement; as she
turned to follow the path of Mulder's narrowed
eyes, her heart sped up at the sight of the
voice's owner, standing some three or four
tables away.

Cancerman.  The Appointing Authority, as he was
better known these days.  She shivered when he
seemed to look right at them before he spoke
again.

"Please don't worry," he said with a smile. 
"The power surges are nothing more than weather-
related anomalies.  Stay - enjoy your dinner." 
The Guardsman at his left leaned in to say
something in his ear, and he paused for a moment
to light a cigarette before sitting back down to
reach for his glass of wine.  He lifted it and
the corners of his mouth curled into a smile as
he toasted the two of them.

Julia couldn't stand to look at him any longer. 
She faced Mulder again and pinched the hand that
held hers, diverting his attention away from the
old man.

Mulder's lips pursed in a final act of defiance
before he looked back at her.  "I'm okay."

The waiter appeared with their wine and Julia
was thankful for the diversion, though Mulder
let go of her hand and leaned back.  He scanned
the room as well and took a sip of the wine,
urging her with his eyes to do the same. 
Normal, they needed to act normal, he told her
silently.

As Julia raised her glass, she saw Eliza enter
the restaurant.  She nodded at the woman,
pleased at seeing her just a few tables away. 
Eliza gave her a small smile, as if to say, I
told you everything would be all right.

What startled her was the young, handsome man at
Eliza's side.  He was many years her junior, his
skin smooth and his eyes downcast, though he
managed an air of subtle self-importance.  As
Eliza paused to wait for her escort to seat her,
she winked at Julia, gesturing with her eyes at
the floor.

He was a concubine, she realized.  Dressed in an
impeccable suit that hugged his lithe frame, he
exuded sensuality.  He could have been a model
parading through the restaurant, showing off the
latest in men's fashion.  Save for his bare
feet.

The woman had obviously gotten back into the
Administration's good graces if they graced her
with an escort.  Julia chastised herself for
assuming that concubines were only women;
history had proven that both sexes could be
sexual slaves.  Fear instilled into a human
being went a long way toward cooperation, no
matter what gender.

The minutes passed with agonizing slowness. 
Their dinner was delayed, with profuse apologies
from the waiter explaining that the electrical
problems were wreaking havoc with the kitchen. 
Mulder seemed to have no qualms about eating,
digging into his steak with relish.  Julia
thought it tasted like sawdust and picked around
her plate, knowing she should try to eat, but
unable to get the heavy food down her fear-
constricted throat.  She kept asking Mulder the
time; he finally told her he'd ask for dessert
at t-minus ten minutes.

"Then it's liftoff," he grinned.

The lights no longer flickered; they'd stopped
the annoying flash minutes ago.  Now, they
seemed to burn brighter than usual, in a
surreal, garish way that almost hurt the eyes. 
The hum, though, seemed to reverberate around
the room.  There was no way it could be missed,
Julia thought.  Couples had departed one after
the other, finally giving into their fear.  She
looked around; it seemed all the players were in
place.  She and Mulder, Cancerman and his
guards, and Eliza and her escort.  The poor
woman looked too frightened to move.

At last, Mulder set his napkin on the table and
looked at his watch.  He gave her a small smile
and signaled the waiter.  Relief flooded her and
she smiled in return, touching her napkin to the
corner of her mouth.  Mulder's smile faded, his
cheeks hardening.

She smelled him before she heard him, the
insidious swirl of smoke wafting over her head.

"Fox, Julia," he purred.  "Enjoying your night
out?"

She reached again for Mulder's hand under the
table.  Mulder, to his credit, lost all
animosity from his face as he replied, "So far. 
Though we'd rather be alone, if you don't mind?" 
A bland request, delivered with just the right
amount of desire for Julia's presence alone -
like he was jealous of sharing her company.

"Of course."

The waiter stepped forward, interrupting their
exchange.  "Yes, sir?"

"Dessert, please," Mulder requested over the hum
that was louder now.

"And coffee," his father corrected the waiter,
who nodded quickly and disappeared. "Do you mind
if I join you?"

"Yes," Mulder said, a defiant tone in his voice. 
"We're enjoying the night out, aren't we,
Julia?"  He looked at her; she nodded in
support.

But his father would not be denied, sitting in
the chair opposite the two of them.  "I won't be
long.  I haven't had a chance to congratulate
you, Fox."

"For what?"  Mulder looked away, his jaw
clenching over his anger.

"For bringing her to me."

Julia's heart skipped a beat and she couldn't
catch her breath.  Under the table, Mulder's
fingers twitched around hers reflexively, but
his voice was calm as he asked, "Her?  You're
speaking of Julia?  Be serious."

"I'm not speaking of Julia, Fox.  I'm talking
about Dana Scully."


End Chapter Twenty-six