Julia 
Chapter Six

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers



Washington, D.C.
January 29, 2001
6:38 p.m.


Julia repeated it to herself, as if thinking it
twice would somehow fortify her defenses.

Just what I wanted, just what I wanted.

Fox Mulder's head on a silver platter.  Fox
Mulder's head.  Mulder....

But what a beautiful head it was to her hungry
gaze, bowed in tight anger, set upon rigid
shoulders that didn't move a hair when she
walked in.  He stood at the window, sans jacket,
his hands clenching and unclenching upon lean
hips.

"Fox?"

If possible, Mulder stiffened more at the odious
word, though he didn't turn around.  Julia could
hardly make out his shadowy form in the dimness
of the immense room.  She knew it was him,
though.  Even if she were blind, she could have
picked him up by scent alone.

"Fox, this is Julia."  The Appointing Authority
gestured to Julia and she moved further into the
room, her hands clasped nervously at her waist,
the only blemish in her outward calm.

Mulder's head turned as he gave them his
profile.  Julia was thankful she couldn't speak
when she saw the slash that marred his neck
fully illuminated by the moonlight and the
artificial light coming from the open bedroom
door.  Her mouth dropped slightly by instinct,
the silent gasp escaping anyway.

It was much worse than it appeared on
television.  Naturally, the Appointing Authority
employed only the finest when it came to hiding
anything.  Mulder wasn't comfortable with her
gaping stare, she could tell.  His hand rose as
if to cover it, then dropped away as pride
steeled his jaw.  Julia looked away, trying to
focus her attention from it as a menial should,
feigning interest in the suite.

"I don't want this," he said one last time,
interrupting Julia's inspection of the suite. 
Speak again, she pleaded with her eyes.  I
wasn't paying attention to your voice.  She just
as quickly chastised herself;  he couldn't see
her eyes, he was too far away.

The Appointing Authority ignored Mulder's
entreaty and turned to Julia.  "Come closer, my
dear."  He extended a hand and Julia grasped it
reluctantly, suddenly unsure of her bare feet. 
What she wouldn't have given for four-inch heels
at that moment.

The light from the bedroom knifed across her
face before disappearing over her head. 
Mulder's head whipped around, his peripheral
vision picking her up instantly.

"Scully?"

The agonized whisper made her pause in the
shadows.  She pulled her hand from Cancerman's,
resting it on her waist as if to hold in the
nerves that jumped to life in her stomach.  Her
other hand joined the first, reinforcing the
temporary breach.

He'd said the name.

<Mulder, it's me.>

Mulder's eyes glittered in the trickle of light,
the rest of his face in black relief.  Julia
could barely see his mouth working on the
familiar syllables of the name.  She could hear
his lungs struggling for breath, each inhale and
exhale becoming faster, more pronounced.

"Scu -" Hand outstretched, Mulder started
forward.

Julia backed away, almost tripping over the
folds of her dress in her haste to stop this
charade.  She couldn't stand it... he was
confused... vulnerable.  He wasn't supposed to
be that way.... he was the Minister of Justice. 
Evil incarnate.

Mulder's advance came to a screeching halt when
Julia fell back into the light once again.  The
tremulous smile on his face died a swift death. 
So did the light in his eyes.

They stood for a few moments in a face-off, each
composing a neat, expressionless facade.

"The hair's too light," Mulder sneered at last,
breaking away from Julia's uncertain gaze to
walk to the bar, where he poured a generous
portion of the nearest bottle into a large
tumbler.

"You haven't taken a good look at her yet, Fox,"
his boss said.  "It's too dark in here to make a
good evaluation."

"I like it dark," Mulder replied, his back to
them once again.  Julia saw his head fall back
as he tossed the liquor back in one gulp.

"I'm turning the lights on, Fox." The tone
brooked no argument.  Her flinch echoed Mulder's
when the room was lit in a too-bright overhead
glare.

Julia took the opportunity to compose herself,
inspecting her new home while she waited for
Mulder to finish his second drink.  The suite
was decorated in tasteful hues of dark blue and
black, the fireplace flanked by matching black
leather sofas.  In front of the huge panoramic
plate glass window was a similarly made navy
blue leather chair and ottoman.  She guessed it
was the master's; on the side table next to it
was an empty tumbler and a pair of wire-rimmed
glasses.

There was no dining area, save for a small,
square oak table and chairs just to the left of
the front door.  It was from that side of the
room that she had earlier spied the bedroom.  On
the opposite side was what she supposed was
another bedroom, the door firmly shut.

She was more convinced now than ever that they
were in a hotel; she just didn't know which one. 
There used to be many luxurious hotels in the
Washington metropolitan area that would
certainly be useful as a headquarters type
facility.

Whichever hotel it was, however, it had
obviously spared the expense on this suite.  It
was sparse, almost like a monastery in it's
simplicity.  All except for the bar, which
Mulder seemed to enjoy immensely.

"Fox."  The Appointing Authority was rapidly
losing patience.  "Julia is waiting."

Mulder put the stopper back into the carafe and
turned, spreading his arms wide.  "Oh, by all
means, sir, we mustn't keep Julia waiting," he
drawled, then swaggered to stand directly before
her.

Julia followed his every move with cautious
eyes.  The patented smirk of his was firmly in
place, but it was different, harder and more
unfeeling.  He was daring her to run.  As he
approached, she felt her spine stiffen and her
new chin rise until her defiant blue stare met
his arrogant green gaze with equal fervor.

Give it your best shot, her eyebrow challenged.

The smirk became broader, manifesting itself in
the curve of Mulder's lips.  "So you're my new
whore."

"Fox!"  It burst from his father's lips in an
angry gasp.

"That's what she is, isn't she?  Just a whore." 
The last word floated to her on a breeze of
whiskey breath.  "Oh, she's beautiful, I'll
grant you that."

But she was still a whore.  The unspoken
qualifier stabbed Julia in the stomach.

"I only want you to be happy, son."

Mulder flashed red-hot eyes at Cancerman, his
jaw tightening.  He said nothing, however,
though Julia could feel the angry threat
emanating from his body.

"If you don't like her, I can find someone else. 
One more to your taste.  Although, I think she's
lovely, quite an ornament.  You would look well
together."

"That's what you said last time and look what it
got me."

Julia's eyes were drawn to the scar.  Mulder
flushed at her curiosity;  before he could say
anything, she looked away, dropping her gaze to
the floor.  She had to be careful.  Her emotions
were clouding her judgment.

"She thinks I'm hideous.  Don't you, Julia?"

Julia raised watery eyes to his face.  No, she
didn't.  On the contrary, his was the face she
saw in her dreams.

Mulder gasped; he'd seen the blatant desire in
her face.  She was sure none of the others had
ever looked at him that way.

"Good," his father murmured, lighting up a
cigarette.  "It seems we have true love, Fox. 
I'll leave you two alone, then.  Enjoy."  With a
smug smile, he strode from the room.

Julia stood her ground in the deafening silence
as Mulder's eyes raked her from head to toe.  He
was rapidly overwhelming her with his mere
physical proximity.  She could feel her defenses
wilting under his cold stare.

She'd been fine until he'd moved closer.  One
look in the eyes that were mere inches from hers
and she'd almost given it away.  He was still
sizing her up;  she could feel the natural
curiosity bloom within him.  His teeth worked at
his lower lip and his eyes narrowed to mere
slits.  Soon he would break her, she was sure of
it.

Just as she thought she might swoon, he began to
move in a slow circle around her, disappearing
behind her.  She heaved a small sigh of relief
at the loss of his penetrating glare.  Maybe
he'd bought it.

His heavy breath upon her neck stirred the mass
of hair between her shoulder blades.  She jumped
when she felt a warm hand seize her barely-
covered shoulder.

"Keep still."

He's touching me, he's touching me, Julia's mind
screamed.  Dear God in heaven.... I don't know
if I can bear it.

A shiver of something - fear, most likely - ran
up her spine seconds before his other hand
brushed her hair aside to settle on her nape,
the fingers searching her neck for the Braille
history of her former life.

His thumb pressed into her skin several times,
just where she expected it.  It was rough and
determined.

He was looking for the implant.  It was still
there; well, a simpler version of it, anyway. 
Buried so deep as to be undetectable by touch.

The doctor in Dubuque had done fine work getting
rid of the small scar.  Actually, *all* of her
scars were gone except for one and that one was
grating on her soul like the rasp of fingernails
on a chalkboard.

It was the one that hurt the most.  The one that
would never disappear, given to her by the man
now touching her with grim purpose.  A slash
deep inside from something she thought he'd
never do... betrayal.  Of her, of himself.  Of
everything he'd ever believed in.

Julia kept still under his touch, counting the
seconds until he stepped away, then immediately
missing the warmth of his hands.  Thank God that
was over with.  She hadn't known if she could
have endured it for much longer. 

"Take off the dress."

No, Julia refused, her eyes slipping shut.  I
can't do this.  God help me....

"I said, take off the dress.  Or I'll take it
off for you."

Would he hurt her?  Fear made her hands fly to
her shoulders, where she released first one
silken clasp, then the other.  For a moment, she
held up the garment with crossed arms.  Then
with a deep breath, she let it fall to the
floor.

She was instantly aware of a change in his
breathing.  It became heavier, slower, more
labored.  Hers, on the other hand, raced to
catch up with the pounding of her heart.

Please don't let him touch me again, she prayed.

Of course, everyone knew there were no prayers
answered anymore.

Mulder grunted slightly, his knees popping as he
squatted on the floor behind her.

She calmed when she realized what he was looking
for.  That was gone, too.  Santa Fe, three
months ago.  Although she'd only seen a
reflection of it in the mirror, she knew it was
good work.

Damn, there were his hands again, one at her
waist, the other smoothing over the spot where
the ourobourus once was.  The doctor had assured
her its removal had been nearly flawless; only a
dime-sized pucker of tucked skin remained after
the surgery.  He'd sculpted it into a dimple.

Mulder's thumb lingered in that dimple above her
right buttocks before moving away.  She was as
sure of the tattoo as she was of the implant.

She hoped he would let it go at that.

Her mind went numb with relief as she heard him
rise.  The inspection was over; she passed with
flying colors.  If she could have laughed, she
would have.

Until he moved to crouch in front of her.

Then scar on her abdomen had been much more
difficult to remove, as was the exit scar on her
back, requiring several operations in Portland,
Oregon last August.  She'd been anxious to move
on, paranoid that they would find her in that
makeshift clinic hidden in the midst of chaos. 
The doctor had assured Julia that she was
working as fast as possible, but surgical scars
were often the trickiest things, you know?

Julia inhaled sharply at the sight of his long,
tanned fingers on her pale skin.  She really
shouldn't have been watching.  Disinterest was
the preferred response.  After all, a cool head
was the best advantage in any battle.

It shouldn't matter that the hand belonged to
the one person left in this meager world whose
touch was the fieriest of brands upon her skin.

He's just a man, just a man, she kept repeating
to herself, even as she watched her betraying
hand slowly rise to hover above his head.  His
hair was short, painfully so.  Strewn with
silver inch-long dashes, it shined in a tapestry
of vivid copper and amber threads.  She so
longed to touch it.

Mulder was oblivious to her scrutiny, so
enraptured was he by the play of sleek muscle
that quivered under his hand.  Julia could see
his teeth capture his lower lip, consternation
furrowing his brow.  He was so vulnerable to her
now; if she had a knife, she could have ended
this torture in a heartbeat.  If she really
wanted to.

She tried to picture the weapon in the hand that
shook above him, to no avail.  All she could see
was the caress of that same hand over the
burnished cap that seemed to ache for her touch. 
Would he feel it if she airbrushed a finger over
the slight curl behind his left ear?

The curl beckoned; her hand inched closer.

Mulder sighed, turning his head to the right and
pausing.

It was all Julia needed to drop her hand and
return to sanity.

He rose and didn't spare her another glance
while striding to the closed door behind her. 
She crossed her arms defensively, half-turning
to follow him, a question in her eyes.

He plunged the room into darkness before opening
the door.  A soft glow from within showed her
the lines of disappointment and grief he was
striving to hide from her.

"You sleep over there," he said, nodding at the
bedroom she'd seen when she'd first arrived. 
"This is my room.  If you need anything, knock. 
Otherwise, stay out."  His gaze pierced her one
final time.

"If you ever come in here without my consent,
I'll kill you."

He slammed the door behind him, then threw the
lock into place.

On shaky legs, Julia bent and pulled the dress
up, fastening it with unsteady fingers.  She
straightened and walked to the open door of her
bedroom, her head held high.

It wasn't until she'd safely closed it behind
her that she allowed her exhaustion to grab
hold, falling onto the bed.

Why had he done it?  Did he want her to be
Scully?  Did he long for her, as she had longed
for him all the lonely hours?

Julia bit back the tears and closed her eyes in
the darkness.  She would not cry.  Scully never
cried.

More importantly, Julia never cried.



End Chapter Six