Julia Chapter Eight Disclaimers, etc. in Headers Washington, D. C. January 30, 2001 7:35 a.m. Mulder was flushed and sweaty in his loose grey sweatpants and Georgetown pullover. He hadn't seen her yet, hunched over as he was with his back to the door. After a few deep breaths, he straightened and started for his room, yanking the sweatshirt over his head. She must have gasped, although she was sure she couldn't, because he stopped, a look of surprise flitting across his face. In seconds, he had the shirt back on, but not before she'd seen the rest of it. The scar that marred his chin and neck extended in a sickle over his breastbone. God, it must have been painful, she thought. He'd been carved like a Christmas turkey. More painful to her was the cross that still dangled from his neck, mocking her with its presence. "Had enough of me yet?" he sneered, walking to the table, where he poured a glass of orange juice and downed half of it in one gulp. Julia didn't know what to do. Indecision made her shuffle from one foot to the other and she had trouble meeting his eyes. Unable to bear his mocking gaze, she turned from him to scan the landscape she'd wanted to see last night. Her mouth opened in a horrified cry. There was nothing to see, really, no distinguishing landmarks, just an array of portable floodlights amidst a sea of rubble. She'd heard it was bad in Washington. Rumors of mass destruction had filtered through every city and town she'd traveled through. But nothing had prepared her for this. Oh, there were still a few buildings left standing, after all, she was in one of them, wasn't she? But the majority of the city was a burned carcass. The major thoroughfares had been cleared for strategic purposes, but there was little or no traffic, just an armored vehicle or two out on routine patrol. No chance at all of determining where she was; every distinguishing landmark with a mile was gone. "Quite a sight, isn't it?" The question drifted over her left shoulder. Julia quickly wiped at the tears that trickled down her cheeks before turning to see him right behind her. She backed away a step or two; his jaw tightened. "I'm not going to hurt you," he mumbled, dropping his head and heading for the bedroom. Jesus, she had to do something. The sooner they got along, the better. She ran to his side, stopping his flight with a hand on his arm. His eyes snapped from the sight of her slender fingers to her face. "What?" Julia held up a hand, then walked to the table by his chair. Chances were, he had a pencil and paper somewhere nearby. He preferred the old- fashioned way of note-taking. Some things never change, she thought to herself, spying her needs in the single drawer. For a split second, she froze. What was she doing? She wasn't supposed to know any of his former habits. But she threw that thought away; it was a natural conclusion that anyone could have made. Scribbling quickly in a sloppy mockery of her former handwriting, she brought the pad back to him and waited patiently for his answer. "I don't know what the hell you're supposed to do when I'm not here," he said, handing the pad back to her. "Just stay out of my way when I *am* here, okay?" He finished the trek to the bedroom door before turning. He seemed to be unsure of his next words, biting his lip before speaking. "You may want to learn sign language. I already know it and we can at least carry on a conversation. If you even would want to speak to me." He slammed and locked the door once again. Julia waited until she heard the shower before ushering Eliza from the bedroom. "Jesus, that was scary," Eliza mumbled under her breath. "I'll be back after he's gone to the administrative offices, okay?" Julia nodded, then quickly wrote two words on the pad and handed it to Eliza. "Sign language? Of course, Julia, I can tutor you myself. It comes in very handy, let me tell you. A couple of weeks and you'll be spouting love poetry to that gorgeous man." Somehow, Julia doubted that. She wrote again, asking Eliza to return when she heard Mulder leave. With a wink, Eliza assented, then left. Julia couldn't stand to face him again, so she retreated to her bedroom until she heard the slam of the front door. In a matter of minutes, Eliza breezed in. "Ready?" Julia nodded and they made their way downstairs to the shops on the first floor while Eliza kept up her constant chatter. Julia didn't mind, though; the more Eliza talked, the more she learned. 'Gossip' was Eliza's middle name, apparently. While poring through the racks of designer negligees and evening wear, Julia listened, lamenting the loss of her long-ago closet full of hand-picked armor. Black suits with maybe a splash of color in the silk blouses; the kind of clothes that elevated her to the status of an equal. Eliza had pulled her away from the staid outfits she'd been perusing when they'd first walked in, explaining that those things just weren't, "Pleasing to a man, dear." Julia had tried to show her disapproval with a scowl, but it sailed right over Eliza's head. The woman was adept at reading facial expressions and even more skilled at ignoring them, when she so chose. "Now, that's more like it," Eliza purred, sidling up beside Julia and fingering the piece of red satin. "He is going to love you in this, Julia." Another few minutes and the woman would be salivating, Julia thought. But the game must be played, so she grabbed items at random, the plum red gown included, and made her way to the dressing room. One after the other, she modeled them for Eliza, feeling more and more like a prostitute with every slide of the silky fabrics against her body. Even the underwear was nothing more than flimsy scraps of lace and satin; Julia had never worn things like that in her life. Serviceable clothes and shoes had been the norm for years. "You know, the master usually helps select his girl's wardrobe," Eliza said casually, sitting in the velvet covered chair and sipping a latte. Waving away the shop girl, she pooh-poohed a pink bustier with a grimace. "With her coloring? Please. Bring out the jade greens, the midnight blues. She's not a schoolgirl, can't you see that?" In the mirror, Julia paled and tried to catch Eliza's eye. What had she said before her dressing down of the timid attendant? Finally, Eliza noticed Julia's statue-like stare and set down her cup with a smile. "Oh, don't worry, Julia. He's not coming down here. From what I understand, he's left you to me for this. Just like he's done with the others before you." A twinge of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy fluttered through Julia. Her cheeks darkened to rival the color of the red nightgown and she pulled at the thin straps, trying to lift the bodice where it plunged immodestly. When she looked at the mirror again, Eliza was right behind her. "Don't fret, my dear. Rumor has it he's not cruel; in fact, from all I've heard, he treats his women well. And you've already said he's a good lover, so what's to worry about?" Julia mouthed, meeting the reflection of Eliza's gaze. Her companion snorted and rolled her eyes. "Come on, Julia! Petite redheads *are* his type, you know that. Now, go try on that oyster lingerie set. It will look fabulous, I just know it." She turned and met up with the shop girl, whose arms were loaded down with more seductive tools of the trade. Julia was in no hurry, though. Despite the uncomfortable feeling of being on display, especially in view of the passersby - though they were few and far between - in the lobby outside the shop's door, she was savoring the time out of the suite, and she'd only been there one day. The shop had obviously not been a clothing store before the Invasion; there was only one little curtain-covered cubicle in the back, and the only mirror was hung on the wall outside it. But it was a huge mirror, with three moveable panels on hinges, so Julia could see herself from practically all sides with ease. The 'oyster lingerie set,' as Eliza had named it, was nothing more than a bra and panties made of shimmering pearl satin. It was actually less revealing than any other underwear she'd tried on and she fell in love with it immediately. It looked so similar to her own clothes and she draped the red silk robe over it, unwilling to walk out of the dressing room in just her underwear. She would open the robe for a quick peek in front of the mirror. It was a bad idea. As she parted the robe, her mind wandered. Back to a night of thunder and candles, of discovery and beginnings. Julia's arms sported gooseflesh as she remembered how frightened she'd been back then, and how much better she'd felt.... Now, her own arms came around her at the waist, as waist that was smaller, more defined. Hugging herself with melancholy, she raised her eyes to look at her face. A face that was as unfamiliar as the fear she'd felt that long ago night. Dropping her head, she allowed the tears to gather, but not to fall. Just a moment lost in time, a moment that she would put away forever. "Well," Eliza breathed, somewhere over Julia's left shoulder. "Seems we have an audience." Julia focused beyond Eliza's painted face to the one that stood transfixed in the doorway of the shop. What was he doing here? Eliza had sworn that he didn't care about the frivolous side of their union.... Mulder was flanked by Guardsmen, dressed in a severe black suit. Why wasn't he upstairs in his office, doing whatever dirty work they'd given him? Julia wondered if she'd have to endure his presence night and day. She hoped not; her determination had already suffered a blow from the previous night. His gaze met hers in the mirror, then traveled down her scantily clad body before coming back up. She felt a blush begin in her face and follow the path of his eyes, but she was firm in her resolve not to look away from him, though she slowly drew the edges of the robe back together. She could give as good as she got; the almost breakdown she'd had last night would not happen again. But she wasn't prepared for the look in his eyes when they locked with hers at last. He remembered, too. It was there in the soft glow that she could feel, though he was some yards away. Like opening a photo album of treasured mementoes, the air between them grew warm and alive for a few seconds. Until he dropped his chin, breaking the contact. His face became cloudy, unfocused... anguished, his eyebrows drawing together as if he were in pain. Julia was struck by the transformation and she drew in a sharp breath, preparing to turn around and see if it was really so. God, not again, she thought. Don't let me be swayed. Don't let him get to me like this. But when she turned, he was gone. She'd won this round. Or had she? End Chapter Eight