Julia Chapter Nine Disclaimers, etc. in Headers Undisclosed location West Virginia Mountains June 14, 2000 3:25 a.m. An anniversary of the worst kind, Scully thought. Exactly one month since the Invasion. And they were still no closer to getting out of the bunker than they'd been back then. But she was closer to figuring out the puzzle than she'd ever been. The Appointing Authority still broadcast daily messages, informing the populace of the new and glorious society just on the horizon. His plan was outlined and though there were still some resistance efforts ongoing, it appeared most of the people left had capitulated. They allowed themselves to be classified, brought into classification centers with smiles on their faces. At least, that's what the television seemed to be spewing out these days. Everyone was one big happy family. "Subliminal messages," Krycek explained. At his bunker mates' panicked glares, he added, "We have nothing to worry about - the televisions in this place are equipped with filters. All part of the plan." He laughed at Scully's face, her remembrance of the time she'd almost killed Mulder under such influence making her pale. "Besides, it would take hours of viewing 'Cancerman TV' before you turn into a mindless zombie... isn't that right, Scully?" Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. The Gunmen set about transmitting a worldwide alert, informing their contacts of the brainwashing. Scully could have cheerfully kicked his ass for waiting so long to tell them. But Krycek wasn't worth the effort. All her energy was streamlined into the thriving underground resistance effort and trying to find Mulder. But there was something else to be done, and it was not something she could do in front of an audience. It was something she'd pondered from day one in the bunker. Much as she didn't want to do it, Krycek's revelation proved to be the ultimate catalyst. The Gunmen were busy at their task, and it seemed as good a time as any to do it. She hadn't been called, hadn't felt the tug on her mind and body. But she knew deep inside that it was just a matter of time. For two weeks, she'd wondered if it would come... *when* it would come. And she was tired of it already. The decision was upon her, and she couldn't put if off another second, for fear of their safety. She brushed past Krycek, ignoring his knowing smirk, damning him silently. Why hadn't he told them this before? No time to curse him, she thought. Just do it. Blocking all other thoughts from her mind, she walked to the room that served as a makeshift medical unit, though it wasn't much more than a collection of boxes marked with big red crosses. A worn padded table sat in the middle of the room and a stainless steel sink and cabinet was built into the far wall. Above it was a mirror, flanked by two bright lights that blared to life when she flicked on the wall switch. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for; the scalpel was still enclosed in its packing material. A quick swab of Betadine, some twisting in front of the mirror... and it was out, clasped between the forceps that shook in her hand. The cut was small and a butterfly bandage served to hold the edges together nicely. It wasn't bad work, she mused absently. Little or no blood, and the scar would be minimal. As she carried it to the restroom down the hall, she did some mental calculations. The tumor hadn't made a measurable appearance or caused any physical symptoms for about a year after she'd removed the original; maybe she'd have at least that much time to do what she could to thwart colonization. And if she didn't? she asked herself as the chip was flushed away. Then it didn't really matter, did it? In a year's time, there would be nothing left of the world to save, at the rate things were going. All she knew was she couldn't take the chance on discovery. For herself or her friends. "Still the martyr, eh Scully?" She jumped at the sound of Krycek's voice and whirled to find him leaning against the doorjamb. Seemed he made a living out of sneaking up on people; not that she was surprised. He always was the reptilian sort. Knowing it was useless to banter with him, she turned away to wash her hands. "And what's it to you?" "I'm not gonna let you sacrifice yourself." Snorting, she dropped her head. "Too late, it's gone. Besides, what do you care?" "I don't... not about you anyway. But I have a vested interest in finding that old man. And somehow, I don't think your friends would stoop to help me if you were dead." At his murmur, she paused in the act of grabbing a paper towel, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "That fast?" Jesus, it couldn't happen that quick, could it? "You'd be surprised, Scully. After all, you *were* at death's door last time. It's still in you, just dormant. I'd give you a month, tops." Frightened by his declaration, she paled, but swallowed and stood firm. "Still doesn't matter. The chip is gone." "But this one isn't." Like tempting a baby with candy, he dangled a vial in front of him, waiting for her reaction. Non-reaction, really. She dried her hands and turned to lean against the sink, arms crossed. "The same as the other one? No thanks, Krycek. I want to sleep well at night - even if it *is* only for another few weeks." "This chip," he said slowly, turning the cylinder of glass over and over through his fingers, "is just like yours in every respect... except one." His jaw shut tight as his eyes pierced her with challenge. She was tempted, she couldn't deny it. The whole in the back of her neck made her feel so empty, and it had only been a few minutes. Would she really die in a month? "And I'm supposed to trust you?" she snorted, feeling a fine sheen of sweat break out on her upper lip. Against her will, her eyes followed the roll of the vial between his thumb and forefingers. "I don't give a fuck if you trust me or not. But I've been saving this baby for a long time, Scully. For myself, actually, should the need arise. Can't trust even your employers these days." His lips curled into a mirthless smile. "One of the originals - I stole it from the same lab they kept you in when you were delivered to them by Duane Barry. I knew then it was important." She believed him. God help her, she had no reason to, but why would he lie now? They were all stuck in this prison, just waiting to die when they would eventually starve. There wasn't any use going above, just as there wasn't a need for her to die. Not if he meant what he was saying. "Are you saying it can't be used against me?" "The second chip, the one Mulder so heroically saved you with - *that* one was a later version. Complete with Cancerman radar. *This* one will do what you need it to... and nothing else." "And what do you want in return?" Nothing came without a price with this man. He handed it to her. "Nothing. Call it a gift." She watched him walk away, still unsure of his motives. This was going to take some serious consideration. ********** February 6, 2001 8:45 p. m. Julia waited, cataloging all the necessary information she'd learned in her short time here. After the shopping trip from hell, during which she'd been outfitted in all manner of seductive wear, she'd slowly managed to regain some control. As well as finding out quite a lot about the inner workings of the building. Eliza had explained to her that all of the men housed on the top floors were administrators. There were twenty-two floors in all, plus a penthouse where the Appointing Authority made his residence. Mulder's suite was on the twenty-first floor; if the administrators were placed according to importance, as one would assume, then he was probably right under the boss man in the chain of command. She couldn't really figure out exactly what his job was, though. He left at 9:00 a.m. every day, Sundays included, for his office on the fifteenth floor. Offices occupied floors number ten through fifteen; service personnel had quasi-offices on floors number seven, eight and nine. Apparently they slept on makeshift cots in the same rooms they worked out of. She'd already seen the Infirmary on the sixth floor. The lower floors consisted mainly of shops and entertainment facilities, including a ballroom and fully equipped gym on the second floor. Eliza spoke of dining in the restaurant facility on the third floor, which made Julia long for human contact. Mulder preferred to have their meals delivered to his suite. Every evening, he would drag in at 6:30 and head straight for his room. At least a half hour would pass before he made his reappearance. Once, she'd dared to press her ear to his door; all she'd heard was the din of the shower, muffled through the wood. Quite a lengthy shower, by anyone's standards. She supposed you didn't have to worry about conserving hot water in this palace of greed. She hadn't allowed herself that luxury since the day of her arrival. Lingering in the bathroom meant letting your guard down and she didn't have the added security of a lock on her door as Mulder did. She'd not been bothered by anyone really, much to her surprise. Not even by Mulder. Dinner was delivered promptly at 7:00 and they would eat in stony silence at opposite ends of the table before he'd settle in his chair by the window. Julia would curl up on the sofa with one of the books she'd acquired from Eliza and await his pleasure. He was not the least bit interested in her, despite the shared moment in the shop's bright lights. She'd tried to speak with him once, a few days ago, stopping his flight to the window with frantic hands. "What now?" he'd grumbled, hands on hips. Julia had stepped back, a hopeful smile on her face. Her hand tentatively signed the letters proudly. At first, his eyes had softened, becoming mossy green and open. She'd done it again, faster, her smile tentative. It mattered not that he hated his name. She had always loved it, and had taken the opportunity to use it. He'd watched her in silence, until his face hardened, the memory of her purpose returning by degrees. Distressed at his retreat, she'd gambled on her next word. Mulder, Mulder, Mulder. Over and over her fingers curled in the more familiar fashion, her eyes pleading for communication, until he'd grabbed her hands and pulled her to him, his eyes flinty. "*You* are not allowed to call me that," he'd said through clenched teeth. "Don't ever do it again." That night, he'd forgone the nightly drink in his chair, instead leaving her for the sanctuary of his bedroom, carafe in hand. He drank quite heavily, though she'd never seen him falling down drunk. She doubted she ever would; Mulder was not the type of man to let alcohol blur his objectives, whatever they happened to be. That was the real question here and she would figure it out one day soon. Her mind was constantly working on it. His voice bounced off of the window. "Julia? Are you still there?" Three nights of silence. She'd sat on the couch behind him for hours each night, staring at the cold fireplace, occupying her mind with possibilities and her ears with Mozart, which Mulder seemed to like. She would never have pegged him as a fan of classical music, but every night, he loaded the compact disc player with, unbeknownst to him, some of her favorites. It was funny how physics and the Piano Concerto in A major blended into perfect harmony. Until his voice hit a sour note. Julia sighed, a ragged exhale of breath that caught her vocal cords with just a twinge of memory. "I want to see you, Julia. Come here." Julia hesitated at the small request. Mulder had basically ignored her since the morning after her arrival, when he'd barricaded himself in his room. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to anymore; the sound of his breathing, mixed in with the music, were comforting in an odd way. He would spend half an hour or so in the shower, they would eat dinner - well, she would eat, he would just pick at his food - then they would set up camp at opposite ends of the room until he stumbled to his room around midnight. He was exhausted, that much was obvious. Against her better judgment, she was worried about him. He didn't eat well or sleep much. Was it too much to give him the sight of her face? She padded across the carpet to his side, tightening the belt of her royal blue robe, keeping a rein on her anxiety. Much as she'd known this was coming, she didn't know if she was ready for his attentions. It was too soon. There had not been enough time to rebuild the ice around her heart that had melted at the sight of him. Mulder sat in his chair, the ever present glass in his hand. He'd had quite a lot this evening, more than usual, Julia thought. Out of the corner of her eye, she gave his slouched form a quick once over. The liquor hadn't dulled his senses in the least. From the set of his jaw to the hand that grasped the arm of the chair, he was ready to spring at a moment's notice. She anticipated his next move, but jumped anyway when his left hand released the chair to curl around her wrist. He didn't look up when next he spoke. "Sit here, Julia, in front of me." He pulled her to the ottoman, where she sat in a rigid pose, her legs snug between his. Julia kept her eyes on her hands, which lay flat upon her thighs. Don't look at him, she kept repeating to herself. You don't know what your eyes will tell him. Her heart was racing; she was sure he could see it in the pulse that beat wildly in her neck. "Look at me." The command was half-hearted, as if he didn't want to anger her. It confused her, this plea. With a crook of his little finger, he could have her taken away, repatriated like the others. Yet the three little words were spoken more like a request. One that she couldn't deny. He sat on his chair in familiar repose, his spiky hair still damp from his evening shower. The sweatshirt hung on his lanky frame - he was much too thin, she thought. A man of his height and breadth could easily have carried an extra twenty pounds. His face was clean-shaven, but gaunt. The scar didn't seem quite as menacing because his face was losing the glow of health with every day that passed. But his eyes... they were very much alive, shining like the loveliest of Christmas lights. Green and clear despite the effects of the alcohol, they were mesmerizing in their siren song. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you and I meant it," he said. "I just wanted someone to talk to tonight. I get tired of hearing myself breathe sometimes." He smiled slightly, then, realizing the step he had taken, pulled back abruptly, his lips pursing. But his eyes remained the same - hopeful and wanting. Julia had always been a sucker for pitiful looks, and this one was no different. She watched her hands rise from her lap. It was fortunate that she was a fast learner; in the past few days, she'd picked up the rudiments of sign language from Eliza. Mulder's absence during the day gave them many hours of practice. The memory of his admonishment darkened his eyes. "Is that all you can say?" Stricken, she closed off immediately, her eyes lowering again. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Julia," he hissed. "I didn't mean to.... damn it." Julia stopped him from leaving with a hand on his knee. she signed. Welcome to sign language 101. "Sure as hell isn't Mr. Sensitive," he replied wryly, then flushed at her answering smirk. "Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" Julia nodded, feeling her tension ebb away at his embarrassment. The corners of his eyes crinkled in time with the grin he tried to suppress. He really was a lovely man, she thought, despite his disfigurement. She felt her whole body warm with feelings she'd not had in months. Unwelcome as it was, she gave in to his pull and let her mouth open, the smile blossoming under the light from his eyes. Mulder caught his breath at the transformation. Julia felt an instant of regret; she shouldn't have let her guard down so fully. It was not wise. But she couldn't help herself - he was so obviously starved for genuine human contact. As was she, although she hadn't admitted it to herself until now. It was difficult not to be entranced by Mulder. He was such a beautiful man, inside and out. Once again, he ceased to be the Minister and became just a man. A lonely, haunted man who needed something from her - an ordinary conversation. Small talk seemed so trite in this gilded cage, but she made the effort, hoping to continue to draw him out. She nodded at the lovely melody that filled the air. "Not particularly," he smirked. "They probably hate it, so it works for me." She was momentarily confused. "My associates," he replied, touching the tip of his ear with a wink. "For some reason, they find me fascinating." Listening devices? Her eyes widened at the thought. Of course. Even if Mulder was working for them now, it made sense that the old 'trust no one' philosophy would still apply. Jesus, had she done anything in the past few days.... "Don't worry, Julia," he murmured. "No cameras. Not that I've found, anyway. But there isn't enough DDT in the world to kill all the bugs in this place." He lifted his chin and shouted, "Isn't that so, fellas?" A chuckle bubbled from his lips as he swirled the liquor in his glass. Whispering, his eyes filled with mischief. "I'll bet they hate when I do that." she answered, his infectious grin making her smile in return. In fact, she would not have expected anything less from the man who used to make a living pissing people off. At the memory, her smile became pensive, and Mulder reacted in kind, sobering just a bit. He cleared his throat and took another sip of whiskey, momentarily looking away from her wistful face. "Where are you from, Julia?" He joined in making small talk, unwilling to open himself to her just yet, she knew. That was okay, she thought. It was a start. she signed. Well, it was partially true. The person she was now had been fully realized in that horror of a bus station, helped along by a generous dose of Eliza Marcotte. "Virginia?" Mulder asked, sitting a little straighter in his chair, his face lighting up at the possibility. Jesus, she had forgotten where he had made his home before.... It was with a sad heart that she watched him wilt. He just as quickly recovered, his face regaining some of the stoic composure she'd become accustomed to over the last few days. Some, but not all. Little by little, he was losing the tight rein he had over his emotions. It showed in his next words, the humor filtering through. "A southern girl, huh? So, Julia, did you once sit on the porch of a huge plantation home and sip mint juleps all day?" That made her laugh, or as near to laughter as her paralyzed throat would come. It came out as a breathy squeak, catching her by surprise. She brought a hand to her neck and gasped. Mulder apologized immediately. "God, Julia, I'm sorry - I've done it again. Does it hurt?" He leaned forward and brought his hand to her elbow. Julia shook her head. She smiled at her joke, her shoulders shaking with pent-up laughter. It was amazing, actually, what they'd done to her. She'd been positive that, at the very least, she would have experienced some aspiration of food due to the non-movement of her vocal cords. That was a very common problem with vocal cord paralysis. But so far, nothing unusual had happened. She was physically okay, just unable to speak. Mulder smiled with her, waiting for her to calm down. "That was a truly horrible joke, Julia," he said, slightly miffed at her. "If I could give you back your voice, I would, you know." His smile died as his eyes met hers. Julia nodded, her hand coming to rest upon his wrist. she mouthed, stroking the pulse that beat under her fingers. They sat in silence as she soothed the agitated surge of blood just under his skin. The skin felt rough, uneven, almost.... Her eyes fell to the wrist she cradled and she felt her mouth drop in horror. Lines... puckered, angry red marks of disillusionment and pain. Had he been so desperate? Apparently he had, and not so long ago, from the looks of his skin. God, she was angry now. Angry at him, at the men who forced him to resort to such a horrible solution, and especially angry at herself for not being here until now. Screw the plan. Screw the Underground. Mulder followed the red fire as it crept from her neck to her face. "Julia - what is it?" She raised furious eyes to his face, then back to his wrist, as if to demand an explanation. Not that he owed her one; after all, he wasn't supposed to explain anything to her. Julia was a servant, a fact she knew all too well. But it didn't stop her from screaming her question at him in the grip of his arm. she mouthed, too incensed to release his arm long enough to sign the words. She knew she shouldn't appear so interested, but images of him cold and blood-soaked put all thoughts of apathy right out of her mind. He jerked his arm away and rose from the chair. "None of your God damned business," he growled, reaching for a new bottle of booze at the bar. Try as she might, she couldn't get the images out of her mind. They bombarded her, one after the other, like arrows through the heart. She felt the hot tears wind slowly down her cheeks, wanting so much to tell him what she shouldn't, what she couldn't. "It was a long time ago, Julia," he said, as if he could feel her sympathetic gaze upon his back. "Long before I realized how good I had it here." Sarcasm dripped from his words. Julia stood and took a step toward him, unsure of her motives, but sure of one thing. She needed to tell him.... "Go to bed, Julia. Leave me alone." No, no, I can't, she cried to his back. "I've had enough conversation for one night." His shoulders slumped and his head dropped. "Please do as I ask, Julia." The last whispered words were a plea, one that she couldn't deny. She wiped the tears from her face and resolved to let him take this at his own pace. She could wait; time was not yet of the essence. It was good that they'd made a beginning. This thing between them wasn't supposed to be emotional, but somehow she always knew it would eventually come down to that. The plan didn't call for her to be Fox Mulder's savior, but her heart could not let him be lost, despite his dubious allegiance to the Appointing Authority. He started at the touch of her hand upon his arm, but didn't move away. She became bold, turning his face to hers with a gentle brush of her fingers. Mulder's face was impassive, but a simple truce dawned in his eyes. "Good night, Julia. Sleep well." She watched him retreat to his bedroom. The click of the lock didn't bother her quite so much as it had the night before. End Chapter Nine