Julia
Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 9, 2001
6:15 p.m.


She stood with a trembling smile on her face. 
But Mulder ignored her, not even saying hello,
like he'd begun to do in the past few days. 
Instead, he stumbled to his bedroom, shoulders
hunched, mouth slightly open, brow knitted with
concentration.  His normally pale face was more
ashen than usual.  He had a file folder gripped
in one fist and a bottle of amber-colored liquid
in the other.  Scotch, most likely.  It seemed
to be his preferred poison.

He closed the door to his room and Julia waited
for the ritual slide of the lock.  It never
came.

She fidgeted at the end of the sofa.  Did he
want her to come to him?  Was this the
opportunity she'd been anxiously waiting for? 
He'd told her to never come to his room
uninvited; she hadn't even gone in there when he
was out.  He locked it daily.  She could have
forced her way in easily with a hairpin or two,
but she didn't want him to see the telltale
scratch marks on the knob.

After a few seconds of indecision, she came to
the conclusion that the unlocked door was not an
invitation.  It was, however, a golden
opportunity.  Especially when she heard the roar
of the shower.  She could be in and out in five
minutes.  Leave the letter on his bed and await
his response.  He wouldn't even know she'd been
in there.  Yes, it was a cowardly thing to do,
but she had the awful feeling he would tear it
in two should she try to hand it to him
personally.

Julia crept in, her head slowly inspecting the
room through the crack in the door.  He was in
the shower, all right.  She walked further in,
her bare feet making no sound on the plush
carpet.  His room was almost monastic in its
simplicity; he had a king-sized bed just as she
did, but from the looks of it, he spent his
nights in fitful sleep.  The coverlet wasn't
even turned down, just slightly mussed as if he
merely napped there.  Several pillows rested
against the headboard, but only one bore the
imprint of his head.  The clothes he wore that
day laid in disarray on the floor.  A small lamp
glowed from the night stand by the bed.  There
were no books there or on the dresser, just a
few personal items.  A watch, hairbrush and
keys.

And the file folder.

Should she take the opportunity to skim the
contents of the file folder?  On the far side of
the room was the bathroom.  She estimated she
had about five minutes before he was finished.
It was the first time he'd brought work home. 
At least she hoped it was work.

Yes, Dana Scully had returned with a vengeance. 
Information was hard to come by and though she'd
not come in here with that objective in mind,
she'd be a fool to pass it up.

She spread the file open on the bed, all the
while eyeing the bathroom door.  A stack of
forms, all the same, laid before her, lined with
names, destinations and dates.

A lump of tense realization bloomed in her
throat.  They were lists.  Lists of people
awaiting repatriation.  All with the haphazard
signature of Fox Mulder.

This is what he did all day.  Served as judge,
jury and executioner.  Swallowing the bile that
bulged in the back of her throat, she skimmed
the names of the forms that had today's date. 
Her finger glided over the P's, Q's and R's
shakily; the row of S's seemed endless.  But she
had to do it - to her knowledge, her family had
never been accounted for.

Scallan, Schroeder, Scott, Shipley....  She
breathed a sigh of relief.  They weren't there. 
Her hand jerked away from the page at the next
name.

Skinner, Walter S.  Detained in Montreal.
Montreal?  Made sense... the cold still acted as
a deterrent to gestation.

Her heart plummeted as she scanned to the right
of his name.  Scheduled for transport on
February fourteenth.  Five days from now.  The
signature line at the bottom of the page was
empty; it was the only form he hadn't signed. 
Yet.

Would he do it?  Could she let him?  She held
the paper up in both hands, ready to rip it to
shreds.  So what if she got caught?  She
couldn't let Skinner die.  Worse - she couldn't
let him be captured at all.  He carried pieces
of the artifact in him.  The Appointing
Authority would surely love to get his greedy
hands on another source of the raw material.

Just as her hands moved in opposite directions,
a loud groan came from the bathroom.

Julia felt the simmering anger blow up to
consume her, blinding her temporarily.  A man
who had once been friend to them both lay in
wait, probably stuffed into a railway car with a
hundred other poor souls; he was going to be
dead in a matter of days.

And Mulder was jerking off in the shower.

God damn him.  Just when she'd been ready to
tell all, fall for his confusing, sympathy-
inspiring words.  If she had a knife, she would
have finished the job that the previous
incumbent had started.  The dinner trays didn't
come with sharp knives, though.  Plasticware was
the norm at all meals.  No big surprise, given
the assassination attempt.

"Aaahh."  There it was again; he was getting
close.

She looked at the manifest in her hand, then
quickly folded and pocketed it before walking to
the bathroom door.

Short, hitching gasps barely reached her ears. 
He *was* masturbating, wasn't he?  Could the
sounds of pleasure be something else entirely?

Disgust waned with the racing of her mind. 
Think, she admonished herself.  Your face may
not be the same, but your logical mind hasn't
changed a bit.  Weigh the evidence.  Believe in
the man.

He couldn't have been doing this job
voluntarily, could he?  The Mulder she'd once
known would not have given up all he'd ever
worked for, the truth and justice he craved, for
this world of power and greed.  Then again, the
man she knew would not have done the things
she'd seen him do in the past months.

Maybe he'd been working with the Underground all
along.  But why had she never heard of it?  And
what could he possibly hope to accomplish in
this fortress to that end?

Fox Mulder, *her* Mulder, would have died before
he let these men manipulate him.  Her breath
caught at the memory of his scarred wrist.

He would have died.  He would have taken his own
life.  Julia's eyes filled with hot, bitter
tears of realization, spurring her on.

A heavy cloud of steam blasted her face when she
opened the door.  She could barely make out his
naked form behind the shower door;  the only
light came from the vanity mirror, and it was
dispersed in the haze in the room.

"Noooo.  I can't do it."  It was barely a
whisper, but the agony within the words was
deafening to Julia's ears.

"Mulder," she answered, her lips forming the
soundless word.

"God damn it!"  He let loose with the hoarse
cry, and Julia froze.

He was crying.  Small, almost wailing sobs that
echoed in the shower stall.

Oh my God, she thought, *this* was why he spent
thirty minutes showering each night.  It was
killing him, this power he had over life and
death.

She brought her hand to her mouth unconsciously,
stifling the soundless cry.  Why did he do it? 
All these months spent at the right hand of the
Appointing Authority, declaring to the world on
television that he was a traitor, signing his
name on death warrant after death warrant.  Not
for the first time since she'd been muted, she
wished for her voice.

Instead, she slowly pulled the dress over her
head and slid open the shower door, her decision
made.

Mulder didn't hear her step into the spray
behind him, nor did he hear the soft snick of
the closing door.  He was bowed under the
stinging stream of hot water, palms flat against
the tile, his back heaving with the
uncontrollable cries that broke from his lips.

Julia felt her tears begin anew; dozens of faint
white lines crisscrossed his back.  He'd been
whipped, apparently very badly, from the looks
of the puckered skin.  Although the scars were
diminishing, indicative of excellent medical
care, there were a few that would remain for the
rest of his life.  Her anger returned, this time
at the men who had done this to him.

Careful not to startle him, she slipped her arms
around him from behind and laid her cheek
between his shoulder blades.  Though only
experienced when she'd brushed his cheek with
her lips, the smell of his skin filled her
senses with familiar longing.  It was still the
same; still Mulder.

He immediately jerked to attention.  "What the
hell are you doing in here?" he rasped, though
he made no move to turn around and confront her. 
"I told you never to come in here."

Julia answered him by putting her lips to the
worst of the scars, the water making them slide
over the fiery red skin.  She was rewarded with
a hissing intake of breath.

"Stop it."  He still didn't turn around though,
even with his weak protest echoing off of the
tiles.

He wasn't adamant in his command and she found
herself sliding easily into the role of
concubine. Granted, if she weren't Julia, she
never would have found the nerve to approach him
this way.  It thrilled her, the total abandon
she felt racing through her veins.  Desire,
love, the need to comfort... all overriding her
reason the moment her skin touched his.

She became bolder, her hands molding the
sculpted planes of his chest and arms.  His
breathing changed from deep, ragged gulps of air
to short bursts of moistened pleas.

"Stop it, I said.  Stop..."

Now that she'd started, what he was asking was
impossible.  She moved closer, the patch of
curls between her legs making contact with his
taut buttocks.  At the feel of the friction
between them, he stiffened, his head falling
back.  She glanced up and was in awe of his raw
beauty.

His hair made a sleek cap upon his head, water
running in rivulets over his tightly shut eyes
before pooling on his lower lip, which was slack
in beautiful, relaxed ecstasy.

"God, Julia, what are you doing to me?"

The sound of her name on his lips pulled her
away from her mesmerized scrutiny back to the
matter at hand.  She wanted to make him forget,
to soothe his hurt.  Time later for discussion.

Her hands pinched his nipples and the groan from
him excited her beyond belief.  Even in the
constant storm of now lukewarm water, she could
feel herself swelling, the dampness of her
arousal dripping from her.  She wanted nothing
more than to turn him around and impale herself
on his cock, but this wasn't about her.  It was
about Mulder.

After several minutes of playful nipping at his
chest with her nails and opened mouth kisses to
his back, she lowered her hands slowly over the
muscles of his abdomen until she felt him
twitch.  His hands fought for purchase on the
slippery tiles, and his head fell forward, his
eyes open.  She felt him watch as one tiny hand
drifted down, searching with slow, hopeful
deliberation.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hips bucking into her
hands.

I've got him now, she thought.

In a heartbeat, he'd turned, trapping her wrists
with his hands.  "What the hell do you think
you're doing?" he growled.

Surprise made her gasp and slip forward, her
form colliding with his.  For a brief moment, he
allowed her to rest against him and she caught
her breath at the unmistakable hardness of his
flesh as it reacted with life of its own.  The
Guardsman's taunting words echoed in her fuzzy
brain; now she knew his gossip to be definitely
untrue.

At the contact, Mulder's eyes darkened,
narrowing and pinning hers.  Desire surged
between them; the rise and fall of his chest
became more rapid as he gulped in the moist,
steamy air.  The grip on her wrists tightened as
his head lowered.

She kept her eyes open, as he did, her gaze
settling on the tantalizing open mouth inches
from hers.  This kiss promised to be even better
than the one they'd shared earlier in the day; 
she knew that once they'd begun, there was no
going back.  Mulder was going to kiss her and
make love to her.  What had begun as comfort
would end with sex.

And she was ready.  More ready and happier than
she'd ever been in her life.

"Scully," he breathed, unconsciously calling her
the familiar name.

Scully.  He'd called her Scully.  That made her
happiest of all, though she doubted he'd even
realized it.

But she saw the instant he *did* realize it. 
His mouth stopped a hair above her own, mingled
water flowing between their lips like a warm
current of electricity.

No! she wanted to scream.  Don't stop!

Before she could finalize the union of their
lips, he pulled away, releasing her wrists. 
"Get out."

She couldn't, she just couldn't.  They were so
close....  Bringing her hands up to his chest,
she moved closer, pleading with her eyes for his
capitulation.  One of his hands moved to cover
hers, stilling their movement on his chest while
he slowly brought himself back under control.

With his other hand, he savagely turned and shut
the water off, the disgust in his voice piercing
her.  "I said, get out."

When she didn't make a move, he gripped her
hands and shoved back, making her release him. 
Stumbling blindly, her hip slammed into the hand
rail with enough force to take her breath away. 
When the pain abated, she opened her eyes to
find him gone.

What the hell was that all about?  Was he
mortified to have lost control?  Angry with
himself because he'd called her by another's
name?

Moving gingerly, she toweled dry and drew the
dress over her head, her hair hanging in damp,
wavy folds around her face.  She made her way
into the bedroom to find he wasn't there,
either.  The file folder was missing, too.

His voice drifted to her from the open bedroom
door.

"Yes, yes, I know.  Tell him I'll deliver them
personally."

Had he noticed the missing manifest?  She didn't
think so, or he would have known immediately who
had it.

He hung up the telephone and walked to the bar. 
Julia noticed he had donned navy sweats;  his
bare feet were stuffed into unlaced tennis
shoes.

Mulder must have heard her approach, because his
voice stopped her cold before she could reach
him.

"So now you know what I do all day," he said
dispassionately.  Yes, it seemed he'd noticed
the open folder on the bed, but somehow had
missed the Skinner manifest.  "How do you feel,
Julia, knowing you live with a murderer?"  He
didn't turn around; even through the lash of his
harsh words.  She so wanted him to face her.

She persevered, however, moving to his side and
taking the glass from his hand.  With a gentle
touch, she turned his head so that their eyes
met.

M - U - L - D - E - R.  Her fingers moved
slowly, deliberately, daring him to disapprove.

Please tell me you are not what I think you are,
she prayed.  Please remember what we were to one
another.

Her hand moved to the letter in her pocket,
skimming the folded manifest.  What ultimately
happened to the manifest depended upon his
reaction to the letter.  One disclosure at a
time, she thought.  With trembling fingers, she
handed it to him.  Mulder gave it a cursory
glance and pursed his lips.

"What's this?  A list of people you'd like me to
make disappear?"  His snide tone didn't hurt
Julia, though it was difficult for her to stand
firm in the face of his angry self-derision. 
"Guess my name is at the top, huh?"

How could he say that after what she just did
for him?  For a moment, she joined in his anger,
then let it slide away.  Emotions, his and hers,
were on a roller coaster ride.  It was time to
set things straight once and for all.

Julia's lips parted in a tremulous smile and her
hands shook.

<I don't know,> she signed with an arch of her
eyebrow. <Will you remember my birthday this
year?>

Mulder's eyes clouded, then widened.  Julia
grasped his hand over the folded letter and
squeezed.  Her smile became radiant as the
memory of a long ago conversation dawned in his
face.

"Scu -" His words were silenced by her
fingertips.  Be careful, her eyes warned.

He nodded, his eyes roaming her face like she
was the most beautiful of jewels.  They touched
upon her cheeks, her hair, her mouth, before
becoming soft and liquid in the evening light.

Her fingers traced the lips that trembled with
emotion and she felt him press a kiss into them
before swooping to make the final connection.

"Sir?"

Julia heard the harsh query from the doorway. 
Mulder tensed, his back to the door, his face
inches from hers.  He quickly pressed the letter
into her palm and fisted her hand around it,
alarm flaring in his eyes.

"Yes?" he barked, though he didn't turn around. 
He followed the movement of the letter as Julia
slowly slipped it back into her pocket, knowing
the Guardsman's view of her was blocked by his
body.

"The Appointing Authority requests your presence
immediately, sir."  It was snide, rude command,
despite the title of respect tacked on the end.

"I told him I was bringing the manifests to
him," Mulder ground out, turning his head away
from Julia.  "I'll be right there."

"Now, sir," the Guardsman reiterated, rapidly
losing patience.  Julia poked her head around
Mulder's side and paled at the sight of the
soldier with his hand resting upon his sidearm.

<Go,> she mouthed to Mulder. <I'm not going
anywhere.>

Impatience warred with fear in Mulder's eyes. 
Fear not for his safety, but hers.  Julia
decided to remove herself temporarily from the
situation, giving his hand a squeeze of
reassurance before moving away in the direction
of her bedroom.

Mulder held on though, forcing her to look back
at him.

"I won't be long," he whispered, then looked at
their clasped hands one last time before letting
her go.

Julia felt his warm gaze follow her and she
lifted her chin in the stare of the Guardsman,
her gait slow and sure.

It was only when she closed the bedroom door
behind her that she allowed her muscles to
relax, slumping against the door.

It was going to be all right.  Despite
everything that had gone on in the past months,
one thing still remained between them.  Trust. 
The fact that he hadn't revealed her to the
Guardsman told her that if nothing else, the
bond of trust still existed.

And trust had always gotten them through
before... it would do so again.



End Chapter Thirteen