Julia
Chapter Twenty-two

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
7:47 p.m.


"Jesus, oh Jesus."

The low, frantic words sounded so far away to
her ears, but the arms around her were very
close.  Too close, in fact, as she immediately
struggled against their confining hold.

"Shh... Julia, it's okay.  Stop it, it's just
me."

A cool, wet cloth wiped across her face and she
swallowed, the acrid taste of blood making her
gag.  In a second, she was pushing the voice
away and turning to retch.

The strong arms supported her as she emptied the
contents of her stomach onto the bathroom floor. 
She hadn't eaten much all day, and what did come
up was a ghastly mixture of bile and blood.

As her eyes fluttered open to ascertain what
exactly was going on, the sight of the pinkish
froth puddling on the white tile brought it all
back.

"So much for never fainting."  Mulder's low,
cynical murmur shook with residual fright.

Embarrassment made her hang her head as she
gulped for air.  In all her years as a student
of medicine and pathology, never once had she
been sickened by the sight of blood.  Her iron
stomach had served her well.  It wasn't unusual
for her to tackle the most gruesome autopsy
after eating a full lunch.

But this time, a little blood had done her in
and brought the cavalry running.  She tensed in
Mulder's arms and waited for the tirade.

"I heard you fall," he said behind her, the hand
not gripping her waist holding the washcloth to
her neck.  "Jesus, Julia... you scared the shit
out of me."

It wasn't a tirade, not yet, anyway.  She could
feel him tremble behind her as he draped close
over her back, feel the tremor of fear in the
fingers that held the blessedly cool cloth to
her skin.

The chip!  Where was the chip?

Her eyes scanned the floor and she spied the
forceps laying at the base of the toilet, still
clutching the prize.  With relief, she sagged
against Mulder and sat up a bit straighter,
squeezing his hand in reassurance.  Noticing
just how close they were to the bathtub, she
thanked her lucky stars she hadn't hit her head
on the edge on the way down.

"Don't try to move," he commanded, his voice
carrying more of a hint of anger, now that the
immediate danger had passed and she was awake.

What he must have gone through, she thought,
closing her eyes.  It was the main reason she
hadn't clued him in to this particular aspect of
the plan.  She had an inkling that the sight of
her blood, especially streaming from her nose,
would upset him.

"I could fucking slap you."

Okay.  'Upset' wasn't exactly the correct word.

'Furious' was more like it.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. 
Pale white lines of fright still hemmed the
corners of his mouth and the scar stood out in
red relief against the green-brown flash of his
eyes.  He was naked save for his boxers, and his
torso was dotted with faint smears of red.  Her
blood, fingerprinted on his chest and arms by
her panicked hands of moments ago.

His hands were streaked more heavily, she
noticed as they fell away from her to form
uneasy fists.  The washcloth in his right bled
small teardrops of faint pink as it suffered
under his squeeze.

He waited, the tick in his jaw speaking of the
slight hold he had on words at the moment.  Even
though he was angry, she knew he wouldn't
compromise them.  But he waited.

<I knew you wouldn't like it.  That's why I
waited until you were asleep.> Her eyes pleaded
with him to understand.

"What."  It wasn't a question; more of a
statement to continue, made through thin lips.

She drew in a sharp breath when she scooted the
few inches to the forceps and she felt Mulder's
hand settle upon her hip in reply.  Forcing a
small smile to her lips, she turned her head and
nodded, transmitting her well-being, though she
actually was becoming stiff and sore.  But she
swore to herself she wasn't going to give him
anything more to worry about.  The crease
between his eyebrows smoothed out a bit, and for
that she was grateful.  Now, to take care of his
anger.

The chip was safely enclosed in a multi-layer
sheath of paper thin processed bovine skin, the
kind used as temporary grafts in burn patients. 
It was a ball of flesh colored artificial dermis
around a piece of metal more valuable than gold.

Very carefully, she grasped the forceps between
her thumb and forefinger and held it up to the
light for him to see.

His eyes narrowed and he stood with a small
snort of frustration.  "I need my God damned
glasses," he muttered, extending his hands to
help her up.

As she stood, the blood loss, combined with the
wane of adrenaline, worked against her and she
swayed, closing her eyes for just a second.

"Stay here," he ordered, sitting her down at the
vanity.

Like she was going to argue with him.  Her head
ached and she gently set the forceps, their
precious cargo in place, on the vanity.  Though
she was loathe to let go of it just yet, her
fingers still clutching them like they'd vanish
into thin air.

Mulder stormed out and she took the chance to
bring her hand to her face, wincing at the
tender spot at her temple.  Seemed she *had* hit
the floor with more force than she'd thought;
this was good, though she was starting to feel
like she'd been run over by a truck.  But at
least it was an excuse to visit the Infirmary.

She didn't want to check out her nose quite yet. 
Not even in the mirror.

"Guess it's a good thing you have a hard head,
isn't it?"

The sarcastic question came from the doorway,
startling her into facing him.  With a sad nod,
she sighed.  She didn't feel like getting into
it with him.

Thankfully, he said nothing, just set his jaw
and donned his glasses, crouching before her to
gently take hold of her wrist.

She saw his hand reflected in the lens of his
glasses; his scrutiny was intense as he brought
it close to his face, twisting his hand slowly
from side to side.  After a few moments, he sat
back on his heels and focused his attention on
her.

"I'm waiting."

She felt like a bug under a microscope.  The
assessment of the chip was nothing compared to
the stare he afforded her.

<It's the signal I told you about.  The one to
Krycek.>

With a sigh, he let go of her hand and removed
his glasses, dropping them on the vanity amidst
a splatter of tiny red drops.  His hands, now
crusty with her blood, moved to his face and he
allowed himself a crushing moment of leftover
despair as they scrubbed at the remaining panic.

She saw the exact moment he smelled her blood
again; he pulled his hands away and looked at
them as though they were on fire.  "Jesus."

Scrambling up from the floor, he got fresh wet
towels and cleaned himself up, then her, before
wiping up the mess on the floor.  All this was
done in silence and she watched his every move
with worry.  He was still shaking, most notably
when he forced his legs to bend to the floor.

His task done, he threw the soiled towels into a
pile in the corner and gave her his hand.  She
willed him to look at her, but he was obstinate
in his withdrawal.

"Come on," he said, his gaze averted to the
chip.  "We have to get you to the Infirmary."

He still remembered the plan; she was relieved
that he'd calmed down enough to follow her lead,
even though she'd definitely surprised him with
it.  But plan or not, she wasn't leaving this
room without reconciliation.

Taking his hand, she stood, then quickly
encroached the rest of the way, wrapping her
arms around his stiff form with urgency.  Head
tucked under his chin, she begged for his
forgiveness, sliding her cheek over his bare
skin.

For a moment, he was unyielding, his muscles
tense and angry.  Then with a long exhale, he
let his arms go around her.  She closed her eyes
in relief and thanked the stars for his
acceptance.

They drew her close, those trembling arms, and
she swayed with him in silence for a half a
minute, feeling his tension leave by slow
degrees.  His breathing evened out as his hands
traversed her cotton-covered back.

When his face dipped close to her ear, she could
have cried with joy.  Though a last, frightening
tremor flashed through her at his low plea.

"Don't *ever* do that to me again."  He gave her
a light shake, emphasizing his need.  "I lived
through that once.  Lived through watching *her*
die before my very eyes."

At that, Julia felt the tears come.  Speaking to
her as Julia, he distanced himself from the pain
while keeping up the pretense.  But she felt
every word pierce her soul with remembered
heartbreak.

"I can't be with someone who doesn't tell me
*everything* - do you understand me?  I won't. 
Not anymore."

Nodding, she lifted her face from his chest and
brought her hands up, cupping his jaw.  His eyes
were sad and glassy with unshed tears, but
determined.  He meant every word.  They were in
this together, and their intimacy had compounded
the need for absolute honesty.

<I promise,> she mouthed, <always the truth.>

As his hands came up to the smooth column of her
neck, she saw his expression soften and he
nodded, satisfaction dawning in his eyes. 
Lifting her face, she pressed a kiss to the
corner of his mouth, expecting him to respond in
kind.

Instead, he sealed their pact by sliding his
hands to either side of her head.  Her eyes
closed in anticipation as her head tilted.

The tears came anew as his lips brushed her
forehead.  It was like so many times before;
actually more intimate to her than any of the
heated kisses of the past day.

It felt like home.


**********


8:45 p.m.


"She told me she hadn't eaten much all day and
got light-headed," Mulder explained to the dour
man that passed for a doctor in the tower.  "I
made her eat something before we came down
here."

Which wasn't exactly true.  They had dressed and
Mulder had ordered some juice for her from the
kitchen.  But Julia hadn't been up for much more
than small sips.  Mulder hadn't fared much
better, sitting at the table staring at her like
she was liable to disappear before his very
eyes.

She tried assuring him that the blood loss had
been minimal.  It was nothing compared to her
bout of hypovolemic shock of so many years ago. 
He seemed satisfied with her explanation, but
still he hovered.

All the way down to the Infirmary, he'd kept
hold of her arm, or her waist.  She kept silent,
affording him the small luxury of constant
contact.  It was the least she could do.

Now, he paced as the doctor did his examination.
It was the same small man that had given her the
initial exam her very first day here, and Julia
couldn't help the shiver of revulsion that
crawled over her at his touch on her face.

From the moment he'd walked in, she could see
the wry amusement draw up the corners of his
mouth.  He believed that Mulder had beat her;
Julia felt sickened at the thought that he
probably saw this scenario quite often.  Abuse,
rape, torture... all condoned by the
Administration.

She hadn't bathed before coming to the
Infirmary, either.  Even now, she smelled the
musky scent of sex clinging to her clothes.  As
the doctor moved closer, his nostrils flared. 
He smelled it as well.  Good.  Another link in
the chain of information had just gotten the
goods.

Yes, we fucked, she wanted to scream.  Are you
bastards satisfied?

"And you say she lost consciousness?"  He
checked the dilation of her eyes with sharp,
impatient movements, a knowing smirk hovering
over the angry line of his jaw.

The doctor wasn't happy at being summoned back
to the Infirmary, that much was obvious despite
the grin.  Julia guessed he really didn't have
all that much to do; probably spent his days
chasing the nurses around the cubicles.  He
certainly didn't want to attend to minor aches
and pains... she had a feeling he loved to
butcher more than anything else.

"Yes, for about five minutes," Mulder replied,
pacing in the background, hands stuffed into the
pockets of his jeans.  His gaze met hers over
the doctor's shoulder, reassuring and calm.

That was an exaggeration, Julia knew.  She
couldn't have been out for more than thirty
seconds, tops.  But it sounded more dire and
served their purpose well.

"Well, she *does* have a pretty good hematoma
here," the doctor mused, touching his fingertips
to her temple.

Julia inhaled sharply at his cold, gloved touch;
it really was just sore, not a cause of great
pain to her.  More painful was her tailbone,
especially when she shifted to avoid the
doctor's probing.  Mulder reacted in a flash,
coming up beside the table to stare down the
little man.

"Watch it," he growled.

The doctor visibly paled, but held firm. 
Glancing down, he noticed how she favored her
right hip and began to lift her sweater.  "Lie
down."

Panicked, she raised wide eyes to Mulder.  He
caught on immediately, his hands flying out of
his pockets to gesture at the table.  "Is that
really necessary?  She hit her head, I already
told you that."

Don't let him undress me, Mulder.

The doctor turned to face Mulder with a glance
of suspicious confusion.  "You wanted me to
examine her... it's obvious she's injured her
hip."  At Mulder's silence, he continued, "You
don't have to worry, Minister.  Whatever you do
to her is your business.  I'm here to patch her
up for the next round."  Winking, he turned back
to Julia and gestured for her to scoot up the
table.

Mulder could no longer argue; behind the
doctor's back, he cocked his brow with
exasperation.  What else could he do?

Shit.  She shouldn't have let the doctor see her
reaction.  It was only a sore ass from the slam
of it on the bathroom floor.  There was
something else entirely she hadn't wanted Mulder
to see.  Something that was bound to upset him.

She did as she was told, scooting up the table
with a grimace.  Averting her eyes from the
question in Mulder's, she fixed them on a spider
web in the corner of the ceiling.

Thankfully, Mulder had given her some privacy to
dress herself back in the suite.  But now, she
felt his eyes on her and knew there would be
hell to pay for not showing him.

The doctor unzipped her jeans and motioned for
her to lift her hips.  She couldn't help the
small hiss of pain at the feel of the denim
sliding over the reddened skin.

She already knew what they looked like.  Perfect
orbs in the shape of fingers... Mulder's
fingers.  Just pink fingerprints now, but sure
to be bruises by morning.  As the material slid
further down her thighs, she heard Mulder catch
his breath.  Felt him tense and turn away,
knowing he'd seen it all.

The dried specks of semen on her inner thighs...
the almost chafed skin underneath them.  She
closed her eyes, feeling a flush cover her
chest.

"Fainting spell, eh?"  The doctor's sarcastic
murmur broke into her sadness.  Well, she
thought, how much more concrete could the
evidence be?

Evidence be damned.  She felt horrible.  As
Julia, it seemed she did nothing but hurt him
over and over.

"Shut the fuck up and do something."

At the growling rebuke, Julia opened her eyes
and looked at Mulder.  He stood with his back to
them, fists clenched at his sides.  She
swallowed at the tightness of her throat.

**I can't be with someone who doesn't tell me
everything.**

God... and she'd agreed.  But it wasn't this bad
an hour ago... naturally, it would turn into
bruises, but nothing she couldn't live with.

"Not much I can do, Minister," the doctor said,
stepping away to discard his gloves in the trash
bin.  "I think she's okay.  Just keep an eye on
her tonight."

Julia quickly righted her clothes and sat up. 
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder turn
to face her, though his reply was directed at
the physician.  "She may have a concussion, or
worse," Mulder insisted, his eyes narrowing. 
"*I* think it would be in your best interests to
run a few tests, don't you?"  Hard anger flushed
his face as his head turned to pin the small man
with a furious stare.

The man gulped and backed away.  "Let me get a
nurse in here.  We can take a few x-rays, but it
may take a while."

Julia sat up straighter and her eyes flew to
Mulder with alarm.  No, no, they said.  The chip
isn't there anymore.  He's sure to notice it!

Mulder ignored her distress and said to the
cowering doctor, "We have lots of time.  Now, I
suggest you send the Guardsman outside for your
nurse."  They'd been accompanied to the
Infirmary by the ever-present watchdog outside
the suite's door.

"But he can't - can't leave -" the doctor
stuttered.  "Your protection -"

"I don't care," Mulder broke in, looking down on
the man with disdain.  "We're expected tomorrow
night for dinner with the Appointing Authority. 
It would be a shame to have to explain a last-
minute relapse, wouldn't it?"

Get out, get out, Julia silently said, almost as
a mantra.  Please get out and take the Guard
with you.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly, his hand on the
doorknob.  "I agree.  We'll get right on it." 
With those hasty words, he was gone.

At once, Julia's hands began to move. <You can't
let him x-ray me - the chip is gone!>

<Don't worry.  We'll tell him it must have
jarred loose when your head hit the floor.  Got
lost in all the blood.> His initial fury had
subsided into a slow burn, but a tense jaw still
spoke of his displeasure as he added, <Besides,
I think that's the least of your worries right
now - don't you?>

This wasn't fair.  And it wasn't her fault - she
didn't hurt hardly at all anymore, and her fair
skin magnified the bruises; didn't he realize
that?  Her chin lifted in defiance, but she said
nothing.  No time for arguments... but he
*would* get the message later on, her eyes told
him.

Mulder huffed, then walked away to crack the
door.  After a quick check of the outer room, he
signed, <He wouldn't dare cross me on this.  In
fact, I'll insist he procure another chip as a
replacement.  By the time it gets here from one
of the testing facilities, we'll be long gone. 
And so will he, right?>

Julia shoved aside the personal matter and
nodded, taking Mulder's lead.  Though she knew
he wouldn't keep quiet about it once they were
back in the suite.

She still felt uneasy about the chance of
discovery, but Mulder's confidence bolstered
her.  Events had been set in motion and like it
or not, there was no backing away now.

"Speaking of," Mulder said quietly, moving to
stand before her, "let's have it."

With a grimace, she stuck her tongue out.  She
wasn't sure if the pleasure she felt was because
they'd made it this far, or simply because the
simple gesture of defiance felt so damned good.

He plucked the little ball from her tongue and
murmured, "Admit it.  You've always wanted to do
that, haven't you?"

Before she could answer, he'd turned away from
her.  Shocked, she stared after him, hating his
sudden, juvenile attitude.  He'd listen to
her... eventually, he'd have to.  She'd make
sure of it.

Quickly, he moved to the side table and began
digging through the drawers.  Julia hopped off
the exam table and joined him, putting her hand
on a pair of fine point surgical scissors almost
immediately.

"Show off," he muttered, placing the ball on
several paper towels and stepping aside to allow
her to move in.

In two snips, it was free.  Julia slipped the
forceps from her pocket and nodded at Mulder,
then at the closed door.

He moved to the door and barely opened it,
keeping watch while she disinfected the forceps
and chip with alcohol.  In seconds, it was clean
and dry and on its way to the computer in the
corner.

<The doctor?> she asked with a tilt of her chin.

"All clear," he whispered.

It was just a matter of pulling the telephone
line out and inserting the chip.  When she put
the telephone line back in, the chip would
enable the Gunmen to break through the firewall
and thereby have access to the network's
archives.

Detection was nearly impossible, they had
assured her.  She'd been highly skeptical of the
power of the little piece of metal, but they
explained its use, likening it to a wiretap.  An
insidious, metallic worm with the lifelike
capability to grow and attach itself to a host. 
In this case, the computer network.  She knew
better than to ask for a more detailed
explanation, trusting them to have all the
answers.

"Just turn on the CPU and leave the monitor
off," Frohike had said.  "We'll take it from
there."

So she did so, hoping beyond hope that they were
finished in the examination room.

Mulder eased the door shut and hissed,
"Incoming!"

Julia scrambled back onto the table, a split
second before the doctor poked his head in the
door.

"Minister?  If you and the lady would come with
me, we're ready."

Together, they walked out the door, closing it
firmly behind them.

One step closer to freedom.



End Chapter Twenty-two