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.

<F - O - X.>  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.

<F - O - X.  F - O - X.  F - O - X.>  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.

<M - U - L - D - E - R.>

<M - U - L - D - E - R.>  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.

<F - O - X.>

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.

<Hello,> she signed. <My name is Julia.  What's
yours?>  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.

<Do you like classical music?> 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. <They?>

"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."

<I'll bet they do,> 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.

<Alexandria,> 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....

<No, Louisiana.> 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. <Only when I laugh.> 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.

<I know you would,> 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.

<What is this?> 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.

<Good night, Fox.>

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