An Unchanged Soul
Chapter One


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Free fall.  Like a dream, almost - soaring above
the clouds like a bird in flight.  He used to
have those dreams, he thought, with a mind
mesmerized by the sensation of movement without
hindrance.  Something told him he used to live
those dreams as well.  A vague prickling of his
consciousness made it true, inasmuch as he had
conscious thought in the endless stretches of
time without seconds or hours.

A colorless void surrounded him, but it wasn't
frightening.  As he floated, his arms wide and
free, a memory came to him of doing this before.
In the sunlight, the crisp, thin air taking his
breath - or had it been fear?  No, he loved this. 
Day or night, but especially at night, with the
wind and stars his twin guides to exhilaration. 
He felt the same now, as excitement stirred
within him.  The free fall was familiar, and he
smiled, enjoying every moment.

Until the light came.  Blinding, hurtful light
that seemed to pierce his body through every
pore.  The brightly lit tunnel he dropped into
was narrow and he plummeted through it, suddenly
dead weight.  Trying to slow himself, he grabbed
with his hands and feet - at nothing.  The tunnel
had walls, but it didn't.  He could find no
purchase, no way to slow himself.

He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes,
feeling his lungs contract at the hard landing. 
For a second, he could not breathe.  Then he
gasped, rolling from his back to his side with
the intake of cold, frosty air.

The pavement beneath his skin was cold.  Huddled
as he was in a large, naked pile, he trembled
like a newborn babe, unsure if he had the
strength to open his eyes.  Maybe that was it -
maybe he'd just survived his own birth.

Someone help me, he thought, unable to give voice
to the words.  A flash of red skittered across
his closed eyelids, and he cracked them open. 
Fright grabbed at him at the sight of the bright
lights and the harsh, masculine voice.

"You there!"

Not the light again.  No!  The hard earth beneath
him was sure to give way at any moment and he'd
fall again, this time to hell.

He inched away from the approaching terror, his
legs and arms burrowing into his torso with a
feeble grasp at defense.  This was a nightmare,
it had to be.  He didn't know where he was, who
he was, or why the man in blue pointed the gun at
him like he was a criminal.  Forcing himself to
get to his knees, he crawled out of the line of
light; he stood, fear making him dart forward as
adrenaline kicked in.  But he didn't get far, as
he smacked head on into something huge and
cloaked in the night, his nose filling with the
stench of rotten garbage.

Groaning, he fell down to the icy surface once
again.

"Gotcha," the voice said, and he felt his arms
pinned behind him.  A double click of metal
against metal, and he was trapped.  He tried to
see, but found he couldn't.  Something clung to
his eyelashes, and made it hard to open them
without the sting of grime-laden pain.

"Boy, I thought I'd seen it all," the voice
chuckled.  "But I ain't ever seen a bum without
even a pair o'pants in the middle o'winter. 
C'mon, Adam.  Time to sober up."

Dragged along, he felt a wave of nausea climb up
his throat.  Stumbling, he gave in to it, dry
heaves doubling him over.

"Shit!  Don't puke on me, boy."  The hand holding
the chain around his wrists let go and the figure
backed off.

This was his chance.  Wherever he was supposed to
be, he was sure it wasn't with this devil.  His
feet moved quickly, slapping against the
pavement.  Get away, he had to get away.

"Hey!"

No, don't stop.  Keep going.

He headed past the blinding lights, for the
sounds that came from the street ahead.  Warmth
waited for him across that street.  Still not
steady, he lowered his head and ran.

"Watch out!"

The blare of a horn was the last thing he heard. 
Then there was nothing.  Again.


**********


November 27, 1947
Annapolis, Maryland


"Slow night, huh?"

Emma looked up from the desk, shoving her wayward
glasses up her nose.  "I'm about to fall asleep,"
she said, giving Pete a smile.

The janitor took up his broom again, laughing. 
"Now you know how I feel every night.  And I had
my Thanksgiving turkey early this afternoon,
thinking it wouldn't make me any sleepier." He
rubbed his generous belly, yawning.  "Turkey
always makes me sleepy."

"Me, too," she replied, thinking of the big
dinner that was probably finishing up at her
father's house.  He hadn't been too pleased she'd
volunteered to work the late shift in the
Emergency Room on Thanksgiving Day.  But she felt
sorry for the other nurses, most of whom had
husbands and children at home.  Besides, her
brothers would be plenty of company for her
father, and their wives and children would more
than fill the gap her absence would leave. 
Still, she missed the boisterous sounds of a
typical family gathering; especially when
confronted with the tomb-like silence of the
hospital halls.

Pete seemed to notice her melancholy, and he
cleared his throat, straightening.  "Well, guess
I'd better get back to work.  Got two more floors
to finish up before midnight.  Happy
Thanksgiving, Emma."

"Same to you, Pete."

She watched his large form amble down the
brightly lit corridor.  The hospital's Emergency
Room was so quiet, she could have heard a pin
drop.  In the year she'd been a nurse at St.
Catherine's, she worked several holidays, most of
them quiet like this one.  But the occasional
stomachache and staggering drunk always
interrupted the peace.  The lone doctor had
commented on it an hour ago, right before he'd
given up his vigil of the empty Emergency Room
and sought a couch in the waiting room.  Jack and
Harry, the two orderlies who, until ten minutes
ago, had been hovering over her, trying to see
down her uniform, had adjourned to the lounge to
play poker.  This silence was unusual, and she
thanked God for the breather, knowing it meant
everyone in the immediate area was safe and sound
so far.

But she was bored.  The daily crossword before
her had ceased to hold her interest a half hour
ago, and she still had the whole night to go
before relief would show up in the form of Edna
Stevenson.

A single woman like her, Stevenson had quite a
few years on Emma.  She'd never married, and
spent her off hours taking care of her elderly
mother.  Her youth long gone, she was pinched in
the face and stout as a butterball, too many
years spent sitting around on holidays just like
this one.  Emma wondered if she'd end up the same
one day.  

Though she was small and definitely feminine, her
looks were nothing extraordinary.  She'd spent
hours with her nose in books instead of the
latest fashion magazines - well, with the
exception of Photoplay.  She dreamed of looking
like Lana Turner or Hedy Lamarr, with flawless
skin and come-hither poise.  She wasn't bad-
looking, she had to admit.  Her father had called
her beautiful; but then again, he'd been biased. 
The reading glasses gave her oval face a bit of
an owlish look, but the eyes behind them were
blue and clear, with long, light eyelashes. 
She'd tried mascara years ago, but all it did was
make her eyes itch.  Her fair skin could have
used some makeup, especially when emotional
upheaval of any sort always seemed to make her
cheeks flush a bright, sassy red.  She hated the
reaction her body had at such times; it was like
a sign that said, Look at me!  I'm a clown!

The only physical feature she could say had any
distinction at all was her hair.  A deep shade of
auburn, it fell to past her shoulders in a thick
swathe of wavy silk that defied all attempts at
straightening.  Mostly, she kept it confined in a
braid.  It was easier to manage while at work,
though it had a mind of its own, anyway.  She
seemed to always be brushing back several wayward
strands from her face.

One thing she'd change about herself if she could
was her height.  Her short stature, combined with
a body in her most congenial moments she thought
of as 'healthy', made it difficult for anyone,
especially men, to take her seriously.  Most of
the time, she was either patted on the head like
a child, or ogled from the neck down like a
floozy.  Thank goodness the end of the war had
brought about a return to fuller, softer dresses. 
The clinging, efficient fashions of the war days
had always made her feel like an hour glass - and
the looks her breasts and hips got back then
seemed to make the material just as transparent.

She had cousins - females who were tall and
willowy.  Females who were short like her, but
dainty and fragile.  Emma wasn't fragile.  Not by
a long shot.

Her father had deemed her a petite Venus who took
after her mother's good farm stock.  And in the
next breath, he swore to castrate any man who
touched her without benefit of marriage.  Her
teenage years were spent under her brothers'
watchful eyes.  Nursing school was more of the
same, living at home to watch her older brothers
move out one by one.  After her mother passed, it
was naturally assumed she'd take over the running
of her father's household.  And she had, with no
arguments.  Not even a complaint.  She loved her
father and younger siblings, and taking care of
them was not an obligation, but an honor.

Then the war had come.  Barely twenty, she'd
watched friends and family take off for service
at the edges of the world, wishing she could join
them in the exciting journey of courage and
patriotism.  But her degree had been still two
years away, and even if she could have, she
wouldn't have joined up.  The sight of her father
seeing off each of her older brothers at the
train station had put an end to her Army
aspirations.  He'd died a bit at each departure;
she could see it in the lined shadows on his
stoic face.  Wrenching them from her father's
bosom like a sweeping lion, the war threatened to
dismantle the family with swift slices of a
machete poised to strike.  She couldn't leave
him; the decision was a quick one, though not
easy, as she felt like the world passed her by in
the war years.  Praise from friends at her
vigilant home presence hadn't dimmed the desire
to branch out.  It remained, simmering for five
long years.

Now, with all her brothers back safe and sound,
with the younger three firmly ensconced in the
Naval Academy and her father happy once more, she
found herself living in a haze of contentment,
wondering if this was all that her life was meant
to be.  She had a job, all her family around her,
and the occasional date under the watchful eyes
of said family.

But sometimes... late at night, doing crosswords
as another year faded away... sometimes she
wished for more.  Not just a few more inches to
go with those extra pounds, nor a breather from
her male relatives' constant worry.  Not even for
the excitement of travel, like she'd once wanted
and thought the war could provide.

She wished for love.  For someone to take notice
of her mind and humor, not just her generous
curves.  For someone to treat her as if she were
the most fragile piece of crystal; a prince who
would take her hand in his and look beyond the
workhorse to the woman beneath.  He wouldn't ask
her to play catcher in the stickball game because
she was 'a wide, yet compact target'.  He wouldn't
look at her hips and automatically count the
number of children he could sire on her.

Emma sighed, closing the newspaper as she dropped
her eyeglasses to the desk.  With most of the
available men snatched up by eager women after
the war, there wasn't much left but widowers much
older than her, or youngsters fresh out of high
school.  She'd just as soon look for Mr. Right to
drop out of the sky into her lap, with the
pickings so slim these days.

A burst of cold air accompanied the breathless
man who shoved open the outer doors.  Spying her
at the desk, he stopped, his voice carrying over
the quiet.

"Quick!  There's been an accident outside!"

Jack and Harry, apparently hearing the commotion,
came running from the lounge.  "What the hell -"
Harry began, but was cut short by Emma's bark.

"Get Doctor Belden from the waiting room."  She
pulled on her heavy cape and reached for the
first aid kit on the wall, snapping at their
hesitation.  "And bring a gurney.  Now!"

The man who'd summoned her had already turned for
the door.  Emma rushed through it as he held it
open, following his instructions to turn left for
the cross street, the one that ran directly in
front of the hospital.  Already, the scene was
lit by the red flash of a squad car's lights,
giving it an eerie, surreal glow.  The few
passers by had gathered in a circle just beyond a
Buick that still spewed exhaust from its back
bumper.  Though the front glass was cracked in a
few places, there didn't seem to be another
vehicle involved, so she went first to the man
leaning against its driver's side door, asking,
"Are you hurt?"

Though pale, he nodded, "I'm fine.  I didn't see
him.  I wasn't going that fast, honest!  He just
darted out in front of me!"  He gestured to the
crowd on the passenger side with a trembling,
gloved hand.  "Rolled right over the hood like he
was Superman or something!  I swear to God I
didn't see him!"

Emma made her way around the front of the car,
shoving her way through the crowd.  A stout
policeman bent over a huddled form in the road;
Emma could see nothing but bare, hair-dusted
legs.  Naked?  On a night like this?  Drunk.  He
had to be drunk.

The cop had shrugged off his jacket and was
tucking it around the unconscious man when she
approached.  He looked up, relief palpable on his
face.  "He just ran out into the street, the damn
fool.  No way the guy could have avoided hitting
him."

Emma crouched on the other side of the victim,
feeling the cold seep into her stockings at the
knees.  Her cape came flying off as well, and she
draped it over the man, uncaring of the cold that
made her shiver.  Noticing his arms still bound
behind him, she growled, "Get those off.  Right
now."

The cop eyed the handcuffs, then sputtered,
"Ma'am, I can't just -"

"You can and you will," she insisted, breaking
open the first aid kit.  The victim was covered
with street filth, obscuring his features.  But
in the moonlight that filtered between the
clouds, she could see his lips were blue; at the
least, he was going into shock and he must be
attended to quickly.  "Now, get them *off*."

He mumbled his displeasure as he unlocked the
handcuffs, but Emma was past the point of caring. 
She grimaced as the limp body, no longer
supported by the bound wrists, flopped to its
back with a dull thud.  Ignoring the gasps of the
women in the crowd, she pulled away the makeshift
blanket, quickly scanning his body for injury. 
None that she could see, but that didn't mean he
wasn't seriously injured internally.  Cradling
his head with one hand, she wiped at the dirt on
his face with a light touch of the gauze bunched
up in her other hand.

"Idiot ran into a brick wall back in the alley,
drunk off his ass." The cop rammed one fist into
his hand for emphasis.  "Wham!  Rung his bell, I
guess.  Next thing I know, he's rolling up the
hood of this car."

As she swiped at the injured man's face, Emma
cursed the inept policeman under her breath. 
This unfortunate soul wasn't drunk, from what she
could tell.  For one thing, there wasn't the
smell of liquor that usually permeated the air
around the bums who frequented St. Catherine's
emergency room.  And she'd seen enough of those
to know when someone had a problem with alcohol. 
Even when they weren't drinking, the bums exuded
the pungent odor of alcohol through their skin. 
For another, she'd never seen a bum with such a
cleanliness about him, even if he'd just been
rolled across the pavement.  This man's skin was
so purely pink beneath the dirt, with just a
tinge of a healthy glow that could only have been
put there by strength and good living.  The hand
that peeked from under the jacket was callous-
free, its fingernails short and relatively clean,
despite the grime elsewhere.  She wondered at its
frailty; it reminded her of the paintings of
'incorruptibles' that hung in Mother Superior's
office back at Our Lady of Mercy School.  Of
course, back then, she'd spent quite a bit of
time under the Mother's censure, so she'd had the
opportunity to peruse the portraits of Jesus and
the saints.

She mentally chastised herself for her wandering
thoughts, wondering where the hell that doctor
was.  Surely Jack and Harry should have been out
there by now with the gurney?  The man lying
beside her began to move, his groan almost lost
in the cacophony surrounding them.  But Emma
heard it, and rushed to comfort him.

"Shh... still.  Lie still."

The cheek under her hand jerked, and she knew he
was trying to open his eyes.  Grabbing a fresh
piece of gauze, she wiped them clean.  A clamor
over her shoulder told her the gurney had finally
come.

"Get down," he muttered, his head moving with
increasing panic.

"Help is here," she quickly assured him.  Her cap
flopped over her face, and she pulled it off
impatiently, feeling her hair go wild with
freedom.  She brushed the uncooperative locks
from her forehead, feeling his grime stain her
face.  "Please... be still."

But his fidgeting grew, and his voice pierced the
night with anguish.  "No!"  Eyes squeezed shut,
he thrashed, and Emma was powerless to stop him
as he kept on shouting.  "I'm hit!  God damn it,
no!"

"You're okay," she said clearly, trying her best
to calm him.  "Just lie still... *please* lie
still."  A burning at the back of her eyes was
unwanted, but she couldn't stop it.  His terror -
something she'd never witnessed in her life -
made her chest ache with sadness.  Tears streamed
down her cheeks as she tried to make him see he
wasn't in whatever hell he imagined.  "Open your
eyes.  Please, wake up."

Doctor Belden replaced the policeman across from
her, his stethoscope ready.  He glanced at Emma,
apology on his face.  "I was in the restroom," he
explained.

Emma ignored him, concentrating on the man who
had quieted to a heart-wrenching whimper.  Her
fingers drifted through his short, dark hair, and
a wave of helplessness threatened to overwhelm
her in the face of his despair.

"Franklin... get her out... dead... leave me..."

"You're not dead," she whispered, hoping his
condition would not later make her shaky
statement a lie.

Doctor Belden worked swiftly, muttering his
findings as he moved.  "Pulse is thready.  Going
into shock."  A flash of his pen light
illuminated the face before her.  A face she was
most familiar with... one that was unique.

Emma sucked in a shocked breath.  No, it couldn't
be.  He wasn't supposed to be here.  God, this
was all wrong - how would she ever tell -

The hazel eyes, so familiar to Emma, squinted
against the intruding light of the doctor's
examination.  He was awake now, and no longer
mumbling.

Doctor Belden looked over his shoulder.  "Get
that gurney in here, now!"

The man's eyes blinked and rolled, trying to
focus on one person among the many who gawked at
him now.  Emma, her tears beginning anew at her
awful discovery, wrapped both hands around his
face, her words forcing him to look at her.

"Be still.  You're going to be fine.  Trust me. 
Everything's going to be okay.  Just lie still."

The blue-tinged lips parted with surprise, and
his face lost all trace of agitation, relaxing
into a loopy grin as he whispered shakily, "Hey,
Red.  How 'bout th-th-" He swallowed hard,
forcing his frozen lips to complete what he
seemed most desperate to say to her.

"Those - those - Yankees?"

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Two


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


At last, he was stable.  Doctor Belden had him on
fluids and between her and the orderlies, they'd
cleaned him up and put a gown on him.  Emma had
averted her eyes several times, sure she
shouldn't be seeing what this man had in the way
of... God, she couldn't even think it!  How was
it she could look any man up and down naked as
the day he was born, but this man's looks
unnerved her?  It was like looking at her own
brother, he was so close kin.  By marriage, yes,
but kin still the same.

He was sleeping comfortably now, thanks to the
sedative the doctor administered after they'd
ascertained his injuries were minor.  Minor? 
Almost nonexistent, Emma thought with a chuckle,
as she closed the door on him to walk back to the
desk.  After being chased into a brick wall by a
policeman, then doing the mamba with a car
windshield, he was unscathed.  Not even a bruise,
though she suspected those would appear by the
next day.  He was a little dehydrated and
hypothermic, but that was easily taken care of by
their prompt care.

The small smile of relief at the patient's good
fortune faded, as she realized she had some bad
news to depart.  Not horrible, thank goodness,
but troubling just the same.  He shouldn't have
been anywhere near the hospital at this time of
night.  Of course, in the last few months, she'd
heard vague ramblings among her brothers about
his new assignment for the government.  Covert,
spy-type things that they obviously envied even
while they approached him with big smiles and
easy handshakes.  But they weren't easy around
him, knowing his past through family rumors, some
of which weren't very kind.

Her father stated that anyone could think as they
liked, despite how their new cousin-by-marriage
played it close to the vest.  He liked the man
and made no bones of it.  Emma stood firmly at
her father's side on the issue, simply because
she agreed.  He was intelligent and kind; no
matter what direction he chose to follow, he'd
never slighted her cousin and never would.  First
and foremost, he loved his wife.

Still, the phone call would be difficult.  Emma
knew the news would most likely upset all
involved, one in particular.  And her cousin had
no business being upset these days.  She had
enough to worry about.  Though he wasn't hurt all
that badly, she still dreaded making the call. 
What to say?  Just do it, she scolded herself.

The policeman still hovered in the hallway,
waiting for her patient to awaken so he could
question him.  No ID anywhere in the alley he'd
shot from, and Emma wasn't about to offer even a
hint of information to the officer.  Despite his
most unusual, *naked*, appearance, the man was a
government agent of some sort.  He could have
been on assignment, something really secretive
the police had no business knowing about.  Emma's
cousin needed to know first, the police be
damned.  She cracked open the room door and saw
the man in blue bend over a flame at the end of
the hall; his cigarette would keep him busy for a
few moments, and she slipped off in the other
direction, seeking the peace of the doctor's
lounge to make the call.

A drowsy voice answered on the fourth ring. 
"Hello?"

"Dana?"

"Yes?"  A pause and then, more alert, she added,
"Who is this?"

"It's Emma.  Dana, I'm sorry to wake you -"

Emma heard shuffling noises in the background,
sheets rustling with definite movement.  "Emma? 
What's wrong?"

Dana knew her so well.  She'd always been one of
Emma's favorite cousins; they'd practically grown
up together and while similar in looks, they
shared an even greater bond of love.  Dana was
her idol.  Emma had stayed the course in her
studies because she'd heard the stories of Dana's
bravery and compassion for others.  She could
only hope to be half the person Dana was.  It was
the shadow of Dana's strength she drew on to find
the words to continue.

"Dana, I have something to tell you."

The voice on the other end of the line became
frantic.  "Emma, is it Dad?  Mom?  Charlie?  Tell
me!"  Dana knew that Emma worked the night shift
at St. Joseph's, and had automatically assumed
the news was bad.

So much for emulating Dana's courage.  Emma
swallowed, taking a deep breath as she struggled
with words.  Suddenly, Dana's hitching breath was
replaced by a stern, yet calm voice.

"Emma, you're upsetting Dana.  What is it?"

Startled, Emma's fingers gripped the phone even
tighter, sure she was hallucinating.  "Fox?"

"Yes, Emma.  Take a deep breath and tell me
what's going on."

This wasn't supposed to be.  Of course, the
person lying in that bed beyond those doors
wasn't supposed to be who she thought he was,
either.  It was all so confusing, and she felt as
if she was in way over her head.

"Emma!"

Mulder was perturbed at her silence, and she
stammered through an explanation.  "F-fox, we
admitted a patient tonight."

"I gathered that," he pressed, his voice terse. 
"Just spit it out, Emma."  She could hear Dana's
soft, worried queries behind him.

"He - it's not one of the family, Fox," she
hastened to assure him, though with his looks, he
most certainly belonged to the Mulders somewhere
along the line.  "He looks like you.  I thought
it *was* you."  There.  She'd said it, foolish
though it sounded.  Sighing, she realized her
bored mind must have conjured up a bit of
excitement, knowing the next time she went into
the ward, she was likely to find some differences
and laugh at her mistake.  "Sorry about this, Fox
-"

"Emma, are you sure?"

His breathless question took her by surprise. 
"Fox, it *can't* be you, you know that.  I think
I'm just tired, that's all."

"Emma, I'll be right there.  Don't let him leave,
okay?"

"He couldn't if he wanted to - wait a minute! 
What did you say?"

"I said I'm on my way."  With that, he was gone.

Emma stared at the receiver in her hand, confused
at Mulder's abrupt decision.  What was going on? 
The man in the ward was most probably a vagrant;
a clean one, yes, but a bum just the same.  Why
would Mulder associate with such a person?  One
who looked a helluva lot like him, granted.  And
his frantic question lent suspicion that he might
just have a connection to the John Doe down the
hall.

Either that, or those stories her brothers passed
around, their suggestions that old Fox may have a
screw loose... maybe they weren't so wrong, after
all.


**********


"Could it be him, Scully?  I mean, really, the
odds against are tremendous, but..."

"Mulder, please slow down."

Scully relaxed a bit at his deceleration, but
worry at his high hopes still gnawed at her
nerves.  Emma's phone call had sparked flame to
an interest of his that until recently had just
been a slow smolder.  Mulder was passionate about
most things, she'd learned in the two years she'd
known him.  Though in the early days, he'd tamped
down his eagerness to explore for fear of scaring
her off, these days he had no such qualms with
her.  Due to her reticence to have his new
theories publicly known - mainly for fear of his
job - he never spoke them aloud except to her.

And this night proved to upset their tidy world
even further.  "You know as well as I do, Mulder
- it can't be him."

"But they never found a body, Scully," he
insisted, taking the turns a bit too fast for her
liking. "And don't say it again - I've heard it
all before."

She bit her lip, gathering her coat closer to her
body.  Mulder, having been exposed to realities
the majority of Americans never dreamed of, had
good reason to suspect anything thrown in his
path.  But he also had the best reason to hope
for miracles - a gaping hole in his life and the
unceasing need for closure.  Whether by logical
or ridiculous means, he wanted answers.  She
hated to see him waste his energy on a false
promise, but she hadn't the heart to deny his
boundless capacity for hope by telling him the
story once again.

"I wasn't going to say a thing.  Except that you
missed the turn back there."  With a small smile,
she grabbed his free hand, watching him slow the
car to a stop at the curb.  "Take it easy,
Mulder.  He'll still be there when we get to the
hospital."

Squeezing her hand in return, he drew a deep
breath, meeting her gaze in the confines of the
shadowed car.  "I'm an idiot, aren't I?" he
murmured, shaking his head.

"No, you're a just a man who believes in the
impossible.  That's one of the reasons I love you
so much."

"One of the reasons?" His attempt at a grin and
his sidelong glance eased the tension of the ride
as he ground the gearshift into reverse, ignoring
the roll of her eyes.  "Do I want to know the
others?"

"Oh, just your manly physique and killer smile." 
Beneath the fur of her rolled-up coat collar, she
gave him an answering smile. "And your way with
women."

He snorted at the last, watching for traffic as
he made the turn from the parking lane onto the
right street.  "Yeah, I have a way with women,
all right.  It involves the Chinese Mafia, a
cabin in the mountains, and a knot on the head." 
His wink was self-deprecating.  "Smooth."

"Maybe not smooth, but original," she replied,
pointing out the hospital parking lot with a
gloved hand before turning to face him.  "Worked
for me, Loverboy."

She waited for his answering quip, but found him
staring at the Emergency Room doors, his face
pale.  His lips were chapped from the cold, and
his fingers curled around the car keys in a
white-knuckled grip.  Without facing her, he
whispered, "Scully, what if it -"

"Isn't him?" she finished, taking up his
dwindling words as her own.  "Then we'll deal
with it, Mulder."

He sighed, turning to look at her with haunted
eyes.  "I meant... what if it is?"

Leaning closer, she pressed a light kiss to his
mouth, soothing away the lines deepening his
cheeks.  "Then we'll deal with that, too.  We
beat Chang, didn't we?  Piece of cake."

Mulder chuckled, opening his car door.  He helped
her out on his side, gently grasping her by the
waist to steady her.  Now grinning, he said,
"Hate to remind you, Scully... but we never found
*his* body, either."

"Were you born this paranoid or is it an acquired
taste?" she said softly, linking her arm in his.

Gently steering her toward the double doors, he
carefully sidestepped patches of snow and ice as
he chuckled, "Me?  Paranoid?  Please."

Glancing up at his profile, she saw his face
harden as they got closer to the hospital, and
knew he was bracing himself for disappointment. 
When they reached the brightly-lit overhang, she
stilled his progress, making him look down at her
with a sure touch of his chin.

"Don't worry so," she murmured.  "It'll be okay."

Nodding, he seemed to relax, opening the door. 
She walked past him, praying for an easy
resolution to the night.  But an inner voice told
her it wasn't in the cards; she felt as if their
world was about to be turned upside down.


**********


He really was beautiful, Emma thought as she sat
by his bedside.  And though he had Fox's strong
jaw and distinctive cheekbones, his nose wasn't
quite so unique and his lips were just a bit
thinner.  In a face that looked as if it were
untainted by years of war and stress, it made a
pretty picture, indeed.  She wished for him to
awaken, so she could have a good look at his
eyes.  They were what ultimately urged her to
phone Dana - their liquid depths had seemed to be
pulled straight from Fox's face.  Even in the
shadows of the street, she'd seen the uncanny
similarity.

What was keeping them?  She fidgeted in her seat,
wanting them to arrive and prove her wrong.  Or
prove her right - whatever.  But they had to
hurry; soon, he would wake up.  Once deemed fit
by Doctor Belden, he could leave, never to be
seen again.  Or worse, he could be pronounced
unfit because of his nakedness on the street, and
shipped to the psych ward with undue haste.  No
one in the Emergency Room relished the idea of
dealing with a crazy man.  She'd seen many bums
committed before they knew what was happening; it
was the county's way of dealing with most
vagrants.

A deep breath from the bed drew her attention
from her clasped, tight hands.  With eagerness,
and a little bit of dread, she looked up, words
of comfort already on her lips.

"It's okay," she murmured, bringing a hand to his
jerking arm.  "You're all right."

His eyes flew open and he gasped, tensing under
her touch.  Almost wild with fright, the glassy
gaze whipped about the room, as if he expected
all of it to collapse beneath him into dust. 
"The light!" he cried, squeezing his eyes shut.

Emma quickly switched off the lamp, casting the
room into shadows, the only light a ghostly cast
of the moon over the bed from the window.  "It's
okay," she said again, sitting back beside him. 
A trickle of apprehension fluttered in her chest;
Dr. Belden had performed the usual examination,
and had said nothing about vision problems.  But
maybe this was the onset of something they hadn't
anticipated.  "I'll get the doctor."

At last, he seemed to get his bearings, grabbing
her hand.  "No!  I'm fine."  He hesitated,
cracking open his eyes to look up at her.  "The
light hurts my eyes, that's all.  Where am I?" he
croaked, squinting as he tried to get his
bearings.

"The hospital," Emma supplied softly, lowering
herself back into the chair.  He really was
handsome, she thought.  And now that he was awake
and talking, she found herself trembling with
reaction, which wasn't good at all.  She had to
stay professional.  Slowly pulling her hand from
his, she created a bit of distance, saying with
what she hoped was the usual medical concern,  
"Do you remember how you got here?"

His fingers curled into the sheet, becoming
white-knuckled as he struggled to reply.  After a
few moments, he sighed with frustration.  "No."

"Easy," she crooned, tucking his hand under the
blanket.  "You had a little run-in with the
pavement - but you're fine.  You were very
lucky."

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Emma
reached for the glass of water by the bedside,
curling a hand behind his head to help him drink. 
"Thank you," he whispered, seeming to become more
aware as he blinked away the cobwebs.  As she
pulled away, he suddenly took hold of her hand,
his eyes widening.  "Red?"

She thanked the dimness for hiding her furious
blush.  His fascinated, hopeful gaze made her
heart trip, and she gave him a small smile. 
"Yes, it's red," she replied, speaking of her
hair.  "Not the most flattering -"

"You made it out okay." His heavy whisper tugged
at her chest.  "You're okay."

"Of course I am."  Something about his emotional
face, his husky voice, told her he may still be a
bit rattled.  "Why wouldn't I be?"

"The Nips... all around us.  But if I'm in the
hospital and you're here, too, then I'm not dead,
am I?"

"The Nips?"  Good grief, he was talking out of
his head.  A flash of warning made her take a
step back, but he held on, coming up to one elbow
as he pressed forward with his explanation.

"The Japanese.  Where the hell are we, anyway? 
Manila?" He closed his eyes, lying back as a wave
of dizziness hit him.  "Where's my uniform?  I
have to get back to my unit."

She eased her voice into a cajoling murmur.  His
war talk was distressing, but not all that
unusual, given the knock he'd taken.  "Sir,
you're at St. Catherine's Hospital in Annapolis. 
You were hit by a car a couple of hours ago in
front of this hospital.  Can you tell me your
name?"

"Maryland?"  Those eyes snapped open once again,
nearly taking her breath away with their
intensity.  "What the hell am I doing in
Maryland?"

"Sir, if you'd just tell me your name, maybe I
could find out -"

"Sam?"

Emma snatched her hand away at the hoarse
interruption, glancing at the man silhouetted in
the doorway with a relieved upturn of her lips. 
Before she could greet Mulder, the man in the bed
came up on one elbow, his gaze pinpointed past
her to Dana's husband.

"Fox?  What the hell am I doing -"

"Sam!"

With a broad smile, Mulder brushed past a stunned
Emma to grab the man he called Sam into a hug.

"Whoa, Fox.  I'm okay, I'm okay."  Cautiously,
Sam's arms came up to return the enthusiastic
hello, his face hidden in Mulder's coat.  Emma
caught sight of Dana's slight form in the door,
and moved out of the room in response to her
wordless beckoning.

As Emma gave the reunion one last look, she
whispered, "What is this?" to Dana, who pulled
the door closed behind them with an equally
shocked lift of her eyebrow.

"Let's leave them alone for a while, okay?" Dana
said, pulling off her gloves.  "Anywhere we can
sit and talk?"

Emma took in Dana's fatigue in a glance and
curled her arm through her cousin's.  "Sure.  The
doctor's lounge has awful coffee, but maybe I can
scrounge up some tea."

"Tea would be wonderful, Emma.  Lead the way."


**********


"So you see Emma, your call took us quite by
surprise."

"I'll say," she muttered, still not sure if she
could believe the fantastic tale she'd stumbled
into.  Dana being rescued by Mulder's brother,
who took a bullet meant for her... then being
presumed lost in Laguna Bay when the transport
carrying him sank unexpectedly.  It was spooky
enough to be featured on "Lights Out".

Sipping at her coffee, she met Dana's equally
dumbfounded look, the questions pouring from her. 
"But if he was presumed dead, where has he been
all this time?  Why didn't he try to let anyone
know where he was?  Is this man even Mulder's
brother?  He could be an axe murderer for all we
know."

"You're asking me?  Emma, I'm as much in the dark
as you are.  Hopefully Mulder will be able to
find out what's going on."  Dana sighed, leaning
back in the lumpy couch, one hand sliding against
the faded leather to disappear at her back.

"You okay?"

A small, tired smile curled her cousin's lips. 
"I'm fine.  Just not used to midnight runs to the
hospital.  Good practice though, isn't it?"

As she scanned Dana's face, Emma noticed the
shadows of fatigue on her cheeks, along with the
concerned dart of her eyes to and from the lounge
door.  She hated to make Dana worry so,
especially in light of her advanced pregnancy. 
It hadn't been easy for her at all.  A
miscarriage in the early days of her marriage had
almost devastated them both, as had the next
she'd suffered a mere nine months into the union. 
On doctor's orders, they'd waited a while to try
again.  And even then, the risk remained that
Dana wouldn't carry to term.  Her slight stature,
coupled with the physical trauma she'd suffered
in the internment camp, had left her body an
unwelcome vessel for a growing baby.  Emma prayed
every Sunday morning in mass for the child, as
well as for Dana.

She stood, taking Dana's cup of now cold tea. 
"Maybe Fox Junior here will go easy on his Mom
and make his appearance on my normal shift."  She
normally worked three to eleven; it gave her time
to see to her Dad's needs during the day, and
enough sleep at night to still function during
those hectic hours.  "That way you can be asleep
by midnight."

"Fox Junior?" One slim eyebrow arched; Emma had
spent many an hour in front of her bedroom mirror
trying to imitate the gesture that was more like
movie star than nurse.  When she'd said as much
to Dana one time in a longing sigh, Dana had
laughed and said she was far from being Bette
Davis or Joan Crawford.  Emma thought she put
those two to shame.  "Mulder would divorce me,
Emma."

"I doubt that.  He tells Dad all the time you're
the best thing that ever happened to him."

Dana scooted to the edge of the couch, giving
Emma a wry grin.  "Well, he wouldn't think so if
I named his son Fox.  Believe me."

Emma helped her to stand.  "So, you two picked
out any names yet?"

"Christina if it's a girl," Dana said softly,
giving Emma a solemn glance.

Mulder's parents had died in a tragic car
accident earlier in the year; Emma nodded at the
homage they'd decided upon, even if it was common
knowledge Fox's parents were anything but loving
toward their oldest son.

"And William if it's a boy?" Emma prompted,
thinking Mulder's father would have the same
respect and remembrance.

Dana's eyes filled with tears.  "Sam.  We were
going to name him Sam."

Oh, dear, Emma thought.  She'd done it now.  In
Dana's face she could see hesitant happiness,
with a good measure of concern.  Mulder had
embraced the man in the room down the hall with
certainty, but Dana wasn't so sure.  After all,
she'd never met the man.  Emma herself had been
skeptical even in the face of Mulder's hearty
acceptance.  If 'Sam' turned out to be just an
uncanny look-a-like, Mulder would be crushed. 
And in turn, Dana would bear the weight of his
grief like it was her own.  No way would she fail
to share in his pain.

"God, Dana.  I didn't mean to make you cry.  It's
him, it has to be.  Mulder wouldn't take to him
like that unless -"

"Mulder sometimes wants to believe too much,
Emma."  Dana took Emma's hastily produced
handkerchief and sniffled into it.  "God, I can't
let him see me like this."

"Why not?  You're pregnant, for Pete's sake!"

"He has enough to worry about besides having to
hover over me like a nurse.  He does that too
damned much already."

"Dana!"  The Scully men weren't known for their
tolerant attitudes toward female independence of
any sort, and cursing was strictly forbidden. 
Emma had known that at the tender age of six,
when she'd found herself with a mouth full of
Lifebuoy after mimicking her father's "Hellfire
and save the matches!"

"Oh come on, Emma.  You might fool Uncle Mike
with that good little angel stuff, but it's me,
remember?  How many dirty words did we find in
the dictionary at summer camp?  Thirty-eight?"

"Fifty-two.  We counted even the ones that
sounded dirty."

Together, they began to chuckle, Emma leaning
close to whisper conspiratorially, "Farkleberry."

"Uvula," Dana supplied, just as covertly.

"Sexton."

"And your favorite, Dana - pussywillow."  They
dissolved into laughter, Dana hanging on to
Emma's hand as she cradled her belly.  It took
several moments before either was sober enough to
stand upright, their eyes twinkling with mirth
and remembrance.

Sniffling together now, they quieted slowly, Dana
pulling back to say, "Great.  Now I have to pee."

"Peony?"

Warning flashed in Dana's face, though her lips
trembled with the need to suppress more laughter. 
"Don't start."

"Sorry," Emma said, taking a deep breath. 
"Ladies restroom is the third door on the left
down the hall.  If Mulder comes out, I'll come
get you, okay?"

She watched Dana leave, her smile waning.  Dana
was strong, but inside she was soft as a kitten. 
The trick was to get past that tough outer shell;
but once pierced, it released a flood of emotion. 
Emma knew she hated to show just how vulnerable
she was.  The only person besides Emma who had
enjoyed the true measure of Dana's depth and
sensitivity was Charlie.  And now Mulder, she
supposed.  But Emma knew Dana needed a more
feminine ear now and then, and she vowed to make
more time to visit her cousin in the future.

The shuffle of feet to her right brought her head
around; Mulder met her inquisitive look with a
wry shake of his head.

"He says he wants to leave.  He hates hospitals,
you know."

"Don't we all?" Emma said softly.  "Dana's in the
restroom.  Let me tell her you're back."  She
paused on her way out, adding, "I don't think
Doctor Belden will let him go just yet, Fox." 
She was practically bursting with curiosity, but
good manners forbade poking into Mulder's family
business.  Not that it ever stopped *her* family
from prying, but she vowed to show more respect
for one's privacy than her father and brothers
ever did.  She nodded at the policeman still
hovering at the end of the hall.  "Besides, I
don't know if the officer will let him go that
easily."

"Just leave that to me.  I'll tell him it's a
matter of national security."  Mulder grinned,
and she had no doubt he had the pull to make the
accident disappear in the eyes of local law
enforcement.  "Emma?"

She turned, arms crossed over her waist.  Mulder
always made her slightly nervous, as if he was
always looking underneath her skin for what laid
beneath.  He did that to everyone, she knew. 
She'd recognized it from the moment she met him,
so had her father.  In his case, however, he gave
as good as he got.  Mike Scully was born with
pure Irish grit flowing through his veins.  Emma
felt the same within herself at times, but
realized the need for temperance.  Still, it
didn't mean she allowed others to get the better
of her.  Just meant she exercised her brain more
than her brawn, what little she had of that.

At her silence, Mulder continued.  "I'd
appreciate it if you keep this to yourself for a
while.  Sam doesn't know how he got here, and
he's confused, to say the least."

"I wouldn't tell anyone, Mulder.  That's not my
place."

"Thanks."  His sheepish grin relaxed her a bit. 
"Sorry if I implied the opposite."

"That's okay.  It's been quite an evening, hasn't
it?"

"Sure has," came the reply behind her.

Mulder covered the distance between him and his
wife in two steps.  "Scully - it's him.  It's
Sam."

Dana put a soothing hand on Mulder's arm.  "Are
you sure?"

"As sure as I can be.  He knows me, Scully.  He
knows Mom and - damn.  How do I tell him about
Mom and Dad?"

"There's lots of time for that," she said, her
look calm yet guarded.  "We need to be sure,
Mulder.  Is there any way we can be sure?"

Mulder faced Emma.  "Did you take x-rays?"

"A few.  Mostly of the chest.  He showed no
symptoms of broken bones so we didn't -"

"Take a few more.  Sam broke his left collarbone
when he was eight.  Should show up on an x-ray."

"Mulder."  Dana's tone spoke of the need for more
proof.  To his credit, Mulder didn't argue.

"I know, I know.  I'll get his fingerprints from
the Department of Defense.  Might take a day or
two more with the holiday, but that will settle
this once and for all."

"Okay."  Dana started buttoning up her coat.  "I
guess it's no use asking if you're going home
tonight?"

"Umm..." He was suddenly at a loss, glancing from
Sam's room to Dana with guilt.  Still, it was
obvious he didn't want Dana driving home alone.

It was the perfect time to butt in.  "Take Dana
home, Fox.  I'll make sure Sam doesn't go
anywhere while you're gone, okay?"

For a second, he let relief soften his face. 
Then he looked at Dana once more.  "Scully, I
don't want to leave you alone, but I can't let
Sam -"

"I understand," his wife broke in gently, laying
a hand on his fidgeting arm.  "Take me to
Missy's.  I can bunk there for as long as I have
to, she won't mind."

Dana had given up school a month ago, on doctor's
orders.  Since then, Mulder had practically
driven her nuts with his constant hovering, never
leaving her side except to work during the day. 
Emma knew the time would eventually come when he
insisted she have a full-time babysitter.  She
couldn't wait to see the fireworks that would
cause; Dana hadn't yet had enough of his
smothering concern.  But when she did, look out.

"Go on," Emma said, already making her way to
Sam's room.  "It's so slow here tonight, I was
about to fall asleep, anyway.  Take your time.  I
can sit with him until you get back."

Like that would be any hardship.  Already, the
man intrigued her to no end.  A little voice told
her this was just the beginning of an adventure
of a lifetime.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Three


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


So much for her promise, Emma thought as she
flitted from one bed to another in the crowded
Emergency Room.  Dana and Mulder hadn't been gone
for fifteen minutes when Harry burst into Sam's
room, out of breath.  Thank goodness he hadn't
woken the sleeping man, who had calmed down enough
to fall into an easy sleep.  With Harry's news of
an apartment fire just two blocks away, Emma knew
they'd be swamped with injuries.  Giving the lovely
Sam a wistful last look, she pointed the lamp to
the wall to mute the light and followed Harry to
where Dr. Belden waited.

Most of the victims now packing the ER suffered
from smoke inhalation, but the frantic children and
unnerved parents needed more than the hospital
staff's physical care.  For the next several hours
she handed out juice, substituted hospital blankets
for the security blankets lost in the fire, played
peek-a-boo when her nursing skills weren't needed,
and rubbed at her aching back.

Dawn was breaking through the hospital doors when
she looked up to see Mulder striding through them,
a hesitant smile on his face.  Suddenly, she
remembered his brother, who she hadn't checked on
in at least an hour.  Letting the child in her arms
slide down to its mother, she faced him with a
regretful smile.

"Mulder, I'm sorry.  I haven't had time to -"

He waved a dismissing hand.  "I heard about the
fire on the radio.  No problem.  He's doing okay?"

She sighed inwardly with relief.  Not that she
expected Mulder to chastise her for relaxing her
guard over Sam, but a promise was a promise.  "Last
time I checked, sleeping like a baby.  We still
need to x-ray his collarbone, you know."

Mulder stripped off his gloves, stuffing them into
his coat pockets.  "Is it okay if we come back for
that tomorrow?  I mean, if he's well enough to come
home with me, I'd like to get him out of here." 
His tone, the way he shifted his gaze around the
crowded ER, spoke of his uneasiness with leaving
his brother there another day.

"If you'd rather wait until Monday for the x-rays,
I'll be here. My shift starts at three."

"That would be great.  Give him a bit of breathing
room over the weekend."

Emma nodded.  There was no reason Sam had to stay
another day or come back tomorrow if it wasn't
urgent; when Doctor Belden checked on him in one of
the few moments of calm, he'd pronounced him fit,
shaking his head at the wonder of Sam's good
health.  In fact, he'd already signed the discharge
papers, Emma having told him Sam had family coming
by to take him home.

"All you have to do is get him dressed.  You did
bring clothes, didn't you?"

He glanced around him like he expected a suitcase
to materialize in his hand.  "Damn.  Forgot 'em in
the car.  They might be a bit short, but they'll
do.  Can you wake him up while I get his bag?"

"Sure."

"Are you sure he's okay to leave?"  Mulder shifted
from one foot to the other, looking for last-minute
approval.  Emma understood his hesitation; despite
Sam's fitness, there was something fragile about
him, as if he teetered on the edge of disappearing
again.  She couldn't blame Mulder for wanting to
cover all the bases when it came to a treasured
sibling.

"I'm off today, but I can pass by your place this
evening to check on him."  She wasn't sure Mulder
trusted anyone, but he seemed satisfied with her
offer, giving her a grin.  Even more disconcerting
was her own motivation for the last offer she'd
made; the words had come out of her before she
could stop them.  She hoped she didn't sound too
eager.  Hell, she *wasn't* eager.  She was just
being a conscientious caregiver, that was all.
Combined with lingering guilt over not being by
Sam's side all night, it was natural she'd want to
do all she could for them both.  Thankfully, Mulder
didn't seem to notice her sudden avoidance of his
eyes.

"You've been here all night long - you sure you
feel up to giving Sam a look-see tonight?  I mean,
I can get Dana to -"

"Dana has no business looking after a patient," she
interrupted tersely, more so to cover her own
embarrassment.  "I'm tired, but I'm going straight
to bed when I get home."  And having to put in
extra time at her father's pub these days was
wearing her thin.  "In fact, I should have left a
half hour ago.  Morning shift is on already."  She
knew why she hadn't left; Mulder knew as well, and
reached up to touch her slumping shoulder.

"Thanks, Emma.  Sorry for all the trouble."

"Trouble?" She laughed, walking away to fetch her
purse and coat.  "Mulder, that was the most
exciting Thanksgiving I've had in years."

He walked past her, a spring in his step as he
trotted toward the exit like a kid going to the
candy store.  "I'll see what we can do for
Christmas, okay?  He winked, almost beaming with
happiness.

"Mulder?" she called after him, shrugging into her
coat.

He paused, half over the threshold.  "Yeah?"

"All I want for Christmas is a new, healthy little
cousin.  That's not too much to ask, is it?" 
Though her request was playful, her tone also told
him to tread lightly with this "brother" thing
while Dana was in the final weeks of pregnancy.

"Point taken, Emma," he replied, sobering a bit
with a nod.  "You don't have to worry about Dana. 
There are too many Scullys waiting for the chance
to beat the crap outta me if I let her down in any
way."

"And I'll be first in line." She smiled, waving him
away.

"Don't I know it," he threw over his shoulder,
letting in cold air as he hurried to his car.

Coat on at last, she pulled the pins keeping her
white cap in place, sighing at the removal of the
prickly things.  Stuffing the cap into her black
purse, she asked Maria, the day shift desk
supervisor, to keep an eye on it while she woke
Sam.

Maria took it from Emma and stuffed it under the
counter, never pausing in her perusal of the
morning's caseload.  "You mean the cutie in 23?"
she asked, her broad olive face cracking into a
knowing grin as she glanced up from the clipboard. 
Off Emma's nod, she added, "Single?"

"I think so." Dana hadn't said anything about Sam
being married, or even having a girlfriend.  Surely
if he were attached in any way, they'd have called
the woman in question.

Maria tilted her head to the door.  "How about the
brother?"

"That one I know for sure.  Definitely taken." 
Before she could take two steps, she turned with
questioning eyes, Maria's overt curiosity sinking
in at last.  "Besides, why do *you* want to know? 
Aren't you forgetting someone?"

Maria lifted the pen from the clipboard with flair,
returning Emma's look with the wide eyes of the
deviously innocent.  "I'd never look at another man
besides my Johnny and you know that, Emma.  I meant
for *you*."

She should have saved her breath the last sixty
seconds; if she hadn't been so tired, she would
have caught on to Maria's plan from the moment the
other woman began speaking.  "Don't be silly.  I'm
perfectly satisfied the way I am."  Single. 
Working.  Keeping her father's household in order.

Lonely.

"But I understand he dropped right into your lap,
cara -"

"He didn't *drop* into my lap, Maria.  He was hit
by a car in front of the hospital."

"And he was naked as a jaybird, smiling up at you
like you were his own personal angel of mercy." 
Maria's face relaxed into a knowing grin, as she
crossed her arms with satisfaction.  "Which I
suppose you were.  Can't say I figured you for an
angel, Emma - too much temper in that red hair. 
But you never know.  My mama always said angels
walked among us."

Harry and Jack, had to be.  Those two could never
keep anything to themselves.  And Maria, ten times
more Catholic than anyone Emma had ever known, was
always ready to latch on to the spiritual.  She
came by it honestly, having been raised in an
Italian family who swore to lineage dating back to
Pietro Bernadone, the father of St. Francis of
Assisi.

Of course, however distant her relation to the
patron saint and steadfast her attendance to
morning mass, Maria had a romantic streak a mile
wide.  One of these days Emma fully expected Maria
to claim kinship with St. Valentine; goodness knew
the woman made an art of matchmaking.

"Now I suppose you'll be telling me it's divine
intervention I just happened to be on duty last
night," Emma drawled.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways."

"I'm not listening."  Her singsong answer had never
worked before with Maria, and she doubted it would
now.  However, she *could* do what she'd always
done - ignore it while not really ignoring it. 
Emma began to walk away, Maria's voice following
her down the hall.

"God gave that man to you, Emma.  That means you
can't throw him back.  He's yours!"

Emma sighed as she turned the corner.  If only that
were true.


**********


Considering he'd been hit by a car the night
before, he looked pretty good.  Better than good,
she admitted to herself, watching him pace by the
window in the morning sunshine.  Even clad in the
flimsy cotton robe the hospital had provided, he
made an impressive figure.  Fox was easily in the
range of six feet tall or more; compared to her
stocky Irish brothers, he was a giant.  Sam, on the
other hand, dwarfed them all.

His shoulders were broad, his hands curled into
fists that could probably kill her with one blow. 
Long, hairy legs peeked out from beneath the robe
and she felt her mouth suddenly go dry.  Reminding
herself she'd seen it all the night before, she
closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  Keep it
professional, she told herself.  Starting with a
very concerned comment.

Swinging the door wide, she pasted a smile on her
face, eyeing his bare feet with a chiding, "You
know, we do provide slippers."

She felt the wind knock out of her when he turned. 
Last night, she'd faced an unconscious man.  A
handsome one, to be sure.  Still, nothing could
have prepared her for the jolt of seeing him smile. 
Of watching him walk forward on those bare feet and
feeling him take her in his arms.

"You're here," he whispered into her hair.

Gracious.  Now she *really* couldn't breathe.  And
it wasn't because of his hold.  Loose but secure,
he burrowed into her small stature in a way that
made her feel like a bird held by a bear.  She let
herself linger a bit, her hands trapped over his
heartbeat.  He smelled faintly of antiseptic, but
mostly he carried the warm scent of masculinity.  A
fluttering took up residence low in her belly and
she almost purred into his breastbone; with her
clunky white flats, that was the extent of her
height matched against his.  She'd never felt so
helpless in her life.  And so consumed by another
person.

Oh, it was heavenly.  And she never wanted it to
stop.  But it had to; Mulder would come through the
door any second.  What a way to blow his confidence
in her abilities as his brother's nurse!

"Uh... Sam?"  She pushed at his chest feebly, but
he didn't budge.

"I can't believe it," he murmured, his hands
running over her back as if to memorize her form. 
"It's you.  I thought I'd made you up last night."

"You weren't dreaming," she replied, finally
getting him to move back enough so she could look
into his face.  "That's a side effect of the
sedatives.  I was here last night.  I'm still here. 
But your -" He interrupted her before she could
tell him of Mulder's arrival.

"Your name."  His eyes, though hazel like his
brother's, pierced her with a vivid array of darker
hues, sweeping over her face with an intensity that
was nearly frightening.

"What?" She gulped, unable to look away from his
scrutiny.

"Tell me your name.  I can't keep calling you Red,
now can I?"  Once again, his brilliant smile burst
forth, rivaling the rays of sunlight haloing his
head.

You can call me anything you want, her mind
swooned, her betraying body clutching at his.  Good
Lord, this had to stop and quickly!

"Mr. Mulder, I think -"

"Sam.  Samuel Mulder.  Surely Fox told you my
name?"

"He did." Forcing herself to move, she released his
arms and took a step back, feeling him reluctantly
let her go.  There.  That was better.  "I'm here to
make sure you signed your release papers.  Maria
should have brought them to you early this
morning."

"Tall Italian girl with the big -"

"That's her." Emma cut him off, grabbing the hands
that presented themselves before his chest in a
demonstration of Maria's most prominent assets.  In
a flash, he turned the tables, enclosing her hands
in his with a grin.

"Sorry.  Sometimes I forget I'm not in a locker
room or a barracks."  Squeezing them with purpose,
he attacked once more, pulling her closer.  "You
never did tell me your name."

"Emma."

The voice, so like his brother's, penetrated the
fog in Emma's brain.  Trying her best to keep from
blushing, she pulled away from Sam's grip and
stuffed her hands in her pockets, facing the door. 
And a very amused Mulder.

"Good.  You're back.  Guess I can be off now."

"Damn it, wait!"  Frustration edging his voice, she
heard Sam follow.  Just as she sidestepped Mulder,
who obviously thought the whole scene fascinating,
she was brought up short by a firm hand.

"Even though he's woefully underdressed for the
occasion, I think introductions are in order." 
Mulder gently turned her around to face a relieved
Sam.  "Emma, this is my brother Sam, who's
apparently forgotten his good manners.  Sam, Emma
Scully.  She's the one who found you last night."

"Emma." *Again* with the smile.  If she made it out
of the hospital without melting at his feet in an
absurd rush of girlish adoration, she'd be lucky.

An abundance of Scully nerve forced up her chin. 
"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Those warm, dark eyes swept her from
head to toe and back.  Damn if he hadn't looked at
her like *she* was the one in a flimsy gown!

Indignant heat finally brought her tamped-down
blush to bear, as well as the curl to her tongue
learned from her parents over the years in their
house.

"Tis a shameful man you are, Samuel Mulder!  Would
ya mind puttin' those eyes back where they belong?"

"Now you've done it," muttered Mulder, who'd lost
his smirk at her risen Irish.

"C'mon, doll... I didn't mean any -"

"*Doll*?  I'm no *doll*, ya mule-headed -"

"Sam, Emma's the nurse who was on duty last night,"
Mulder broke in.  "As well as... a part of the
family," he finished lamely, giving Emma a pleading
look.

Her fury died a quick death.  Mulder only wanted to
get Sam home, she knew.  He had so much to tell
him, if indications proved accurate and his brother
had indeed been missing for years.  The news would
be a mix of good and bad, definitely not something
they should discuss in a barren hospital room.  It
was time to make her exit and leave the two of them
to their family business.  She nodded at Mulder,
defiantly avoiding Sam's attempts at catching her
eye.

"Dad's waiting for me, I'm sure.  I'll see you
later," she directed at Mulder.

But Sam wasn't so easily put off.  "A part of the
family?" Quickly, he searched out her left hand,
which she stubbornly refused to remove from her
pocket.  Bad news to come his way or not, she
wasn't giving him such instant satisfaction. 
"Don't tell me you got married, Fox."

In answer, Mulder shoved the bag at Sam's chest,
who looked like he just had a punch to the gut. 
"Emma isn't my wife, you big dope.  Now get dressed
so we can go home."

The man had lost his paleness in a heartbeat,
giving Emma another dazzling grin.  "That's the
best news I've heard all day."  His look said he
wasn't speaking of the trip home.

Giving Emma a gentle shove to the door, Mulder
murmured, "The day is young."  As he escorted Emma
from the room he said in a louder voice, "Get
dressed, Sam.  I'll be waiting out in the hall."

"See ya later, doll," Sam called out around the
closing door.

She closed her eyes and counted three before facing
a sheepish Mulder.

"Sorry about that, Emma," he said softly.  "Sam's
always been a charmer with the ladies."

Remembering the enveloping hold he'd had on her
moments before, she replied with a roll of her
eyes, "A charmer?  More like the snake."

At that, Mulder laughed.  "If I promise he won't
'rub chests' with you again, will you still come
check on him this afternoon?"

She'd thought she couldn't get any redder. 
Obviously, she was wrong.  "You saw that?" she
whispered, imagining she was now just one step
above a barroom hussy in Mulder's estimation.

"The door was wide open," he admitted, lowering his
voice to match hers as he leaned in.  "Don't worry. 
I won't tell a soul."

Emma buttoned up her coat, angry at herself for
what she'd let Sam do.  "Just Dana, right?  God
save me, she's worse than Maria!"  Turning, she
stalked down the hall, leaving Mulder laughing
behind her.

Just last night she lamented her loneliness.  So
what did God do?  Drop a man right into her
hospital ward, according to St. Maria of the
Emergency Room.

One who was her cousin's brother-in-law.  One who
couldn't remember anything after being shot over
two years ago.  One who would most likely have a
hard time getting a job and would no doubt mooch
off his brother. One who was too damn good-looking
for his own good.

And one who intrigued her to no end.


**********


It felt good to put on clothes.  Being found naked
on a cold street wasn't exactly something you could
hold your head up about, and the hospital gown was
barely a step up from that embarrassing state. 
He'd always rolled with the punches, but this one
was a doozy, knocking him flat on his back.

Why the hell was he in Annapolis?  Last thing he
remembered was landing in Los Banos.  Then nothing. 
And to wake up with the same beautiful face before
him, albeit in a hospital halfway around the
world... very confusing.  From the bits and pieces
he was able to put together - and from the looks of
his much older brother - he'd been missing a long
time.  Years, perhaps.

The thought staggered him and he clutched at the
bed rail for support.  He wasn't used to being
so... helpless.  He was a man, damn it.  Men
weren't supposed to lose control of their lives
that way.

"You aren't a man."

Sam whipped around at the whispering voice,
searching the room for the intruder.  All he saw
were dust motes shimmering in the sunshine.  After
a few seconds, he shrugged off the eerie feeling,
discounting the experience as leftovers of a bad
night.

Hell, a bad year or two, if indications were
correct.  He had a right to feel as if the unknown
hovered over his shoulders.

"Sam?"

Blinking, he swallowed and faced the new voice. 
This one thankfully belonged to a familiar face.

"Smokey!"  As if they already hadn't had an
emotional reunion last night and a brief hello just
minutes ago, Sam grabbed Fox in a hug.  The chills
associated with the few moments before Fox's return
to his room quickly evaporated.

"Slammin'Sammy!"  Fox laughed, returning the hug.

The use of their childhood nicknames made Sam's
chest tighten uncomfortably, and he pulled away to
slip on his jacket.  Fox had always been better
able to deal with adversity of any kind and this
was no exception.  Sam felt disjointed, one moment
beaming with happiness and the next, feeling as if
his world was falling apart.  He hated it.  Keeping
his head down, he tried to avoid Fox's keen eye.

"What - no tie?  You want me to face Mom without a
tie?"

"Sam, I know you're having trouble remembering and
it's okay -"

It wasn't okay, but Fox couldn't see that.  He
wasn't the one with Swiss cheese for a brain. 
"What the hell day is it, anyway?"

"The day after Thanksgiving.  November 28."

"Shit," Sam breathed, feeling another anvil of bad
news whistle down from above.  They'd taken Los
Banos in February, near as he could remember. 
"I've been gone *nine* months?"

Fox hesitated.  Sam had grown up watching his
brother handle the parents; the way he bit his lip
as if about to confess to the frog in the lemonade
didn't bode well for what was to come. "1947, Sam. 
It's November 28, 1947."

Sam's legs wilted and he sat on the bed, avoiding
Fox's helping hand and soft, "You okay?"

"I'm okay."  It was a ghost of a reply, but he
thought he handled it well.  He dug his shoes and
socks from the bag in a jerky effort to cover up
his astonishment.  He hadn't been home in over five
years.  Hadn't seen his family since his last leave
in Christmas of '43... couldn't recall anything
past February of '45.  Jesus.

No wonder Fox looked so old.  He wondered if he
himself looked every bit of his now thirty-two
years.  He was afraid to look in the bathroom
mirror, dreading what he'd find.

"Look, Sam, let's just get you out of here.  We can
talk on the way home."

With stiff fingers, Sam finished tying his shoe. 
He couldn't argue with that.  The white walls of
the hospital were closing in fast.  "Just where is
home, by the way?"

"Outskirts of Annapolis - I commute to DC for work. 
Nice place, lots of room."

"Why can't I go to Mom and Dad's in Georgetown? 
Where are they, anyway?"

Fox picked up the empty bag with a sigh.  "C'mon
Sam.  We gotta go."

Everything had changed.  From the look on his
brother's face, Sam could tell the news about his
parents wasn't good.  Fox had aged considerably in
the time he'd been gone, as if he had lived two
lifetimes.  The city beyond Sam's hospital window
looked normal, but the cars and bustling crowds
were different somehow.  Faster, louder, more
pressing.  Even the clothes he wore didn't fit,
inches too short in the sleeves and trouser legs.

Seemed the only thing unchanged was he himself. 
And then, only physically.  He had no idea when his
mind would suddenly jump up and bite him on the
ass.  He'd lost years.  Time and friends and
family... he pushed down the sudden onslaught of
tears and faced his future.

"Show me the way," he told Fox, walking behind his
brother.

To the future of a man without a past.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Four


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


The news had stunned his brother.  Of course, it
wasn't every day you learned of the disintegration
of your family.  Mulder asked Sam for the second
time, "You want me to pull over?"

A thin white line circled Sam's mouth; he was so
pale in the sunshine that Mulder thought he was
moments away from throwing up.  Sam had always had
the look of good health, even in the middle of
winter.  Somewhere back in their mother's ancestry
was a Mohawk princess; of course, Teena Mulder
never liked to discuss her Indian blood, minute
though it was.  Didn't make for good Washington
socializing.  But Sam had grabbed on to the gene,
his skin darkening to the shade of a copper penny
in the summer.

"No."  Sam didn't waver from his stare out the
front windshield.  "I'm okay, Fox.  It's just... a
whole lot to hear at once."

Mulder lapsed into silence as he rounded the corner
to his neighborhood.  It *was* a helluva lot to
take in and he couldn't blame Sam for being
shocked.  To be missing for over two years, to not
remember anything of where you were or why you
couldn't even recall a day of that time - to find
out your parents had died in an automobile accident
in that stretch of endless nothing and your brother
had moved on with his life and gotten married. 
Mulder thought he could sympathize, having lost
just about the same amount of time under Chang's
influence.  Hell, when he found out Sam was dead,
he'd lost his sanity in one fell swoop, causing a
chain reaction that almost cost him the only woman
with the power to save him from total oblivion.

"So..." Sam cleared his throat as Mulder slowed the
car.  "Tell me about this wife of yours."

That Mulder could handle.  He could talk about
Scully for hours; he was certain Sam would take to
her as he'd done Emma.  Well, not quite in the
*same* caveman fashion, he hoped.  He didn't feel
like breaking Sam's nose for what - the third time? 
His memory was as bad as Sam's.

"Her name is Dana.  Dana Scully Mulder." He
couldn't have kept the overwhelming pride from his
voice even if he'd tried.  Nor could he let loose
his breath at the possibility of Sam recognizing
the name.  Sam was Scully's 'hero', the one who'd
taken a bullet meant for her in Los Banos; she'd
even told him after the Chang business was done how
she'd seen Sam in a vision.  He'd called her by
name.  Of course, Mulder knew there was no way
Scully had seen his brother, dead or alive.  Her
mind had simply conjured up a release valve for her
fears.

"Scully?" That brought Sam's head around.

Maybe he did remember her after all.  "Yeah.  Sound
familiar?"

"As in Emma Scully?"

"Cousins," Mulder explained, easing to a stop at
his street as he heaved a relieved sigh.  Nope, Sam
never blinked twice at the name Dana, though he
certainly perked up at the connection with Emma. 
But that would have to be explored later.  Much
later - they had too many other pressing topics to
discuss.

He looked both ways before taking a left; Sam
probably thought he was crazy, driving like an old
man.  But he wasn't taking any chances with Sam's
well-being.  "Their fathers are brothers.  It's how
Emma knew to call us last night."

"She knew me?"

"Not exactly.  She thought you were me."

Sam shook his head with a snort.  "As if anyone
would find you naked on the street.  They'd expect
it of me, you know."

Despite Sam's 'golden boy' status among his family
and friends, he'd been in more scrapes as a boy and
a young man than Mulder would ever have dared
attempt.  Instead of turning blue in the face
trying to talk his brother out of his latest brush
with an irate boyfriend or an even angrier cop,
Mulder was the one who pulled Sam out just in the
nick of time.  Without alerting his parents,
naturally.  Sam wasn't bad, but Mulder could never
make him see that.  And of course, his parents
never saw anything but good in Sam, which
contributed to his rebellion.  Mulder was surprised
Sam had stayed in the war so long without ending up
in the hands of the MP's; he wasn't a troublemaker,
just very headstrong at times.

"Lately, they would expect it of me as well,"
Mulder said quietly, capturing Sam's attention.

"Of you?  Please.  You always had the brains, Fox. 
And the bravery to go with it.  What kind of
trouble could you possibly get into?"

Chang, Mulder answered silently.  Being a mole for
Naval Intelligence.  Falling in love with a woman
who hated your guts, then having to win her by
sheer determination and luck.  Then there was this
latest fork in the road, one that would make him
the laughingstock of the Navy should they find
out...

"You don't know the half of it, Sam."  He pulled
into his driveway and killed the motor.  "Here we
are.  Home sweet home."

It wasn't much by his parents' lofty standards, but
it suited him and Scully just fine.  Sam got out of
the car and stood in awe, turning to look at
Mulder's exit from behind the wheel.  "This is
yours?"

"Yep.  Lock, stock and mortgage."  The snow-covered
lawn hid the sidewalk, and Mulder motioned Sam to
be careful as he picked his way to the front door. 
"I'll have to shovel the walk before Scully gets
home.  Watch your step."

"Scully?"  Behind him, Sam was incredulous.  "You
call your wife Scully?"

As he opened the ice-crusted door, Mulder smiled
slightly.  "Long story.  Come on in and I'll make
some coffee before I call Scully."

Sam followed him into the kitchen.  "Nice.  I
assume 'Scully' is just as nice?"

"The best." It had been at least five minutes since
he'd mentioned Scully's first name, five of the
longest minutes of his life.  Did it click with
Sam?  "Sam, what's the last thing you remember?" 
He put the kettle on to boil, taking his time with
filling the basket full of coffee grounds.  Nice
and easy, almost nonchalant - that was the way to
go.

"That's easy - landing outside that prison camp."
Sam sat at the kitchen table, looking up at Mulder
with a grin.  "Best landing we ever had.  Taking
the fence was a piece of cake.  Hardly any
resistance at all."

"And then?"

Sam's face clouded as he began to roll the salt
shaker between his hands.  "All of a sudden,
bullets were flying around us.  I remember... this
woman... God, she looked like death warmed over. 
Speaking Japanese, begging me not to kill her."

His back to Sam, Mulder closed his eyes and relived
the incident once again.  This time, instead of
Scully's halting voice, he heard Sam's low tones. 
But the tale was just as horrifying.

"I looked down into her face..." Sam paused, a note
of wonder trickling into his words.  "I mean, I
knew there were women POW's in the camp, but it
shocked the hell out of me to hear one speaking
Japanese.  I wasn't even sure she was one of ours
until she looked up.  She had the bluest eyes. 
American eyes.  I told her something - God,
something stupid about baseball - and when she
looked up at me again I could tell she understood. 
She started crying and... damn, Fox, she was
beautiful.  Beautiful and so damned skinny she'd
blow away in a stiff wind.  I remember wanting to
kill every God damned Nip I could get my hands on
for doing this to her.  Then -"

Mulder couldn't turn around; he gripped the
coffeepot with white fingers.  "Then what?"

A heavy sigh came from the table behind him.  "Then
nothing.  Maybe an instant of pain, I don't know.  
Mostly fuzzy words and pictures after that, until I
woke up last night.  Not a damn thing."

An instant of pain.  Sam didn't remember being
mortally wounded.

"You think someone knocked me out?  Is that it?"

Mulder couldn't find the words to tell Sam the
truth.  There was time for that later; Sam had
heard enough bad news for one day.  Apparently he'd
survived his injury.  The time after that worried
Mulder more than anything.

"Maybe so," he murmured.  "We'll find out, Sam."

So Scully's hero had been exactly that.  Sam.  None
of this made any sense, but one thing was true. 
Sam had been there, and had been officially
declared dead by the Army.  Mulder, while not one
hundred percent sure her rescuer had been Sam,
always clung to the hope it hadn't been him.  It
had taken a long time for him to let go of his
belief he was second-best to Sam in Scully's eyes,
even over her declaration of love for him and their
hasty marriage.  Would she now look at Sam and
realize her mistake had been genuine?

"About Emma..."

Sam's abrupt change of subject made Mulder lift an
eyebrow.  "Yeah?  What about her?"

"She's not old enough to have been in the..."  Sam
trailed off, and Mulder turned, seeing his brother
straighten in his chair, the salt shaker planted
firmly on the table with a quick smile.  "How old
is she, anyway?"

"Oh, I dunno - twenty-five or twenty-six.  She's a
great girl - she's taken care of her father since
her mother died something like five years back,
according to Scully.  Any particular reason for the
'twenty questions'?" he finished with a wink.

For an instant, a shadow of disappointment crossed
Sam's face.  It was gone as quickly as it had come,
replaced with an even bigger smile than the last. 
Fake almost, but then again, Sam's smile had always
come easier and broader than his own.  "No reason. 
Just checking the ID, you know."

"If she were underage, she wouldn't have been
working at the hospital, you know."

"Uh, yeah - right.  You're still pretty sharp,
Fox."  He touched a finger to his temple.  "Unlike
me.  My head feels like it has more holes in it
than an outfield playing a pull hitter."

"You just need time, Sam.  Things will get better,
I know it."

"Sorry, Smokey," Sam said, using the nickname like
a lifeline to pull Mulder back from his melancholy. 
Sam might think old Smokey had all the brains,
Mulder thought, but Slammin' Sammy had his fair
share.  "I wish I could remember more.  And I
didn't mean to make you -"

"You didn't," Mulder interrupted, reaching for the
whistling kettle.  He poured quickly, wiping at his
damp face.  "I'm just glad you're home, that's
all."  The ringing of the telephone was a welcome
respite; with a mumbled, "Be right back," he left
Sam at the table looking more confused than ever.

The coolness of the central hallway was like a
breath of fresh air.  Even more comforting was the
sound of Scully's voice after he said hello.

"Hi there, sailor.  How's everything so far?"

For a woman miles away and battling to overcome the
trials of pregnancy, she sounded like Ava Gardner
and Veronica Lake rolled into one.  The tremor in
his reply vibrated out of him with such sheer need
it felt like days since he'd last seen her.

"God, I miss you."

"Already?  And here I was, thinking you'd abandoned
me for a comfier couch."

Her recollection of a long-ago conversation
concerning furniture preferences made him chuckle. 
"You know you're my favorite sofa.  Even if you
give 'overstuffed' a new meaning these days."

"Watch it sailor.  This is your throw pillow I'm
carrying around, you know."

"You won't let me forget it."

"Neither does he."

Something in her tone alarmed him.  "You okay? 
Scully, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, Mulder," she assured him.  "I just missed
my before breakfast back rub, that's all.  So did
little Sa - so did the baby, apparently.  He's been
jumping around in there all night.  Missing his
dad, I think."

Mulder noticed her abrupt change of direction and
commented on it.  "It's okay, Scully.  Nothing says
we still can't name him Sam.  After his very much
alive uncle."

She paused for a moment and he heard her sigh. 
"How is he?  Doing okay?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose.  Looks like
he stepped right out of one of those European
spas."  Actually, he was amazed out how utterly
*fit* Sam looked.  Whoever took care of him the
past two years had done an excellent job; the only
thing different was the pure lightness of his skin. 
Wherever he'd been, he must not have seen the sun
too often.

"And mentally?"

"Doesn't remember a thing."  He glanced at the open
kitchen door, where he could see Sam pouring
himself a cup of coffee.  In a whisper he added,
"He does remember you, however."

A sharp gasp flew over the line.  "Does he know who
I am?"

"He knows I'm married to a woman named Dana.  He
doesn't remember anything about the woman at Los
Banos except for her blue eyes.  Then nothing."

"Nothing?  But I saw him get hit, Mulder.  In the
chest.  Mortally wounded."

"Was he dead when they took him away?  Did you
actually see him die?"

"I saw him close his eyes.  He fell limp in my
arms, Mulder.  If he wasn't dead, he was sure to be
soon.  There was blood."  The conversation affected
her as much as it did him, as she choked out her
next words.  "So damn much blood."

"It's okay, it's okay."  Hell, he shouldn't have
brought it up over the phone.  "Listen, I'd like
for you to spend the day at Melissa's.  Can you do
that?  Emma's coming by later on and I want her to
be here when he sees you."

He didn't have to tell her the reason why; as a
trained medical professional, she already knew Sam
had suffered quite a shock and it wouldn't hurt to
have Emma there should the sight of her cause him
further harm.

"Good idea.  I can call her and have her pick me
up.  Save Missy having to pack the kids along.  And
I *won't* bring up Los Banos if he can't remember
it, so don't worry."

"Like you'd jump headfirst into that," he snorted,
knowing she was the most level-headed person he'd
ever known.  "I just want to cover all the bases
with him, Scully.  He'll come to terms with
whatever happened to him eventually, and until
then, I think he needs to take it slow."

"Agreed.  Starting with some new clothes.  Lots of
good sales today, Mulder.  Take him shopping. 
Spend some time talking.  Bring home Uncle Mike's
corned beef and cabbage for dinner."

"Ha!  I knew there was an ulterior motive behind
all these helpful suggestions."

"You'd better believe it, sailor.  I'm not cooking
for you *and* that hulk of a brother tonight."

"He *is* bigger'n me, isn't he?"

"I know.  I remember."

Silence drifted over the line.  Sam may not
remember much about Los Banos, but Scully had every
detail burned on her brain.  Mock jealousy crept
into his reply.  "Bigger isn't necessarily better." 
Well, he hoped it sounded teasing, anyway. 
Insecurity had a way of taking hold of him at
inopportune moments.

"I'm very happy with the couch I have, Mulder."

Once again, he found himself sputtering like a
fool.  "So am I.  Love you, Scully."

"I love you too, Mulder."  This time, her voice
held the same low need.  "I'll see you tonight,
okay?"

She gave him a brisk goodbye and rang off.  Holding
the receiver in hand, he smiled.

"Either that was your wife on the phone or you've
taken up all my bad habits with the dames."

Mulder started, slowly hanging up the telephone as
he pasted a smile on his face.  How much had Sam
heard?  "She's at her sister's for the day."  He
nodded at the cup in Sam's hand.  "Coffee okay?"

Sam straightened from his lax pose against the door
frame.  "Perfect.  You're out of milk, by the way."
His gaze searched Mulder's frozen face and he
looked as if he was about to blurt out something
more important than the Mulders' lack of dairy
products.

"We can pick some up on the way home." Mulder
hadn't even doffed his winter coat; he dug into his
pocket for the car keys.  "Ready?"

"We just got here, Fox.  Why do we have to leave
again?"

"You need clothes.  Scully reminded me -" He broke
off, biting his lip as he turned for the living
room.  Damn.  So much for avoiding the telephone
call.

"Fox, I wasn't eavesdropping," Sam said with a
chiding grin.  "All I caught was the 'love you' at
the end.  Which was smoother than silk, you know. 
You *have* learned something from me after all."

With a silent sigh of relief, Mulder turned back to
face his brother with a heat building in his
cheeks.  "Believe me, 'smooth' never works with
Scully."

"Smart, huh?" Sam downed the rest of his coffee in
one gulp.

"As a whip.  She's..." He trailed off, knowing
there was something else Sam needed to know before
they went any further.  "She's strong but at the
same time, fragile.  She's pregnant, you know."

"What?" Sam quickly transferred his empty cup to
his left hand, beaming as he reached for a
handshake.  "Hot damn!  Congratulations, Smokey! 
Now I really have to meet her.  Why the hell isn't
she here?"

Mulder smiled through the jarring handclasp,
accepting Sam's good wishes for a few moments
before sobering.  Quickly, he explained Scully's
previous miscarriages and how they had to monitor
her very closely throughout this pregnancy.  Sam
listened with concern, though his happiness
dwindled little.

"So, when can I expect to be an uncle, Smokey?"

"Sometime after the New Year.  Most likely the
middle of January." Every time he thought of being
a father, he shook in his shoes.  The feeling was
ten times worse than any time he'd faced down the
wrong end of a gun.

"She'll be okay," Sam said quietly, seeing Mulder's
hesitation.  "I know it.  And it'll be a boy."

"What - all of a sudden, you can predict the
future?" Mulder laughed.

His eyes took on a faraway look.  "I just know it."

Mulder's laughter died a quick death.  "Sam? What
is it?"

Shaking off the mask of stillness, Sam grinned. 
"Nothing.  The only future I can predict is the
ass-kicking you'll get if you don't bring back
dinner.  C'mon, Smokey.  Let's get some better duds
for the prodigal son."

As he watched Sam head for the front door, Mulder's
heart skipped a beat.  "Hey," he called out,
following his brother.  "How'd you know about -"

"You have a pregnant wife who's spending the day at
her sister's," Sam threw over his shoulder.  "Don't
tell me she's gonna come home tonight and cook?"

The cold air was bracing, clearing Mulder's head of
all suspicions about Sam's sudden gift for
divination.  "Bingo."

As Sam practically bounded down the front steps he
snorted, "And I said *you* had all the brains."


**********


Sam took his time in the upstairs bathroom,
reveling in the first hot shower he could remember
in... well, years, he thought with chuckling self-
derision.  Everything he did today, everything he
was liable to do tomorrow, he'd not done in years,
if his memory was anything to go by.  Adding to the
overall creepy feeling that hung over him was the
fact he was using the master bedroom and bath.  At
Fox's insistence, he'd hung his still-tagged
department store clothes in the closet and set out
his brand-spanking-new comb, razor, and toothbrush
on the counter in the spacious bathroom.  All was
peachy keen.

"Dana can't climb the stairs anymore," Fox had
explained.  "We use the guest bedroom downstairs."

The logic made sense.  But still, there was
something unsettling about using a bed and bath
that belonged to your brother and his wife.  The
whole house was warm and alive, awaiting the
arrival of Fox's newborn with open arms.  He, on
the other hand, felt as if he were the walking
dead.  Not physically; he'd never felt better in
that respect.

He took his new comb in hand and filled his lungs
with blessed, calming air before facing the mirror. 
Slowly, he tugged the tamer through his unruly
hair.  One stroke, then two, then three - all the
while searching his face for signs of age.  Where
Fox sported more than a few gray hairs, his own was
still dark.  Where the corners of his brother's
eyes fanned out in tiny lines, his were still
unmarked by time.  It was downright spooky, like he
looked at a younger twin of himself.  He didn't
like it.

He was lost, period.  A lost man, a lost soul,
whatever name, it didn't matter much.  He no longer
even had a home or the familiarity of his old
clothes and personal items.  All that was gone,
disposed of after his parents' death.  He'd had to
finally tell Fox to shut his trap with all the
apologizing.  It wasn't his fault.  No one was to
blame.

Because he wasn't *anyone* anymore.

Despite the sibling connection, he and Fox were
distant.  Sam supposed that could be blamed on the
awkwardness of the situation and his memory loss. 
They'd always been close as kids, only drifting
apart when it became clear Fox's calling was in
academia and his, athletics.  Sam didn't like to
think ill of the dead, but his father fostered
those differences, practically pushing them both to
excel in their respective strengths.  In doing so,
he further alienated them from one another.  Still,
they found ways to communicate; it wasn't like they
were ever in competition with one another, even if
Bill Mulder encouraged that behavior by rewarding
the winner.

And Sam knew how to win.  Of course, winning at the
local baseball tournament was flashier and garnered
more attention than acing the top spot in French
class.  Fox never begrudged him the trophies and
the newspaper clippings; in fact, when the time
came to enlist and Fox was nabbed by Naval
Intelligence, Sam deliberately walked to the
nearest Army recruiting office and signed up,
opting out of his minor league contract with the
military service loophole.  Fox was destined for
greatness in the war and becoming just another foot
soldier was Sam's homage to his brother's superior
intellect.  Besides, it pissed his old man off to
no end.  He kind of liked telling his father 'no
thanks' for his offer to get him transferred
stateside.

"You have to think of your baseball career, boy,"
Bill Mulder growled.  "Next year, you'll be in the
majors, everyone says so!  Don't throw all that
away!"

Sam could still see the ever-present glass of
scotch in one hand and the cigarette in the other. 
Even more vivid was the mental image of his
father's livid anger at Sam's defiance.

It had been the first time he'd overtly disobeyed
his father, and it felt good.  He'd miss his too-
meek Mom and his browbeating Dad, but he was
thankful he didn't have to try to explain this mess
to either of them.  He didn't think he could stand
the sure condescension and embarrassed attempts to
hide him away from their friends.  Mulders *didn't*
have anything wrong with them, certainly not in
their heads.  A little amnesia would have been a
first class ticket to an asylum for "rest and
relaxation".

The roar of a car engine snapped him from ancient
history; sweater in hand, he went to the front
window and wiped away the inside moisture.  Even
with darkness falling, he could make out two slight
forms in the front seat of the Buick.

Emma and... Dana.  He shook his head at the lapse,
grasping the name after a few moments of
hesitation.  What a way to greet your new sister-
in-law.

Hi, I'm Sam but I can't remember anything.  Not
even your name, though Fox told me just this
afternoon what it was... but then again, I can't
remember shit, anyway.

Dragging the navy sweater over his head, he smiled. 
He had no trouble at all remembering Emma.  Short
and tartly sweet, with an hour-glass figure and a
temper one shade shy of the fiery red of her hair. 
The attraction to her had been instantaneous; with
her voluptuous body and smooth, round face, she
represented home at its very best.  The fact her
face triggered a moment of recognition in him last
night he discounted.  No way was she his mysterious
'Red' of Los Banos, despite the way the spark hit
him again this morning.  He'd had confirmation when
Fox had said she'd spent the last five years in the
States.  He may have been out of it a bit last
night - and apparently missing the last two years -
but he remembered that winsome face from the
internment camp well enough to know it when he saw
it, which he doubted he ever would again.

No, what Emma stirred in him amounted to nothing
more than plain lust.  Just because he felt a bit
of tenderness toward her - something he'd never
before experienced with any woman - didn't mean
he'd back down from the challenge she presented. 
However, he'd have to be very careful around his
brother and sister-in-law when it came to wooing
the girl.  Now that he was back home, no matter
where he'd been the past two years, he was
determined to pick up where he'd left off with his
life.

Starting with one tiny redhead.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Five


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"Dana, I'm not a doctor."

Emma couldn't help but reiterate her trepidation
about the main reason Fox wanted her to bring Dana
home this evening.  Dana had tried her best to
explain that it was likely to end up amounting to
nothing at all, seeing as how Sam hadn't reacted so
far to any mention of a woman named Dana.  Of
course, he hadn't known her name when she saw him
last at Los Banos, but the chance he'd recognize
her after all this time was slim to none.

But just in case, Emma was along to forestall any
medical complications.  She couldn't argue with the
fact that Dana was in no condition to come to Sam's
aid should he need it, and carrying him back to the
hospital just to have a doctor close by was bound
to arouse his suspicion.  If all went well, the
introductions would be made and Sam would go on
thinking of Dana as Fox's wife, period.  That would
buy them time to investigate just how he'd managed
to disappear for two years without a trace.

"Emma, there's more at stake here than Sam's well-
being."  Dana slipped on her gloves, her face
pinched with worry.

Emma set the brake and killed the motor before
turning to face her cousin.  "Why do I get the
feeling you're about to tell me something I don't
want to hear?"

Dana sighed, looking up at the blazing lights of
the house.  "Mulder already believes the man in
there is Sam.  No question."

A trickle of dread climbed up Emma's spine.  "And
you?"

"I just find it hard to believe he shows up after
two years with not even an inkling of where he's
been."

"Dana, amnesia is a very real condition."

"You don't have to tell me that, Emma.  In Sam's
case, I hope it's genuine.  But I really don't know
the man; I've never even met him.  All I have are
Mulder's memories to rely upon."

"Mulder wouldn't let Sam near you if he was a
threat."

"What if he's a threat and doesn't know it
himself?"

Emma's eyes widened with surprise.  "You mean -"

"Brainwashing."  Dana scooted a bit to face Emma
directly, her worry evident in the crease of her
brow.  "Emma, I saw many forms of torture in Los
Banos.  I saw men whipped and forced to do things
they would never do otherwise.  I saw fine, healthy
men reduced to mindless zombies who could only
utter 'yes' to every command in Japanese."

"You think Sam may have been held somewhere all
this time?  His mind wiped clean?  For what
purpose?"

It was as if it pained Dana to say it.  "Chang. 
They never found his body, you know."

"Oh, come *on*, Dana."

"I'm not joking, Emma.  Men like Chang are very
real and very hard to stop."

Emma swallowed hard, speechless at the possibility. 
It was too far-fetched, too surreal to consider. 
Dana and Fox were used to espionage and all things
top secret, but she, like ninety-nine percent of
the population, happily buried her head in the sand
as far as true evil was concerned.  There were men
in the government who took care of such things. 
Men like Charlie and that nice Commander Skinner,
and... Fox.

Fox, who had a crazed Chinaman lie in wait almost a
year to take his revenge.  Fox, who had to watch
that same Chinaman kidnap Dana and threaten to take
her halfway around the world to become - God, she
couldn't even think it.  Fox, who was still so deep
into that very same spy stuff none of her family
knew exactly what the hell his job was these days.

"Okay," she said slowly, "maybe it's not so
fantastic after all.  What do you want me to do?"

"You?  Emma, I can't ask you to get involved in
this."

"Why not?  You said yourself Fox already believed
Sam was the real deal.  Who else can you turn to? 
Commander Skinner?  He'd have Fox and Sam in his
office in the bat of an eye and you know it.  Then,
if it all turns out to be nothing, you'll have one
very angry husband."

"I know." Dana dropped her chin.  "I'm probably
just suffering from an overdose of hormones. 
Forget it."

Emma grabbed Dana's hand.  "No, I won't forget it. 
You obviously feel something about Sam is very
wrong; it's up to us to figure out what it is. 
Deal?"

Dana squeezed the fingers holding hers with a small
smile.  "If we get into any trouble, we call
Skinner immediately, got it?"

"Got it."  Though she was still a bit cautious
about the whole idea, she felt a thrill steel her
shoulders.  She trusted Dana's judgment and figured
there was a grain of truth to her suspicions.  The
way Sam had just surfaced out of nothing, naked as
the day he was born, was enough to arouse doubt in
the most trustworthy of people.  Still, having seen
him and spoken to him, she didn't think he was up
to anything nefarious.  It would make for one
interesting escapade, however.  Something her
boring life desperately needed.  "So what's the
plan?"

"I want you to examine him."

Emma pulled her hand away.  "What?"  Great.  Just
when she had the chance to build some defenses
against the guy via street clothes, Dana wanted to
subject her to the full naked glory once again. 
"We examined him last night at the hospital."

"Did you see a scar on his chest from a bullet
wound?"

To tell the truth, she'd not been looking except
for a quick scan for bruises.  Remarkably, Sam was
virtually untouched from his collision with the
automobile.

"I thought so."

"Dana, I wasn't exactly looking for bullet wound
scars, you know."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem to find one, should
it?"

"But won't you get confirmation when Sam's
fingerprint records arrive?  And what about the x-
ray Monday?"

"Both of which will probably prove me wrong.  But I
know what I saw, Emma.  Sam - if that is Sam at all
- was shot right in front of me."

"Now you're saying it may not even be him?"  This
was getting more ridiculous by the moment.  Emma
wondered if Dana's hormones had taken over control
of her faculties.  "That's impossible."

"Think about it, Emma.  Chang survives the
explosion.  He lays low, finds out all he can about
Mulder, how Sam was missing and presumed dead at
Los Banos.  He finds someone who looks enough like
Sam to be believable - or changes his face with
plastic surgery until it's perfect - and sends him
here to kill Mulder.  Mulder hasn't seen his
brother in six years, Emma.  The real Sam was
barely twenty-six when he left for war.  Still a
young man."

"You've been hanging around Fox too long."

"Just do me this one favor and look.  Please?"

Emma couldn't resist the pleas of a pregnant woman. 
Especially if that woman was her favorite cousin in
the whole world.  Her best friend, really.

"Damn."  Dana's expletive made Emma look up.  "Here
comes Mulder.  Emma, please?"

She sighed, recognizing the worry Dana had for her
husband and her baby.  It would all amount to
nothing, anyway.  "Okay.  But this is weird, Dana. 
Really weird."

"And a dead brother showing up after two years
isn't?"  Dana reached for the door handle,
schooling her face into a smile for Fox.

"What are you two up to in there?  It's freezing,
Scully."  Fox's teasing had a quiet, worried edge. 
But he looked like a kid at Christmas, all smiles
and hopeful thoughts of candy and gifts.  "C'mon -
I want you to meet Sam."

She had to admit, Dana had a point.  From his whole
demeanor, Fox had already accepted the man inside
as kin, and therefore, beyond reproach. Reaching
for the small bag of medical supplies she'd brought
with her, she took a deep breath and prepared to
face the mysterious Sam once again.


**********


He stumbled over his own feet before he even made
it to the stairs.  "Shit."  He'd never been clumsy,
but suddenly his legs wouldn't cooperate.  Maybe it
was the new shoes.  Fox's had been pinching him all
day, something he hadn't discovered until the
feeling returned to his toes when he took them off
earlier.

A pair of feminine voices drifted up the stairs,
stopping him cold.

"So where is he?"  Emma.  Even the sound of her
voice had the power to make his stomach sink to his
knees.  Damn, he must be more starved for a woman
than he thought if just that simple question felt
like a kiss.  "Don't tell me - he's out wrestling
with the cars on the street.  And just when I
decided to park it, too."

Yep, that was her all right.

"Emma."  Softly chastising, the other female chimed
in.  This tone was equally pleasant, maybe just a
bit lower.  A chill skittered over his skin and he
hovered on the second floor landing.

"You okay, Scully?"  Fox's muffled question told
Sam he had his arms around the source of that
gentle voice.  His brother had it bad.  'Scully?' 
Talk about henpecked, if she made him call her by
her maiden name.

"I'm fine, Mulder.  Just a bit tired.  And in need
of the bathroom.  I'll be back in a bit."

He heard two pairs of footsteps go down the
hallway; Fox was such a worry wart, following his
wife like that.  But Sam wasn't about to let the
opportunity slide for some one-on-one with the
prickly Emma.  Silent as a cat, he slipped down the
stairs to see his prey shrugging off her coat.

"You might want to keep that on," he said,
gratified to see her jerk with surprise.

"And why is that?"  Good recovery, he thought,
watching the invisible walls go up in a flash.

"Well, I'm here." He spread his arms wide.  "And
ready to wrestle.  No can do on the car.  Gives you
an unfair advantage."  Winking, he added, "I'm
willing to strip to give you a head start if you
want."

"Oooh..." Emma sputtered, her already cold-pinked
cheeks becoming a splash of furious red. "You - you
-"

"Handsome devil?" he prompted, moving closer to
help her with her coat.

"Don't touch me, ya rogue."

Ah, that's what he wanted to hear.  That hint of a
brogue meant he was getting to her, big time.  What
did they say about the line between love and hate? 
Thin.  Mighty thin.

Now that he'd riled her a bit, it was time to back
down and play the gentleman.

"C'mon, doll." She didn't move away from his
advance this time, letting him take her coat.  She
looked good enough to eat, her dress a soft shade
of navy wool that flared softly above those strong
calves.  He averted his eyes from her generous
bosom a split second before she looked his way; it
wouldn't do to be caught mentally undressing her
after he'd done it once already today.  Gulping
down the urge to smooth his hands over the flare of
her hips, he said in a hoarse voice, "I don't have
all that much to laugh about these days, so gimme a
break."

Playing on sympathy was something he'd learned at
an early age.  He didn't take advantage all that
often, only when circumstances threatened to hold
him accountable for a misdeed.  His good looks and
charm held sway with most women, especially his
mother.  However, he'd always stopped short of
making Fox take the heat when they were kids.  If
there was one thing he was proud of, it was that
he'd learned courage at his brother's side.  He
never had a problem diminishing his preferred
status in his parents' eyes by admitting to his
transgressions. *When* Fox allowed it.

His smile faded a bit as he hung Emma's coat on the
rack in the foyer.  Fox hadn't told him everything,
he was certain of it.  Hearing the news of his
parents' death was bad enough, but instinct told
him far worse awaited him.  Getting Fox to stop
babying him long enough to spill it would be the
hard part.  With the wife and Emma now in the
house, there was no way he was ever going to
squeeze the truth from his brother.  Not tonight,
anyway.

"Sam?  Anything wrong?"

Emma's anger had quickly turned to concern.  What
was wrong?  Oh, not much, he wanted to sneer.  Just
a bad case of amnesia he felt was one step away
from insanity.  Oh yeah - and he felt like he
walked in another man's body.  Not much.  Just give
the poor guy a cup o'joe and he'd be fine.

God, when had he become such a misfit?

He let the lost look he knew blossomed on his face
die, and he faced her with a renewed smile.  One
that didn't quite reach his eyes, but he gave it
the old college try in the face of her sudden
seriousness.

"Nothing," he said, his voice sounding louder than
normal to his ears.  Stuffing his shaky hands in
his trouser pockets, he added, "I'm just nervous
about meeting the new Mrs. Mulder, that's all."

Emma unwrapped her scarf, twisting it in her hands
as if she shared his anxiety.  "Dana's a wonderful
person, Sam.  She loves Mulder very much."

His smile twisted into a grimace; he brushed past
Emma to the bar nestled in a shadowed corner of the
living room.  "Am I the only one who calls him Fox? 
Since when did he become 'Mulder'?"  Fox was Fox,
period.  Didn't matter if he was married, with a
child on the way. 

Hell yes, it mattered.  It mattered a great deal,
because it was different.  He'd lost everything in
the blink of a two-year-old parachute jump.  As far
as he was concerned, he was still holding on to
those ropes - still waiting to land in a familiar
place.  Inwardly cursing his clumsy hands, Sam took
his time pouring a small splash of scotch in a
tumbler.

In seconds, Emma stood beside him, taking the glass
from his hand with a severe, "That won't help."

He snatched it back with a dark look.  "Like hell
it won't."  Defiantly, he dared her to object as he
knocked it back like a pro.  He should know how to
drink with the best - he'd done his fair share
before and during the war.  He wasn't Bill Mulder's
son for nothing.

"You just got out of the hospital.  You shouldn't
be drinking."  As calm as she was angry moments
ago, she reverted to nurse mode.  Something which
made him more angry than ever.  "If you need to
talk to someone -"

"I'm not fucking crazy!" he almost shouted, though
he felt like that final step was closer than ever. 
He poured another drink, this one deeper and
guaranteed to take the edge off.  It went down in a
tasteless blur.

Arms akimbo, Emma barked, "Fine.  Greet your
brother's wife with whiskey on your breath.  Make a
great first impression!"

"What do you think I am?  A gorilla?  I'd never say
or do anything to hurt my brother's wife."

"Dana, bless her heart, would never condemn you. 
But you'd embarrass your brother this way?"

Slamming his glass down, he reached for the woman
who faced him.  Exhilaration surged through him,
along with a good dose of frustration.  He should
just kiss her and be done with it.  Shut that sassy
mouth the only way he knew how.  God knew he wanted
to, had wanted to from the moment he saw her.  It
was good to know one thing hadn't changed - a
pretty woman still had power over him.  Second only
to his love for baseball, the scent and feel of a
woman made him heady with excitement.  He didn't
know if leather and horsehide would still arouse
the same passion for the game.  But did women smell
the same?  Did women still taste the same?  Whiskey
sure as hell didn't.  Though a rush of intoxication
made him sway; whether from the alcohol or her
nearness, he wasn't sure.  In either case, his
tongue slurred his words.

"Why can't you be her?"  It wasn't what he wanted
to say, but it escaped on its own.  An instant of
relief at the confession made him relax and let go
of his anger.

Why couldn't she?  She looked enough like her, had
blue eyes almost the same color as the sky.  Maybe
if he pretended the woman before him was the one he
remembered last, he could open the door to those
missing years.  Make everything normal again.

"Her?"  Confusion clouded those eyes, just as it
had on that dusty February morning.

"Red.  I remember Red.  She would know what
happened, wouldn't she?  My Red."  It was a thread
of hope he held on to, a flash of color in an
otherwise yellowish memory.  His hands released her
shoulders to cup her face.  "I know you aren't
her... but damn it, why can't you be?  For just one
minute.  One lousy minute."

Those eyes widened for a moment, then just as
quickly filled with tears.  "Oh, Sam..." she
breathed, her hands settling at his waist as if to
draw him into an embrace.

Heart pounding, he let her come closer.  Maybe it
*was* her, despite all the evidence to the
contrary.  Maybe he'd had one stroke of luck in an
otherwise dismal day -

"Hey - I let you get away with it earlier, because
you were in the hospital.  But now, you're treading
dangerous ground, Sam.  She has nine brothers, you
know."

At the sound of Fox's voice, Emma pulled away,
despite Sam's attempts to hold on to her.  Head
lowered, he felt her move around him and address
the untimely intrusion.

"He's a bit nervous, Mulder," she said lightly, as
if the scene meant nothing more than that.  "I told
him he looks fine, though.  Charming as ever.  Good
thing I'm immune or I'd be in serious trouble." 
She laughed, an easy return to normalcy he envied.

Sam shifted, giving the two his back as he wiped at
his face with an unsteady hand.  He wished he had
Emma's knack for recovery.  He wanted to take that
step back from the precipice he felt dangerously
close to stepping over.  Damn his queasy stomach
and rubbery legs.

"Dana okay?"  Emma again.  She was good, he had to
admit.  She would have made an excellent actress.

"She's fine.  Coming right out."

The wife.  Jesus.  Sam took a moment to compose
himself, breathing deeply.  The earth beneath his
feet felt soft, refusing to lend support to his
body.  Thank goodness Emma was in control, because
he felt like screaming.  Forcing a calm he didn't
feel, he latched on to Fox's last statement.  "Nine
brothers?  Am I going to need backup to get in the
door?"  He turned to face a new chapter of his
life.

Fox stood in the living room doorway, his tall form
blocking the entrance of a skirted pair of slender
legs.  "Mulder?" came the soft entreaty from
beyond.

Sam's heart skipped a beat.  He knew that voice.

<Still.  Be still.>

He couldn't move, couldn't speak.  He could only
stare as Fox moved aside to let his wife pass.  She
stepped forward with a wary smile, her hand offered
in greeting.  "My name is Dana.  You must be Sam."

She looked just as unsure as he was certain he'd
found his missing link.  There could be no other
with eyes like that, with a face like that.

With a pregnant belly like that.  He swallowed,
knowing his day just hit rock bottom.  Smiling, he
folded his hand around her small one.  "Don't tell
me," he said, amazed at how normal he sounded.  Did
she know him like he knew her?  Only one way to
find out without making Fox suspicious.  "You're a
Dodger fan.  Must be fate."  The words made him
shiver as they echoed about the room; he'd said the
same to her long ago, word for word.

A flash of something - recognition, maybe,
mistrust, definitely - colored her face.  But she
recovered quickly, disconnecting the handshake as
she moved to his brother's side.  Taking Fox's hand
in her own, she leveled a steady gaze at Sam.  "I
am.  Is that so bad?"

She knew.  And she'd made a bold statement with her
stance, daring Sam to make a scene.  He sucked in a
swift breath, glancing at Fox, who remained unmoved
by the unfolding drama.  "You couldn't find a
Yankees fan?" he asked, giving his voice a sneering
edge designed to mask his riotous emotions.

"Sam?"  Confused, Fox took a small step forward.

Sam saw the sympathy behind Fox's guarded eyes and
snapped.  "What now?  What else are you gonna take
away from me?"

"Sam -"

"It's not enough I can't remember the past two
years?"  He no longer had control of his tongue;
harsh anger and real fear flushed his skin.  He
felt hot and betrayed, with a million invisible
pins pricking his body.  "Why'd you bother?  Why
bring me here?  Go on, God damn it!  Call in the
straightjacket!"

A softer voice penetrated his misery.  "Sam, it's
not like that."  He looked down into Emma's sad
gaze.

"It isn't?  Then why didn't any of you tell me?" 
Her hand touched his arm, but he jerked away,
listening to their silence with a heavy heart.
"Leave me alone.  Just leave me the hell alone."

Fox's "Sam!" followed him down the hall and up the
stairs.  He heard Dana mutter something about
letting him go, something about it taking time for
him to come to terms with all that had happened,
blah, blah, blah.

All he knew was it was her.  And she belonged to
the one man in the world he could never compete
with - someone he wouldn't hurt for anything or
anyone, though he just had, with a handful of angry
words.  He woke up this morning thinking all he had
left was a memory of a beautiful angel.  Even if he
never found her, no one could take that away from
him.

How wrong he'd been.  Now he had nothing.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Six


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"I'll go." Emma laid a comforting hand on Dana's
arm and reached for the bag she'd brought from the
car.  It contained a few medical essentials and
would probably be useless in the face of Sam's
emotional state, but it provided her with some
semblance of authority and usefulness.  Someone had
to stay in control; Dana and Fox both looked shell-
shocked by Sam's tirade.  "He's just had quite a
few shocks today, that's all."

Giving her stricken cousin one last reassuring
glance, she made her way up the stairs, wishing her
bag contained a cattle prod for the insensitive
lout who'd left the living room in a snit.  She'd
love to give him one last shock, this one
guaranteed to knock that piss and vinegar right out
of him.

Of all the mean things to do to Dana.  He should
have just gone ahead and thrown curses at her head,
for all the good his avowed temperance had done. 
Although the way he'd lashed out at Fox was
understandable - well, barely - given his lack of
memory, Sam should know his brother well enough to
realize all he'd done so far was out of concern,
not jealousy.  Fox had tiptoed around Sam like he
was afraid he'd disappear any second; any fool
could see just how happy Fox was to have Sam home. 
No way would he give that up, or purposely have Sam
taken away.  The very *idea* was ludicrous, and
Sam, if he'd stop to think, should realize his
fears were baseless.

But one thing she *didn't* have to do was step
lightly herself.  The distance afforded her as just
a concerned relative and professional gave her the
leeway to be firm with Sam, something she knew Fox
wasn't ready to pursue.  She wasn't going to lash
out at him like he'd done earlier, but neither
would she cut him too much slack for his outburst. 
Especially if he felt no remorse; she would wash
her hands of him if kept up the tantrums.

Emma poked her head into one door after another,
finally finding him in what looked like the master
bedroom.  Standing in the dark at the window, his
tense form silhouetted against the frigid night, he
emanated stilted frustration, as if he wished to
melt into the black beyond.  Dropping her bag onto
the bed, she alternated between anger of her own
and a lingering compassion for the awkwardness
evident in his stance, settling on the use of
slight sarcasm in a tentative approach.

"That went well."

Fists at this sides, he stood like a statue, not
bothering to turn around.  Self-derision laced his
reply.  "You think so?  Maybe I should have gone
for the throat and insinuated the baby wasn't his. 
Really put the icing on the cake."

An immediate rush of relief made her pause; he felt
guilty, all right.  Thank goodness for that.  She
hated to go back downstairs and tell Fox and Dana
that Sam was ultimately a big jerk.  Renewed
sympathy for his plight blossomed within her.  Sam
knew he'd messed up big time.  He also knew he'd
seen Dana before and it had rocked his already
unstable world.  But did he know everything?  If
not, was it her place to tell him?  Fox wasn't in
the best shape now to deal with another scene, his
hands full with  She'd have to speak to Mulder
first.  Best to do what she could with Sam's end of
the triangle.

"And here I thought I'd captured your fancy," she
murmured with a hint of laughter, though her heart
was heavy with realization.  Even when she'd seen
the recognition on his face downstairs, she hadn't
wanted to truly believe it.  She thought maybe he'd
felt the attraction between them for the same
reason she did - because they were both lonely,
lost people.  But Sam, waking up from his two year
sleep, had thought she was Dana.  It made sense
now, all of it.  Didn't make it any easier to
swallow, but she'd been through enough rejection to
hone a fine sense of humor about things.  "Guess
I'm back to playing catcher."

He turned, his face etched with shadows of
bewilderment.  "Huh?"

"Never mind."  He hadn't heard, and she wasn't
about to spill her guts to him over her foolish
fantasies.  A guy like Sam went for dainty, like
Dana.  Not for sturdy, like Emma.  Besides, he had
troubles aplenty without having her bleeding heart
attached to his guilty conscience.  "Are you okay?" 
She flipped on the overhead light and turned it off
again at his squinting grimace.  "Sorry."

"Still not used to it," he said softly.  "It scares
me sometimes.  Like everything else."  He turned to
the window again, one hand rubbing his nape.

She walked to his side.  "I know seeing Dana was a
shock, Sam, but -"

"How the hell do you know about it?" His head
whipped around, his face fierce, a cornered mutt
starved but unwilling to sniff at the proffered
hand.

"Dana told me last night.  She didn't know if you'd
remember her."

"So you came along for what?  Dinner?  Moral
support?   Morphine and a straightjacket?"

She ignored his snide tone, knowing his sense of
betrayal was at fever pitch and his sense of
'belonging' had taken a major hike.  "We didn't
know how you'd react.  We didn't know if you'd
react at *all*.  You can't blame Fox and Dana for
wanting to keep you safe."

"I know.  I know Fox wouldn't hurt me
deliberately."  He deflated in an instant, though
he retained some defensiveness, crossing his arms
to stare out the window once again.  "But someone
could have told me.  Someone *should* have told
me."

"Mulder told Dana you didn't remember much about
Los Banos.  He thought it better to just wait and
see.  He wanted to spare you if he could."

"Spare me what?"

Emma bit her lip; she'd said too much.  Despite his
high emotional state, Sam was still sharp as a
tack.  And she herself wasn't sure Dana's story was
all that accurate - after all, her cousin had spent
years in a POW camp.  Dana's tales of torture by
the Japanese, while the soldiers figured
prominently, could very well have applied to her
own time spent at Los Banos.  She'd come back a
very different person, that was certain.  Even now,
Emma caught a glimpse of fear in Dana's eyes at her
more emotional moments.  Fear that hadn't been
there before the war.

What if Dana's imagination had conjured up the
bullet wound?  Sam was very much alive and well,
and in his tenuous state of mind, wouldn't take to
having her examine him for a scar without an
explanation of some sort.  He'd want to know every
detail of her suspicions.  *Dana's* suspicions,
which, given Sam's immediate reaction to his
sister-in-law, were best kept secret.  She'd have
to think of something, and think fast.

"Spare me *what*?" he nearly shouted, startling her
from her thoughts.

Maybe a little of the truth would suffice, as well
as soften his attitude toward her cousin.  "Dana
thought she'd seen you wounded."

"Wounded?  At Los Banos?"  Incredulity lit his
face.  "Be serious."

"Sam, you've got to understand what Dana went
through.  It was horrible; she spent the better
part of two years living in that camp.  It took her
months of rehabilitation to be able to face the
world again."

"I wasn't wounded.  That I'd remember."

"Are you sure?"  Actually, the time was ripe to lay
their doubts to rest.  "What exactly do you
remember?"

He sighed, as if telling the story was a burden. 
"I told Fox the whole story this afternoon."

"Then you'll just have to repeat it, because I'm
not going anywhere until you do."

Jaw clenched, he flashed an impatient look her way. 
Within his tensed features, however, there was a
begrudging respect for her steadfastness.  "I
remember seeing... Dana." He said her name as if it
hurt.  "Then nothing.  I think maybe someone
knocked me out or something.  I sure as hell didn't
get shot."

"How do you know?  Do you have a scar?"

A little smile graced his face and he leaned in to
purr, "I don't know.  You tell *me*.  Or were you
too busy holding my hand last night to look?"

She had to admit to a certain relief his anger had
faded.  At least he hadn't lost his charming side,
even if he meant nothing by his flirting.  But the
way he could turn on the charm like a hot water
faucet was disconcerting to her sense of balance. 
She'd always been able to handle men and their
lines with a deft, diplomatic tongue.  But this
guy?  Just looking at him made her work harder for
it, something she'd never had to do before.

Thank goodness for the darkness of the room, she
thought, feeling herself tingle all over with heat. 
 "There's only one way to be certain." Stern of
voice, she left his grinning self by the window to
switch on the bedside lamp.  Too bad her insides
felt like jelly, or she'd have the nurse routine
down pat.  "Let's take a look."  She busied herself
with removing a stethoscope from her bag; so what
if he looked healthy as a horse and in no danger of
a heart malady.  She had to have *something* to
keep from staring at his - one muffled thump, then
two, made her turn around.

"What d'you think you're doing?" She gaped at his
sudden appearance by her side; he already had his
belt unbuckled, the twinkle in his eye definitely
mischievous.  And where were his shoes?  Was he
going to strip right there?

"You wanted to look, didn't you?  Can't get the
pants past the shoes, you know."

"I didn't want to look at your... your..." God, she
hated it when she lapsed into her childhood
stutter.  "It should be on your *chest*, you
imbecile!" she finally managed to choke out.

He had the gall to look genuinely disappointed. 
She wondered if he'd ever been told 'no' by *any*
woman, considering how utterly tempting it was to
kiss that pout.  "You sure?"

She whirled, unable to take his proximity any
longer as she brought her bag to the dresser. 
"Just take off the sweater and lie down on the
bed," she growled, pulling her glasses from her
skirt pocket. Even something as sheer as a little
round, thin layer of glass between them was better
than nothing.

"Cute," he murmured.  She heard the rustle of
clothing behind her.  "You didn't have those on
last night."

"Because *someone* interrupted my crossword puzzle
and made me forget them at the desk when he got hit
by a car."  Actually, she only used them for really
close work, like crossword puzzles.  And
needlepoint.  And inspecting a naked male chest for
- good grief.

If possible, he looked more sexually intimidating
to her fractured nerves than he ever had.  She
thought by making him lie on the bed she'd have the
upper hand, so to speak.  Pretend they were still
back at the hospital, where she had the cool white
walls and starched sheets to bolster her
detachment.  Not so in the confines of this
bedroom.  Against the patchwork quilt she herself
had made for Fox and Dana's wedding gift, his upper
torso looked sleek and muscular, taking up more
than half of the side he laid upon.  He wasn't
nearly as pale as he'd been last night; the lamp
made his skin shine with an olive glow.  Under the
sprinkling of light brown hair, his chest rose and
fell with each breath.  She was mesmerized by the
way that hair became thinner just above his
navel...

"Uh, Emma?"

She licked her lips in an attempt to still her
beating heart.  "Yes?"

"My chest is up here, doll."

Mortification crept over her; she closed her eyes
for a brief moment before looking into his amused
gaze.  "Oh, be quiet," she said, with as much
haughtiness as she could muster.  "And don't call
me doll."  Without further ado, she sat at his
side, deliberately ignoring his chuckles as she
placed the stethoscope over his heart.

His laughter sucked into a gasp.  "Sss... that's
cold.  What're you doing that for?"

"Shh." She adjusted the earpieces and stared at the
ornate headboard with feigned concentration.  "You
just got out of the hospital.  You may be suffering
from some delayed trauma."  It was a load of bull,
and she knew it.  But she had to do something
besides stare at his chest... well, until she had
to *stare* at his chest.

"Delayed trauma?  Doll, I may not be an Einstein
like Fox, but -"

"Quiet!"  There, that did it.  She'd finally found
her 'dealing with a 200 pound male patient' tone of
voice.  Directly below the ornate wood trim, she
saw his eyebrows go up, but he remained silent. 
His heart beat steady and strong, and she kept up
the ruse with solid, nurse-like inquisition. 
"Sounds good.  Any dizziness?  Blurred vision? 
Headaches?"

"No, no, and no.  Admit it.  You just wanted to get
me in bed."  When his arms went up, she jolted back
with alarm.  But he just snickered, as those twin
limbs of sinew cradled his head.  "Relax, doll. 
You'll know when I want you to join me."

"I'll know?  Oooh..."  Abruptly, she downshifted,
noticing something immediately.  "Where are your
bruises?"

"What bruises?"

"From last night."  His body remained remarkably
unscathed from his waltz with the Buick, and she
looked at it in amazement.  "You should be black
and blue by now."

He glanced down.  "Hmm.  I don't bruise easily, you
know.  Years of baseball run-ins have toughened me
up."  Shifting a bit to his side, he showed her a
glimpse of his backside.  "But I landed pretty hard
on my ass.  Think you should check it out?  Would
be no problem to take off my pants..."

She was thoroughly fed up with his teasing.  "Oh,
in that case, maybe we should take you back to the
hospital.  We didn't x-ray your pelvis, you know. 
You may even have internal injuries... any trouble
urinating?  We can insert a catheter into your -"

"Never mind," he interrupted her cool litany, with
a subtle gulp.  "You said something about a scar?"

"Scar?  What scar?  We're talking about possible -"
She couldn't keep a straight face, dissolving into
chuckles.

"You're a cruel woman, Emma Scully."

"So I've been told, and by bigger men than you, Sam
Mulder."  She straightened, pulling the stethoscope
from around her neck.  Sometimes, she gave as good
as she got.  "Now hold still."

This was it.  Proof of Dana's story.  If she could
hold on to her control long enough to finish the
examination.

Leaning in, she put one hand over his heart. 
Immediately, the smile in his eyes simmered to a
slow burn.  The same warmth rose from his skin to
sear her palm and travel up her arm.  Her mouth
fell open as she struggled for breath; one, then
two, then three.  Concentrate, she admonished
herself.

Her other hand joined the first, spreading its
fingers over the planes of his chest.  The hair
she'd thought coarse on first glance was baby fine,
and it was easy to sift through its sparse covering
to feel for puckered skin.  Slowly, she watched her
fingers search; unwavering, she felt his eyes never
leave her face.  It had to be there, it just had
to.

"Told you," he whispered.  Suddenly, he sat up; the
heat from him enveloped her like a blanket.  One of
his hands went around her waist, the other stalled
her instinctive retreat by capturing her hands
against his chest.  "Maybe you should look closer. 
Just to be sure."

Heavy-lidded, he encroached, his face dark and
determined as he refused to let her go.  Not that
his hands held her all that tightly; just the
shining sweep of his gaze over every part of her
face was enough to hold her in thrall.  She'd had
her share of embraces from potential suitors.  But
nothing like this - though he only employed the
lightest of holds, she felt like a rabbit caught in
a silken snare.  His tenderness and soft voice
worked upon her senses like the most passionate of
intimacies.  It was all she could do to raise her
eyes to meet his.

"There's nothing there."  Her words were paper-
thin; she felt his breath tickle her nose.  The
hand over hers pressed down and she gasped at the
vibration of his heartbeat through her fingers.

"Oh, there's something there all right," he
murmured.  "Something neither of us were looking
for."

The statement, so blatantly forced into the open,
frightened her more than anything she'd had to deal
with before now.  He couldn't be serious; from what
little she'd gleaned so far in her time spent with
him, Sam was a happy-go-lucky type of guy.  He most
likely went through girlfriends like a hot knife
through butter.  Intense pursuit followed by quick
boredom.  This play was par for the course, and
she'd better remember that.

Face relaxing into a smile, she brushed off his
half-embrace as she stood.  "I thought I'd heard
'em all, Sam Mulder."  There.  That was better -
her back was to him now.  Her emotions hidden as
she gathered her bag.  "Good thing I'm not like
other girls, or I'd be in serious trouble."

"You *definitely* aren't like other girls, Emma."

With her back to him, his soft reply resounded with
truth through her small form.  So he knew it as
well; she was nothing more than a pleasant
diversion in the midst of chaos.  Despite her inner
vow to remain strong, she felt a break in her
facade, as her answer came in a choked whisper.

"Leave me be, Sam."  She stuffed the stethoscope
into her bag with more force than necessary. 
"That's all I ask."

Don't get too close, she added silently.  Don't
look at me like I'm beautiful.  Don't hold me up to
Dana because I'll surely lose.

Don't break my heart.

"Emma -"

Damn, he'd gotten close too quickly.  A stealthy
slide of her foot shoved one of his shoes deep
under the dresser.  That should stall him for a
while.  "Get dressed, Sam.  I think explanations
and apologies are needed all the way around, don't
you?"  Amidst his muttered curses, she left the
room.


**********


She found Dana and Mulder huddled together on the
living room sofa.  Once again, she silently cursed
Sam's impulsive, hurtful outburst, as she saw
Dana's red-rimmed eyes lift to her.

"Is he okay?" her cousin asked, a study in control. 
Her crying was done, safely gotten past.  Mulder,
however, cradled her as if she would break into
pieces at the slightest movement.

"He's fine," Emma said with a smile.  Herself, on
the other hand...  "And if he could kick his own
butt, he'd do it.  Of course, he'd have to get in
line behind me."

"Emma, you didn't -"

"Can I get ahead of you in that line, Emma?" Mulder
asked, silencing Dana's pleas with a harsh tone. 
"I mean, he's always been used to getting
everything he wanted, but he's never been rude
about it.  And he's certainly not the insulting
type.  But he went a bit too far."

"He knows that," she rushed to explain.  "You've
got to understand, Mulder - he's walking on
eggshells.  He doesn't know what's happened to him,
or if he even belongs anywhere anymore."

"I would never turn him out, Emma.  Or turn on him,
for God's sake.  He knows that."

"He remembered Dana." Her blunt words made them
both stop fidgeting.  "From what I gather, he saw
her as some sort of stabilizing image.  A way to
hold on to his past, so to speak.  It just threw
him to find out you two were married."

"Does he remember getting shot?"  Dana asked.

"No."  Emma took a deep breath, gathering her
strength for what was to come.  "And there is no
scar on his chest, Dana.  No evidence of a bullet
wound."

"But... how can that be?"  The confusion on Dana's
face was palpable.  "I know what I saw."

The last thing Emma wanted was to get into the
middle of their shared memories of Los Banos.  "I
think you and Sam will have to settle that amongst
yourselves.  But he has no scar, Dana.  Not even a
bruise from last night, though by rights he should
be pretty beat up."

Mulder piped up, latching on to her last sentence
like a dog on a bone.  "Are you sure he was hit
last night?  Did you see the accident, Emma?"

"No, I arrived moments later.  He *was* hit by the
car, Mulder.  The driver verified it for the police
officer."  Everything was so confusing.  "Sam told
me he was a pretty tough nut."

"He always was," Mulder agreed.  "And never a peep
out of him when he was hurt.  I don't think I've
ever seen him shed a tear about anything, even when
he broke his collarbone."

"Um... speaking of that," she said softly, "I think
maybe you should wait on the x-ray, Mulder.  He's
antsy enough about hospitals right now.  And
besides, when you get his fingerprints you'll have
all the proof you need, right?"  She looked to Dana
for support, and got it, albeit with a dubious
raise of her eyebrow.

"This will be settled soon, Mulder," Dana said,
showing Emma she still didn't quite believe with
the clouds of doubt hovering in her gaze.  Which
she carefully hid from her husband by averting her
chin.

Mulder nodded.  "Yeah, that's a good idea.  He is
Sam, anyway.  I know he is."

Emma shared a telling look with Dana, who flashed a
miffed look her way.  But Emma didn't know what
else she could possibly say; she'd overstayed her
welcome as it was, and now was not the time to
debate the issue any further.  She'd done what was
asked of her and Dana would just have to be
satisfied at that.

"Emma?"

Sam's shout carried down the stairs.  Despite
Dana's look, Emma knew she couldn't stay.  Her own
peace of mind hung in the balance; this was
something the three of them had to work out, and
she'd had enough of Sam Mulder for one night.

She walked to the foyer, where she quickly donned
her coat.  Mulder, with a murmur to Dana, followed. 
"He's okay, isn't he?"

"Physically, yes.  Not a thing wrong with him.  But
I think he needs to talk to you both, Mulder.  I'd
just be in the way."

"Emma!"  More curses drifted downstairs, along with
clumsy stomping.  Seemed he was having trouble with
his shoes, which meant she had mere seconds to make
her exit.

"Sounds to me like he's expecting you to stay,"
Mulder said, glancing up the stairs.

"I'll see you later, okay?"  Though she probably
wouldn't, and she hated lying about it.  She hated
being such a coward, but it would take some time to
rebuild her defenses against the man.  "Just
remember all he's been through, Mulder.  Go easy. 
Call me if you need anything."

She slipped out the door on Mulder's vacant offer
of thanks, knowing they had more to do before the
evening's end.  It wasn't until she put the car
into reverse that she chanced a look at the house.

Sam stood in the doorway, hands on hips.  She bit
her lip and looked away.  Away from the promise
written all over his face.

We're not through, that glowering look said.  Not
by a long shot.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Seven


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Sam watched Emma drive away, his legs itching to
follow.  His mind, however, locked down on the
impulse, reminding him with a burst of pride that
he'd never run after a woman in his life, and he
wasn't about to start now.  Shivering in the night
air, he closed his eyes against the sight of her
turning the corner like the hounds of hell were at
her heels.

Coward.  He wasn't sure if the thought applied
more to her or to him.  What waited for him in his
brother's house couldn't possibly be pleasant, and
suddenly he wanted nothing more than to crawl up
in that big bed upstairs and lose himself to
sleep.

"Don't even think about stepping foot back in this
house until you apologize to my wife."

Nope, not pleasant at all.

He turned to face a furious brother.  Fox blocked
the entrance to the living room, standing guard
over his domain with clenched fists.  His anger
palpable in the warmth of the foyer, he had no
need to raise his voice.  Fox had never been the
kind for outbursts, unlike Sam, who stomped around
like a sore bear when riled.

Sam closed the front door against the winter night
and sighed.  "I'm sorry, Fox."

"Tell it to Scully."  He stepped aside, but made a
final show of dominance as he grabbed Sam's arm to
hiss, "You upset her, and brother or not, you're
outta here.  Got it?"

All the fight within had left with Emma's
departure, and Sam raised solemn eyes to his
brother.  "You don't have to worry about that,
Fox."  He watched as Fox sagged a bit, searching
his face for the truth to his words.  Sam added,
"I wouldn't hurt Dana again for the world.  Or
you."

Fox seemed satisfied with Sam's sincerity,
clearing his throat as he released him.  "See that
you don't."  He preceded Sam into the living room,
sitting next to his wife to take her hand.

The shock of looking Dana in the face was no less
than it had been the first time.  Sam caught his
breath, assaulted by memories of her pleading in
Japanese, her slender body dressed in rags.  He
remembered the feel of her wasted fingers in his,
so fragile he thought they might break at the
slightest squeeze.  Protectiveness rose within
him, along with a faint surge of anger at the Nips
who'd starved and abused her.

But that was past, and she'd obviously bloomed in
the years since.  The waif in Los Banos now had a
classic beauty, her cheeks full and pink, her hair
wavy and thick.  The added weight of pregnancy
didn't detract from her looks; if anything, it
filled out her body to the point where he imagined
it would be a joy to hold her and lean into her
softness.

His brother was a lucky man.

"Dana." He took a seat by the door, in the
overstuffed chair he knew to be Fox's by the way
it fit his own body.  A pair of reading glasses
sat haphazardly on the arm, and he moved them to
the side table atop the pile of books.  History,
westerns and astronomy - he'd have known it was
his brother's spot just by the subject matter.

"Sam, I'm -" she began.

"No, let me say I'm sorry first."  He ran a hand
through his hair, unused to the guilt that filled
his chest.  "I forgot my manners, and there's no
excuse for that."

Her face lit up with a small smile.  "You were
allowed.  We should have told you before you saw
me."

Sam looked at her with a steady gaze.  "That's
still no excuse.  I was rude, and I apologize, to
both of you."

"Emma explained a bit of what you were feeling to
us.  We all understand."

Just the mention of the girl who'd slipped away
from him after one of the most explosive moments
of his life made him bristle.  "She did, did she?" 
 He'd imagined her concern was something more, and
he felt more of a fool than ever.  She'd only
gotten so close to report back to Dana.

"She told us mine was the last face you
remembered.  It's natural to try to hang on to the
familiar." Dana looked at Mulder with the same
apologetic eyes.  "We never meant for you to be
upset."

"I'm not upset.  Not anymore."  Actually, he was
more exhausted than anything.  "Will you accept my
apology?"

"Apology accepted." Tentatively, she dipped her
head a bit.  "Feel like talking about anything
else?"

Despite her easy manner, Sam sensed a remaining
wariness.  He couldn't blame her; like a tigress,
she protected her own.  She held his brother's
hand more like a shared secret than a lifeline. 
She was smart and courageous - too probing with
those clear eyes for him to summon the energy for
questions.

"It's been a long day," he said by way of excuse. 
"Think I'll turn in, if you don't mind."

Fox, who'd sat silently for the last minute, spoke
up.  "You okay, Sam?"

"Yeah." He stood, more weary than he'd realized. 
"I guess you know she didn't find anything," he
added, implying he knew the reason behind Emma's
examination.  No matter what Dana believed, he
hadn't been shot.  Really, there was no need to
discuss it any further.  In his mind, Dana had
held on to a false memory, just as he had.

"We do," Fox replied, stilling Dana's eminent
reply with a hand on her arm.  "There's plenty of
time to get to the bottom of that.  I think it's
the least of our concerns right now.  Don't you
agree, Scully?"

Dana only nodded, keeping her eyes lowered.  Sam
knew she'd been through enough for one night, just
as Mulder did.  It was time to make an exit. 
"Good night."

Fox stood up as well.  "Want some dinner before
you go up?"

"Nah."  His appetite, once voracious, hadn't yet
made the return his big mouth had.  "I'll wait for
breakfast."

"Okay then.  Goodnight."

On slow feet, Sam trudged up the stairs.  He hated
confusion; he'd always been in control, no matter
what and where.  The precise team play of baseball
gave him the chance to shine as an individual
while still being a part of the whole.  The army
offered the same rigor and opportunity for
excellence, and he'd grabbed it with both hands to
confront an unquestionable enemy.

Now, he was adrift in a sea of lost days, with
only images of two women who could be one swirling
in his mind.


**********


They puttered in the kitchen, neither of them
making any real effort to scratch something up for
dinner.  Mulder had apologized once already for
forgetting to get food from Uncle Mike's, and he
looked ready to spit out another guilty request
for forgiveness when she looked up from the pot of
leftover soup.

"You can take us out to Uncle Mike's tomorrow
night, Mulder.  It's okay."

Mulder dropped a kiss onto her head as his arms
encircled her from behind.  "You look tired.  Let
me do that."

She was tired, and her bout of tears earlier had
drained her.  But since the scene with Sam, and
most especially Emma's pronouncement, she wanted
to pounce while the topic was still fresh. 
Before, she'd not wanted to voice her fears about
Sam's reappearance in their lives.  But seeing his
angry confusion only made it more imperative she
make Mulder aware of the possibilities.

"It's my soup, and I don't want you burning it."

"How the hell can I burn soup?"

Pausing in the act of stirring the chunky
vegetable broth, she lifted her chin to give her
husband a sidelong stare.  "Easter?" was all she
had to say.

He had the grace to flush, but remained typically
defensive in an all male way.  "That was gravy,
not soup.  And how should I know it's made with
flour?  I thought it was all liquid.  You boil out
the water, there's nothing left to burn.  Simple."

Scully went back to stirring the pot of soup with
a knowing smile.  They'd spent last Easter alone
in the house, begging off the traditional family
gathering with a little white lie about sickness. 
Actually, they'd received the okay to try again
the week before from her doctor.  No wonder Mulder
burned the gravy - she distinctly remembered
putting the kitchen table to the test that Sunday. 
As well as the living room couch, and the bathtub. 
Didn't take long for the results of their renewed
sexual activity to sprout forth, either.

As if his mind ran along the same lines, Mulder's
hands spread out over her belly.  "Guess naming
him 'Naugahide' is out of the question, huh?"

As well as naming him Sam, she thought, Mulder's
joke failing to make her smile.  "Mulder -"

"I know you have your suspicions, Scully," he
interrupted softly in her ear.  "But it's him, I
know it is."

"Then where's the scar?"

"You weren't exactly in tiptop shape, Scully.  A
stressed mind can conjure up all sorts of things."

"I know what I saw, Mulder," she insisted.  It
didn't matter if she'd been half-starved and
scared beyond belief, she'd seen Sam fatally
wounded.  "He died right in front of me."

"Are you saying Emma's a liar?  Or that she's
incompetent?  She said there was no scar, Scully."

"And I'm saying the lack of a scar is
insignificant in my eyes, Mulder."  She didn't
elaborate further by saying Sam could have easily
had the scar removed by plastic surgery.  She'd
seen battle scars turned into mere scratches by
excellent surgeons.  Scars which, when examined
closely, could be explained away as the results of
childhood accidents. 

Sighing, Mulder released her and flopped into one
of the kitchen chairs.  She covered the soup
before giving her sore feet a rest by taking the
chair at his side.  Reaching for his hand, she
said, "I know what stress can do to a person.  I
know what kind of stress I was under in Los Banos. 
Believe me, I'm not discounting my physical and
mental state, Mulder."

Sharp eyes challenged her.  "Okay then - let's
look at the facts.  Deal?"

She never expected less from her husband; Mulder
had never given her anything other than a fair
shake.  "Deal."  She squeezed his hand with a
smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.  So far,
she'd managed to keep her suspicions to herself -
and Emma.  And while not the ideal time to reveal
them to Mulder, she couldn't very well leave the
matter indefinitely.  Especially if what she
suspected turned out to be true.  "You start."

"Fine.  Number one - they never found Sam's body,"
he stated.  She knew it was his most convincing
argument and he didn't hesitate to lay it on the
table.  A flighty thought made her wonder if her
kitchen table could stand the weight of his
convictions.

"True.  My number one - I saw him die."  As strong
as her husband's, her own convictions threatened
to make that table tremble.  But she had more than
just that 'number one', and she knew she'd have to
use it all to at least make Mulder put his guard
up a bit.

"Which, sorry to say Scully, could have been a
delusion.  My number two - he has no scar from a
bullet wound to the chest."

"Fine.  Let's say he wasn't shot."  Which she
didn't believe for a second, but it was no use
beating a dead horse when there were other, more
pressing questions.  "Obviously he isn't
incapacitated, and hasn't been for some time,
judging from his glowing health.  Where has he
been, then?  Why didn't he come home?  He knows
who you are and remembers his family and hometown. 
This two-year absence is troubling, Mulder."

"I can't deny that." A frown settled over his
face.  "And the fact he can't remember just that
period of time looks suspect, I'll give you that."

"Try to look at this objectively, Mulder.  What
would be the first conclusion you'd draw when
presented with a case like Sam's?"

His frown became darker.  "That he'd been held
somewhere against his will.  If not, he'd have
come home."

"Exactly.  The next, when presented with his
amnesia?"

"You know, you're good at this.  Sure you don't
want my job?"

She answered his grin with one of her own; she had
been getting a bit too caught up in her detective
work.  "Missy once told me to get out of the Navy
and join the FBI.  Think it's too late?"

Mulder gave her a look so loving and sincere it
took her breath away.  "You can do whatever you
put your mind to, Scully.  Of that, I have no
doubt."

"You're just saying that because I let you sleep
with me."

"True.  No one else would let me."  She doubted
that very much; Mulder was more handsome now than
when she'd first laid eyes on him, with the
smattering of gray in his hair adding a certain 
seasoning.  He would have made one hell of a movie
star.  "Now, back to the matter at hand."

It wasn't just his looks that set him apart from
every other man.  One of his most endearing traits
was the way he treated her as an absolute equal. 
Not many women enjoyed that luxury.  "Right.  When
presented with his amnesia, what's the next
logical conclusion?"

"That his mind was deliberately wiped clean of any
memories of his imprisonment.  But the war is
over, Scully.  Who would have kept Sam for two
years?"

As ridiculous as it sounded, she had to say it. 
"Chang."

Mulder snorted, releasing her hands to rise from
his chair with impatience.  Hands on hips, he
paced before the kitchen sink.  "Don't be absurd. 
Chang is dead."

"Is he?" She pushed her chair away from the table,
angling her body in such a way as to keep his
attention.  "You said it yourself last night,
Mulder - they never found his body, either."

"You think he waited two years, held my brother
captive and somehow brainwashed him into what -
coming back here now as some sort of assassin?"

"He waited almost a year to make his move on you
the first time, Mulder."

"Scully, that's impossible, and you know it.  It's
more likely Sam spent the last two years in a..."

Noting his hesitation, she urged him on.  "In a
what, Mulder?  A hospital?  A prison?  Either way,
he ended up back here, with no memory of where
he's been.  I'd say that's pretty unusual."

"I agree."  Mulder sighed, pulling out the chair
he'd vacated so he could sit again, this time
facing her as he took her hands.  "Scully, I have
a theory about Sam."

She hung her head.  "Oh, boy.  Something tells me
I'm not going to like this."

Mulder hadn't resigned his commission with the
Navy after all once they'd married.  With his
boss, Commander Skinner, and her brother Charlie,
he'd moved up in Naval Intelligence under the
command of Rear Admiral Hillenkoeter, who'd been
tapped to serve as Admiral Nimitz's intelligence
office in the Pacific Theater after Pearl Harbor. 
A decorated survivor of the USS West Virginia, it
had been Hillenkoeter who'd hatched the plan to
bring down Chang's operation in Hong Kong.  He was
an affable, likeable man who had a brilliant mind. 
Charlie had nothing but praise for his
intelligence and authority, and he'd jumped at the
chance to follow him in his future endeavors. 
Mulder was rather lukewarm about the whole
espionage business, especially after the Chang
debacle.  But he'd stayed put, realizing the
opportunities to provide for his growing family
laid with the Navy in a post-war slump.

It was only since the past summer Scully had begun
to doubt Mulder's involvement with Hillenkoeter
and Naval Intelligence.  Her concern had tripled
when Hillenkoeter was named director of the new
Central Intelligence Agency in September.  Mulder
had gracefully declined an appointment with the
new agency, stating his career was with the Navy. 
But he had become privy to things she had no
knowledge of, and it scared her to see him go
deeper into the covert world in which he now
lived.  His loyalties to his country ran deep. 
She dreaded the day he'd get so deep he could
never get out - just like he had almost done with
Chang.

"You know I've heard about... unusual things. 
Especially since I went out to New Mexico this
past summer.  I've told you about some of it," he
began softly, watching her face with a pleading
gaze.

"Men who aren't really men," she sighed.  "Beings
who claim to be from another world.  Mulder,
Arthur Dales went whacko on a suspect not long
after you spoke to him."

"That was a set-up, Scully.  They knew he'd been
talking to me."

"They?  Mulder, we've been through this over and
over -"

"His brother works for the FBI, Scully.  He's seen
some of the same classified reports I have. 
Carefully wiped clean with a black marker, of
course."

"You never told me about a brother."

"His name is Arthur Dales, too."

"And these people are intelligent, responsible and
trustworthy?  Sounds like they're Li'l Abner's
first cousins."

"Did you know even their sister is named Arthur?"

She lifted an eyebrow and said with sarcasm, "Your
argument gets more convincing by the second,
Mulder."

"Okay, okay.  I admit they're a strange bunch. 
And other than their stories, I have no real
proof."  She hated to shoot him down like that;
seeing his disappointment weighed on her chest. 
One thing she never wanted to do was hurt him. 
Still, he had an amazing resilience, evident in
the way his eyes filled with determination.  "But
believe me, there are a world of possibilities out
there, Scully.  Things more wild than Chang and
his cronies."

Suddenly, she wanted nothing more to do with the
conversation.  Not at the moment, anyway.  Her
back ached and she'd lost all appetite for food
and for the truth.  Mulder's implication that he
was involved in something far more dangerous than
Chang made her weak.

"I may not believe in your outlandish theories,
Mulder," she said softly.  "But I believe in
*you*.  You will get to the bottom of this."

His eyes shifted as he played with her fingers. 
"*We'll* get to the bottom of this," he answered
in a light tone.  "We're in this together,
Scully."

"I know we are," she replied in a faint voice.  If
what she suspected turned out to be true, she
would be the one to pick up the pieces of Mulder's
life.  She prayed this whole thing with Sam turned
out to be nothing.  "There's just one thing I'd
like to say about this whole business."

"Just one thing?"

She tried to smile at his quip, but couldn't quite
do so.  "Don't let your love for your brother
blind you to other possibilities.  We've both been
through too much to let our guard slip on this. 
Sam may be just what he seems... the prodigal son
returning home.  Then again, he may not.  Promise
me you'll keep a clear head about all this,
Mulder."

Leaning in, he placed a swift kiss to her
forehead.  "I promise.  You and the baby are more
important to me than anything, Scully."  He
cleared his throat, getting up from his chair to
move to the stove.  "Now, let's give it a rest for
tonight.  Want some soup?"

"I don't think so.  But you have some - I trust
you not to burn it this time."  With a wink, she
got up from her chair, stretching under the harsh
light from the ceiling.  "I think I'll just turn
in.  I need some sleep."

"Are you sure?  I can bring a bowl to you in bed
if you'd like."

"Nah.  It'll only give me indigestion if I eat
this late, anyway."  Giving him a hug, she
accepted his good night kiss with a heavy heart. 
"I love you, Mulder."

"Love you too, Scully.  After I clean up in here,
I'll be right there to tuck you in, okay?"

"Hurry up," she said, heading for the kitchen
door.  "My feet get cold easy."

The next days would be tough.  She only hoped they
all had the strength to deal with whatever came of
this mess.  She was worried about Mulder... she
almost wished Chang *was* behind Sam's odd return
home.

That she could handle.


**********


Mulder watched her slowly disappear into the hall
leading to the downstairs bedroom, only sagging
when she was well out of sight.  Instinct told him
she was right in her suspicion that all was not as
it seemed, but he wouldn't go so far as to peg Sam
as one of Chang's operatives.  Not that he
believed Chang incapable of doing all Scully
suspected.  No, indeed - Chang was a clever and
inventive foe.  It wouldn't surprise him in the
least if his old friend from Hong Kong had
survived the explosion on the Severn River almost
two years ago.

But Chang wasn't responsible for Sam's return;
he'd lay money on it, he was so sure.  Why? 
Because he knew his brother.  Even if Sam had an
ego the size of Montana and a fiercely competitive
spirit when it came to dueling with his elder
brother, he was loyal to a fault.  Chang could
tamper with Sam's mind all he wanted, but Sam
would never turn against family and friends. 
Hadn't Chang tried to do the same to him with the
opium?  If there was one thing the two brothers
had in common, it was their courage in the face of
adversity.  The worst form of torture imaginable
couldn't sway the Mulder boys from fighting to the
end.  Sam had proven his patriotism time and again
in the months preceding his disappearance;
numerous commendations and medals dotted his file,
just as did Mulder's from his superiors.

No, Sam would die before he let himself become the
pawn of another.  So what remained?  Something
more sinister, more fantastic than a little rising
from the dead.  He was a fool to even consider it,
but the Josh Exley incident this past summer was
too coincidental to be denied.  The crash in
Roswell, Arthur Dales' story of a being who could
change faces right before your eyes, a being who
could miraculously heal itself - and others - was
impossible to discount.

Scully would roll her eyes if he ever told her
what he'd seen.  The documents, the photographs,
the physical evidence he'd only begun to tap into
before the CIG locked down and came up with the
'weather balloon' story.  They'd even tried to
muzzle Dales by getting him sacked on a bogus
police brutality charge.  Anyone who took one look
at the man could tell he didn't have a mean bone
in his body.

He shook himself from the path he'd automatically
taken.  Thoughts of alien beings posing as
baseball players?  Not Sam, certainly.  Scully's
suppositions about Chang made more sense, really. 
His brother was back, that was all that mattered.

That, and Scully would definitely let him have it
if she woke up to a dirty kitchen.  He got up from
the table and walked to the stove.  "Shit," he
muttered, smelling the acidic burn of tomatoes
when he lifted the lid on the pot of soup. 
Quickly, he put it under the faucet, grimacing at
the way it sizzled.  He was going to have a
helluva time scraping the burned stuff off the
bottom.

"Got you on KP, huh?"

Sam's voice made him start, but he recovered
quickly.  "Yeah.  She's moving slowly these days,
you know.  I help out when I can."  He turned, the
soup pot in hand, to find his brother all bundled
up in the hall door.  "Where the hell are you
going?"

"For a walk.  I can't sleep."

Join the club, Mulder thought.  He doubted he
would get much sleep between wondering about Sam
and watching Scully toss next to him in pregnant
discomfort.  He smiled ruefully, gesturing for Sam
to follow him out the back door.  "I'd join you,
but I don't want to leave Scully."

The night was clear but cold.  As he dumped the
unwanted soup into the garbage can on the back
porch, he heard Sam walk out into the chilly air. 
"Is she okay?" his brother asked quietly.

Mulder looked up to find Sam standing solemnly at
the edge of the porch.  The waning moon caught his
face at an odd angle, and he looked almost
ethereal, his pale face reflecting the meager
light.  His dark eyes were full of guilt and
regret; with his hands stuffed into his coat
pockets and his shoulders hunched against the
cold, he looked lost and alone.

"She's okay," Mulder said, hastening to ease his
brother's mind.  "She's made it this far without
any trouble, and her doctor said that's good. 
She's a strong person, Sam.  Much stronger than
me."  He didn't want to lay more guilt on Sam by
telling him of Scully's previous miscarriages, so
he concentrated on the positive.  "She's studying
to be a doctor, you know."

Sam was taken aback.  "Really?"

Opportunities for women were few and far between. 
Mulder took pride in the fact Scully didn't let
their male-dominated society stand in her way. 
Her experience in Los Banos had actually swayed
opinion her way when she'd applied at Georgetown
through the GI Bill; no way could they turn her
down when she presented them with a list of all
she'd learned as a trauma nurse in a POW camp. 
Having the bigwigs of the Navy, including her
father's office and his own, fire off letters of
recommendation hadn't hurt, either.  She'd balked
at first, but resigned herself to accepting a
little help when Mulder pointed out how much she
could help others like her when she succeeded.

"Not every woman aspires to living out her life as
a housewife, you know," Mulder chuckled, giving up
scraping the bottom of the pot.  Seemed he *had*
burnt the soup in a round-about way, as he'd
monopolized Scully's kitchen time.  Oh, well... he
tossed the pot into the garbage can, making a
mental note to buy another one like it before
Scully discovered it missing.

"She's good for you, I can tell."

Leaning as he was against the porch railing, Sam
seemed distant.  Mulder piled a few newspapers
from the stack by the back door on top of the
ruined pot before mashing the lid down.  Better
safe than sorry.  He moved to Sam's side and
together, they made similar figures against the
dark of the night.

"She is," he said with conviction.  "After the
war, I thought I'd never find a way to live again. 
But Scully made all the difference."  He didn't
want to get into his time in Hong Kong with Sam. 
"I know you're kind of at loose ends now, Sam, but
believe me, it'll -"

"I was jealous of you," Sam interrupted him
quietly.

Mulder fell silent; he knew that from the moment
Sam laid eyes on Scully.

"I know this sounds crazy," Sam continued, staring
out into the back yard, the mist from his words
drifting eerily into the darkness.  "But she was
*mine*, you know?  And to see her again with you -
God, Fox, I'm so sorry."

"For the longest time, I was jealous of *you*."

Sam turned his head, his eyes bright with
confusion.  "Jealous of me?  Why?"

"Because she thought... well, it's a long story."
He couldn't very well tell his brother all the
intimate details of his disastrous beginning with
Scully.  "Needless to say, she remembered you,
just like you did her.  And when she saw me,
she...."

"Thought you were me," Sam finished.  Hanging his
head, he grinned.  "I'd like to say you bagged her
because of me, but somehow I think she's smarter
than that.  Bet it didn't take her long to figure
you out, did it?"

Mulder rubbed his temple, one side of his mouth
going up in an answering grin.  "After she
walloped me one, no."

At that, Sam laughed, a rich hearty sound Mulder
had sorely missed.  "This I gotta hear one day,
okay?"

"Not a chance," Mulder replied.  Sam's mirth was
infectious, and he found himself chuckling along.
"She'd wallop me again."

The two brothers swayed in easy camaraderie for a
few moments until their laughter died down.  It
was going on ten o'clock, and Mulder knew Scully
probably squirmed in the bed already.  He needed
to get back inside, but hated to end the little
one-on-one with Sam.  Shuffling to and fro, he
felt cold seep up his woolen trouser legs and gave
Sam an inquisitive look.  "Still feel like taking
that walk?"

Sam's smile was warm and knowing, as if he too,
didn't want the evening to end.  "I'll take a turn
around the block and be back in ten, okay?"

Mulder dug in his pockets.  "Here, take my key. 
I'll get it back in the morning."  No one in the
neighborhood locked their doors, but Mulder always
had.  Being stalked by a Chinese madman had a way
of making one overly cautious.  "And tomorrow, we
see about getting you back in the swing of
things."

"The swing of things?"

Though delivered in a playful tone, Mulder's reply
was more serious than he wanted.  "Can't have you
sniffing around Scully forever, you know."

Sam took the key without question; he paused when
he hit the bottom step, looking back up.  "Fox?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd never come between you and Dana - you know
that, don't you?  That jealousy thing?" Sam waved
a hand in dismissal.  "That was just me being...
me."

"You mean, territorial and egotistical?"

Sam's smile was brilliant.  "Nah.  I just saw her
first, that's all."

Mulder snorted at the way Sam drew his own
conclusions, which turned out to be a simpler way
of saying what took himself years of education. 
"But I saw her last.  Remember that."

"As if I'd forget it."  With a wink, he turned to
follow the sidewalk around to the front of the
house.  "See ya later, Smokey."  

Mulder watched him fade into the darkness on the
side of the house, wondering where the hell they
went from there.  A job for Sam, he could handle.

A meaningful direction for his wayward brother -
that was something else entirely.


**********


Not bad, Sam thought, looking the street up and
down.  Fox had done well for himself and his
family.  A nice neighborhood, a good job, a baby
on the way - and a brother who was destined to be
a bum if he didn't get his shit together. 
Sighing, Sam made for the park on the corner; he
remembered passing it on their way home from the
hospital.  He needed to be alone to have time to
think, to plan what his next moves would be in the
face of his sudden lack of prospects.

He brushed the snow from the seat of a child's
swing and plopped down, resting his clasped hands
on his knees.  What the hell was he supposed to do
now?  He couldn't stay with Fox and his wife
forever; in fact, the sooner he made himself
scarce, the better.  Despite the way they'd
smoothed over his reaction to Dana, Sam knew there
would always be a lingering cloud over them from
the whole incident.  Especially since he couldn't
remember a damned thing - and until he did, Dana
would always look at him like she expected him to
fall dead at any moment.  Creepy.

No, it was better if he moved on as quickly as
possible.  Find a job and a place of his own.  He
rubbed at his cheek with dismay; that was easier
said than done.  Baseball had been his life, was
destined to be his career before he got
sidetracked by the war.  Even then, he'd shown
enough promise that his name was easily bandied
about among the major league scouts as a sure
thing once the war was over.  He knew before Los
Banos the war's days were numbered, and he'd been
in contact with his agent back home in preparation
for spring tryouts.  So what if he was a few years
older?  Lots of players left the leagues to fight
abroad, and everyone expected them to return to
play again.

But now, with two missing years behind him, he
doubted the scouts would spare him a glance. 
According to Fox, the war was long over.  Major
leaguers would be firmly ensconced in their
positions once again, and the best Sam could hope
for was playing backup on some farm club.  He felt
pretty good, but could he still play with the
finesse he'd honed in college?  Would anyone give
a chance to a man who'd essentially been dead for
two years - one who didn't even remember where
he'd been?  He'd be lucky if they didn't lock him
up and throw away the key.

No.  He just had to make up his mind he wasn't
going to be a burden to anyone.  A man could find
work and -

"You're very stubborn."

The low voice brought his head up; he squinted at
the figure standing in the shadows of the monkey
bars.  "Who's there?"

"Then again, I always knew you were.  But you
surprised me with your single-minded persistence."

Sam shot up from the swing.  Something in the
man's manner, his very stillness, filled him with
dread.  "Do you know me?"  Did this person know
where he'd been all this time?

"You make me waste my time chasing after you, when
you know I'm powerless against your will."

Dread turned to suspicion as Sam backed away. 
"Don't come any closer."

"How could I possibly get closer?  You won't let
me."  The man was faceless in the dark, with an
angry demeanor that emanated from him despite the
distance separating them.  "Listen to me -"

"Tell me how you know me!"

"You don't have much time.  Things will... change. 
You will quickly find yourself at the mercy of all
things human, and then I won't be able to pull you
back."

"Pull me back?  What the hell are you talking
about?  Why would I want to go anywhere with you?"

"Deep down, you know you don't belong here.  But
you had to come back because of her."

Her.  Dana?  Cold fright raced down his spine.  He
remained silent, knowing somehow the man spoke the
truth.

"You are in the middle of something beyond your
control.  Come with me.  Now, before it's too
late."

Too late for what?  This man, with his statue-like
stance and emotionless words, knew something Sam
didn't.  Whatever it was, it involved Dana.  He
knew it to be true, felt it in his heart.

Sam had never been a coward.  But at that moment,
he wanted nothing more than to turn and run.  Far
away from the pull of the man's voice.  A faceless
man who knew everything there was to know about
where he'd been all this time.  He was certain of
it, just as he was certain he didn't want to know. 
He was back with the only family he had left, and
the devil himself had no power to sway him.

"Go away," he growled, dropping his chin in a
defiant, narrow-eyed stare.  "Go away and leave me
alone."

Rigid, his hands clenched in fists, he turned to
walk away.  Away from what he refused to remember. 
Even if he never remembered, he now knew hidden
pain lurked in those memories and he wanted no
part of it.  One last look over his shoulder made
him pause, ready to fight tooth and nail should he
find the menace to his happiness at his back.

But he was alone.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Eight


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Sam rolled over, away from the sunlight streaming
through the bedroom window.  He scrubbed at his
unshaven cheeks, wincing like he'd tied one on the
night before.  But even the worst hangover he'd
ever had hadn't felt like this.  He had no
headache, his stomach felt fine, but for some
reason, he felt out of sorts.  The feeling had
stayed with him since he'd woken up in the
hospital, a feeling of being uncomfortable in his
own skin.  He hated it and wished it away, knowing
the thought would do no good.  Time, he needed
time, that was all.

A fist pounded at the door.  "Breakfast in five,
Sam," his brother yelled.  "Then we hit the road,
so up and at 'em!"

Sam moaned and buried his head under the pillow. 
He didn't feel like facing the world today,
especially since visions of the faceless man still
crowded his brain.  He'd never been more scared in
his life.  Facing down bullets and crazed Japanese
soldiers had never made him cower like that ghostly
figure had.

Should he tell Fox?  Maybe the whole thing was just
a product of his overwrought senses; it was
possible he'd imagined the whole thing.  After all,
the guy had really been only a voice in the night,
a shadow that looked like a man, but he couldn't be
sure.  Maybe the run-in with the car had knocked
his brain sideways or something.  It was bad enough
he felt like every step he took was a monumental
effort; it probably wasn't all that unusual his
mind took a hike as well.

After delivering his warning to the shadow man,
he'd found himself alone.  A quick search of the
park revealed no trace of anyone else; much as he
didn't want to admit it, maybe he had been seeing
things.  Hearing his own conscience chastise him
for shoving his way into Fox's ideal family life.

But that would change today.  With no help from his
brother, he vowed.  No matter what Fox said or
offered, he was going it alone today.

His bones creaked as he threw off the covers and
sat on the edge of the bed.  When his bare feet
touched the floor, he shivered.  The cold was
getting to him; it made him smile.  Things were
getting back to normal.  His nightmare last night
was just that - a dream.  He stood and reached for
his pants, feeling his balance settle.  Again, he
smiled.

His body felt good.  More comfortable with every
passing hour.  Amazing what a good night's sleep
could do.

It would be a snap to find a job, he thought with
confidence.  After all, no one had ever denied him
anything in his life.  Why should today be any
different?


**********


No, he wasn't willing to sell novelties on the
street corner; he drew the line at making a total
fool of himself that way.  He was too big to be a
shoe salesman - the women would faint at the size
of his hands, even if he had a pretty face.  He was
too white to mop the floors at the elementary
school around the corner - *that* one made him want
to break the principal's nose for being such a
prejudiced ass.  He would have had the job hauling
slabs of beef to the local markets, but he was too
slow to come up with a convincing lie about
previous employment.  The last two years?  Spent
'em... uh... driver's license?  Sorry, must have
lost it.  Social security card?  Damn - in the same
wallet with the driver's license.

Blah, blah, blah.  He'd have been better off
staying dead.  He was as good as such, seeing as
how he really had no way of proving who he was or
where he'd been.  With a sigh, he trudged up the
sidewalk, dreading the smile Fox would bestow upon
him - the one assuring him he'd help out as long as
necessary.

Damn it, he didn't want to mooch off his brother. 
And for the little while he'd seen Dana that
morning, the silence had been so awkward around the
breakfast table they could listen to the clock
ticking between bites of oatmeal.  Fox's attempts
at conversation were admirable, but Sam knew the
more he left Fox and Dana alone, the better.  He'd
finished his coffee in one gulp and set out to
become part of the work force, asking Fox to take
care of the one thing he was best at - getting him
declared 'undead' in the eyes of the military.  One
thing Sam didn't want was to go back in the Army. 
He'd had enough of that.

Too bad no one needed help.  If there was one thing
he'd discovered today, he wasn't the only war
veteran out of work.  The whole city was filled
with men his age and older scouring the classifieds
and standing in long lines at the employment
agencies.  War was good business; lots of men
unable to work due to lack of education or
opportunity found military service the place to
earn money.  Peace flooded the job market with
those same men, still unemployable and hungry
enough to nab every available job.

Sam wondered if he could make enough with a ten
percent commission selling daisies that squirted
water.  Another day like today and he might just
have to risk a punch in the nose from the recipient
of his street corner product demonstration.  So
what if every little brat that walked by hanging on
Mom's skirts pointed and made faces at him?  So
what if the job required he wear the fake nose and
bushy-browed glasses?  A man had to do what a man
had to do.

Which meant he had at least a couple more days of
mooching.  Tomorrow was Sunday, and he was destined
to spend it under the watchful eye of his brother. 
Beginning with dinner tonight at some place called
Mike's.  Fox had made him promise to meet them
there at six, giving him thorough instructions on
where to go.  Best food in town, he'd said. 
Coldest beer in three states.  Atmosphere - you'll
love it, he delivered with a wink.  Trust me.

Right now, Sam thought, he could use a beer.  He
stared at the crowd through the darkened window
then looked up.  Funny, but he remembered this bar,
though the name was unfamiliar.

"Mike's."

The pleasant hum of a Sinatra tune lured him in.


**********


"Two drafts and another whiskey straight up, Da."

"Comin' right up, darlin'."  Mike Scully gave his
daughter a smile as he built a pint under the cold-
sweated tap.  "Good crowd tonight.  Makes me giddy,
it does."

Emma blew a puff of air at the wisps of curls
escaping from her braid as she set the tray full of
empty glasses on the bar.  "Makes you giddy, does
it?" she replied.  "Makes my feet hurt."

"Aidan and Joseph will be back by Christmas, Emma,"
her father said, his smile fading to a pitiful
pout.  His two eldest sons were off on holiday in
Ireland with their wives.  He couldn't tell them no
when they'd asked for time off from the business;
they put their lives into the bar, just as he had. 
It would be theirs someday.  It wasn't their fault
Tommy ended up on crutches after a spill down the
church steps, limiting his part-time work in the
tavern.

The son with the bum leg hopped up to butt in. 
"I'm not an invalid, you know."  He had the look of
Mike himself, ruddy and fat-cheeked.  "I'm doing
pretty good back here, aren't I?"

"That you are, son," Mike answered.  "Good thing
you found yourself a girlfriend unafraid of an
honest day's work."  He nodded at the brunette
waiting tables with nearly the efficiency of Emma;
Jenny was a good match for his next-to-youngest
boy.  Even though both faced a few more years of
college, they were already blindly in love and
anticipating the marriage to come down the road. 
Mike hoped they weren't anticipating their union
*that* much - he'd tried to make his children
responsible to their lives and the church by
remaining chaste until marriage.  He didn't know if
all his preaching worked, but so far, none of them
had walked down the aisle with a shotgun at their
back.

With a conniving, 'follow my lead' wink at his
youngest, he purred, "Of course, I can always ask
your Aunt Martha to help out you and Emma if it's
too much for you."

"Yeah," Tommy said, as if the idea ought to be
patented.  "Great idea, Da!"

Emma's head snapped up, and Mike noticed the slight
shadows of fatigue under her eyes.  Didn't dim her
quick rebuttal, however.  "No!"  Martha was his
late wife's sister, a dingbat of the first order. 
She was sweet, but easily distracted.  His profits
would evaporate under Aunt Martha's haphazard way
of dealing with customers, but he hadn't realized
how trying these few weeks could be for his only
daughter.  "I'm just a bit tired from working that
double shift Thursday."  She smiled, leaning over
the bar to take the glass from his hand as she gave
her laughing brother a glare.  "If I can't handle a
few rowdy patrons, then how am I ever going to
handle me own children?"

Mike's eyes teared up at the lilting tone and
brilliant smile.  Emma was so like her mother, a
real beauty, inside and out.  He knew she didn't
think so, having inherited the red curls and pale,
freckled skin.  She thought her late mother plain
and earthy, but she'd never admit to it.  Having
grown up practically glued to her favorite seat in
that movie house down the block, she idolized the
tall, slim glamour girls she saw every Saturday. 
Before her mother had passed, she'd spent many an
afternoon poring over the slick magazines, sighing
at dreams of beauty.

He could never seem to make her understand that she
*was* beautiful.  And she no longer had to give up
thoughts of a family of her own to take care of
him.  Her easy banter about children held an edge
of wistful longing, as if she didn't really expect
it to ever happen.  Being a nurse was all good and
fine, but Mike wanted more for his Emma.  His one
little girl, the jewel of his eye.

"You'll never get those children if you don't get
out more."

She matched his grumble, reaching for the last of
her order.  "I'll never get out more if you keep
givin' my brothers month-long holidays."  But her
bright blue eyes twinkled, and Mike knew she'd
backed away from a potentially sticky situation. 
Loading the last of her order on the tray, she
reached over and squeezed his hand.  "I love you,
Da," she said.  "And I wouldn't want to be anywhere
else but here with you right now.  There's plenty
of time for other things."

Mike watched her weave through the crowd with a
proud smile; despite her small stature, she muscled
her way around the patrons, some of whom dwarfed
her.  Her 'make way!' carried over Sinatra's
crooning - she was a Scully, all right.  All fire
and determination.

Shaking his head with indulgence, he caught the
wave of a man sitting with a slinky blonde at the
end of the bar.  Things were certainly hopping
tonight, which surprised him.  People were getting
into the holiday spirit earlier every year, even if
their pocketbooks were feeling more of a pinch. 
Thank goodness they still set aside the dough to
have a night out now and then, or he'd be in
serious trouble.

A breath of cooler air touched his face as he
filled the glasses of the couple with bourbon. 
Without looking up, he boomed, "And what can I get
you this fine evening?", catching the newcomer's
slide into the last stool.  Mike grinned; that made
for a full bar.  Emma wouldn't care for it, but he
looked at an empty seat like a priest looked at an
empty pew... the collection plate wasn't going to
get filled that way.  Besides, he liked the
company.  Most of his patrons were neighborhood
friends or distant family; since the death of his
beloved Fiona, he took comfort in familiar faces.

"Umm... I'm meeting someone for dinner."  The
newcomer craned his neck to look over the crowd,
then grumbled, "Who isn't here."  With an
apologetic lift of his eyebrows, he faced Mike. 
"Is it okay if I just sit here?"

Mike stared at the profile hunched over the bar. 
So this was the prodigal son, eh?  He'd been on the
lookout for him since Fox had phoned a half hour
ago, saying they'd be running late.  Keep an eye
out for Sam, he asked, concern running in a tight
thread through his voice.  He didn't know why Fox
was so worried; the lad looked beefy enough to take
on any kind of trouble.  "You're a Mulder, aren't
you?" Mike asked, extending a hand.

"Sam Mulder." His face relaxed into a tentative
smile.  "And you are -?"

"Mike.  I own the place."  Nice handshake, he
thought.  Full of strength, though the palms could
use a few callouses.  But Mulder had implied Sam
had been sick in his absence, so Mike cut him some
slack on that issue.  "Your brother called a little
while back and said they'd be late.  Meantime, can
I can you something to wet your whistle?"

Sam released his hand to dig in his coat pocket. 
"Uh..." he said, looking at the quarter with
dismay, "what can I get for two bits?"

"A fistful of Pepsi, if you be a temperate man with
an unnatural likin' for soda.  Those run five cents
apiece," Mike rattled off with a mock shudder as he
placed a bar napkin in front of the young man.  "Or
you can have a beer or two, or three."

His newest patron glanced up from his perusal of
the lonely coin.  "Or three?  Sign up there says
ten cent beer."

Mike gave him a smile as he leaned on one elbow. 
"You look like a man who could use a pint or two. 
Or three.  Sometimes me cash register skips one -
imagine that.  Drives the accountant crazy, it
does."

The lonely face cracked into a grin.  "I'll bet it
does.  I'll take a pint, then."

"Ah, a man after me own heart.  Comin' right up." 
Mike moved away to fill the order, watching
Mulder's brother from the corner of his eye.

He was a handsome lad, more brawny than Dana's
husband.  He wore a nice blue suit under his
overcoat that suffered a bit from wrinkling; from
his coat pocket, he pulled a newspaper.  Mike
watched him scratch through the ads one by one with
a stubby pencil, circling only one or two.  So that
was the way of it.

Emma had told him Fox's brother showed up
unexpectedly Thanksgiving night.  Mike was
surprised to find out Fox even had a brother; he
thought the family had pretty much died out with
his parents' passing.  Or so he recalled hearing at
the funeral - hadn't the brother died in the war? 
He tried to get more information out of Emma, but
quickly gave up.  All Emma would say was things
were complicated, and he figured with Dana's
troublesome pregnancy, he had no business prying
further.  Emma had assured him the brother was a
carbon copy of Fox, albeit a bit on the arrogant
side.  From what he could see as the man looked at
the paper with ever-increasing glumness, he didn't
look all that arrogant.  He looked like a man in
need of a bit of good fortune.

Mike leaned over to whisper in Tommy's ear, "Grab
Pee Wee over there to help you for a bit, son." He
nodded at his cousin, who sat at the bar like an
errant elf, his pointed ears wiggling under his hat
brim.

"But Da, Pee Wee *helps* himself to a sip or two of
our finest Scotch when he helps out back here."

"Doesn't hurt a bit, Tommy boy.  You'll learn that
good customers are more valuable than a bit of
pilfered Scotch."  He turned his back on Tommy's
grimace, chuckling.  Good thing Aidan and Joseph
followed their father's tenets when it came to
pleasing customers, just as it was a good thing
Tommy had a more business-minded head on his
shoulders.  They'd make a good team when he made
his trip to the hereafter; until then, no one
disputed Mike's authority.

With a flourish, he placed the pint before Sam. 
"There you are, lad.  Drink up."

He watched as Sam savored the cold beer with a look
of sheer bliss.  "Thanks."

Mike jerked his chin at the newspaper.  "Looking
for work, are ya?"

"Yeah.  Not much around, though."  Sam curled his
lips into a tight grimace.  "Fox says he's bringing
a friend of his along tonight.  Someone who could
give me a job."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I kind of wanted to find one on my own.  But
there's not much call for someone like me."  Mike
could understand that; his pride matched anyone's,
and something told him this man had more pride than
ten men.  "Fox was right; this is the coldest beer
I can ever remember in town.  Why haven't I ever
heard of this place before?"

"Depends on how long you've been gone, son."

"Almost fifteen years.  I left for college at
eighteen, then played a bit of semi-pro baseball in
New York."

That accounted for the sheer size of the guy, and
went a long way toward explaining his lack of job
prospects.  "A baseball player, were you?  Any
good?"

"Passable.  Everyone said I'd make it big one day."

"What happened?"

"I enlisted right after Pearl Harbor and after the
war..." He trailed off, as if the subject was a
distasteful one.

Mike tactfully avoided that tangent.  "Ah, then you
must have known the place as Bully's back in the
day.  Of course, you wouldn't have been old enough
to partake of the beer fifteen years ago."

"True.  But I remember my Dad coming here now and
then - and how Mom used to send me and Fox in to
get him when he'd stayed away a bit too long."

Mike glanced over Sam's shoulder at the skinny boy
who poked his head in the front door.  "Some things
never change," he laughed, then addressed the kid. 
"Tell your ma I'll send your da right out, Jackie." 
The boy hesitated.  "Go on now with ya, lad," Mike
boomed, a mock sternness to his face.

Sam laughed along with him as the boy startled away
like a jack rabbit.  "If I remember right, he's
mighty disappointed he couldn't come in and look
around.  I know I was.  You're right, Mike.  Some
things never change."  The sadness was all but gone
from Sam's face, as if the memory was a pleasant
one.  Mike wanted to keep the good feeling going.

"Let me get Harry out there before Mildred herself
comes in or we'll never live down the hair-pulling
and whining."

"Mildred gets a bit emotional, I take it."

"No, Harry does.  Especially when he's got a half-
full pint he has to kiss goodbye."  Mike took Sam's
empty glass with a laugh.  "I'll get you another on
the way back."

"Thanks, Mike."

"Emma!"

His daughter looked up from the corner of the big
room and caught his eye.  "Yes, Da?"

"Grab Harry there and tell him Mildred's waitin' on
him outside, would ya?"  Mike filled Sam's glass as
Emma answered with a smile and a wave.

When Mike returned with the filled glass, Sam sat
as still as a statue, a lazy grin across his face. 
He turned to find the source of Sam's sudden
happiness, and felt the lad's gaze firmly in place
on his daughter.

Well, whaddya know, he thought, catching sight of
Sam's pleased as punch perusal of Emma.  The Lord
works in mysterious ways, his beloved Fiona had
always said.  Maybe the lad was just what his
daughter needed.  With a job, of course.  The man
already had one thing in his favor, as far as Mike
was concerned - he was related to Fox Mulder.  A
better man had never walked through Mike's door. 
With a small smile of his own, he leaned against
the bar.  "Fetching little thing, isn't she?"

Sam looked up with an eager hope.  "She works
here?"

"Fills in now and then," Mike drawled, the pieces
of the puzzle coming together.  Emma's reluctance
to discuss the newly arrived brother, Fox's
insistence that Mike make Sam stay put... from the
look on the man's face, he was mighty glad to see
Emma.  Now, if Emma spit fire when she caught sight
of the man, he'd have his answer.  "I take it
you've met?"

"We've met." Sam took a healthy gulp of his beer
and relaxed, looking totally pleased with the turn
of events.

"She's a regular tempest in a teapot, that one,"
Mike prompted, idly wiping a dish cloth over an
imaginary spot on the bar.  "Wouldn't you say?"

Sam chuckled, shaking his head.  "That would be an
understatement."

So that was the way of it; now all he had to do was
get those two together and watch the sparks fly. 
But his plan was put on temporary hold when he saw
Fox and Dana walk in the door, followed by Melissa
and Melvin.  Now he knew where Fox intended to come
up with the job for this brother of his.  From what
he knew of Melvin Frohike, the man was a good sort. 
But would this ex-baseball player be happy in the
middle of a bunch of stuffy suits?

"Looks like your party's here, son."  Sam's face
fell a bit, and Mike didn't hesitate to reassure
him, as he leaned closer to whisper with a knowing
grin, "You go on and meet 'em.  I'll send Jenny
over in a minute to take your order, okay?"

"Jenny?" Sam's face fell, as he chanced another
wistful look at Emma.

"Tommy's girl.  She works that side of the room,
lad."

"Oh."

"Don't you worry, lad... you stick around a bit and
I'll wager you'll end up with the waitress you
really want."

At that, Sam brightened, standing.  "Thanks, Mike."
He laid the quarter on the bar, then watched in
amazement as Mike slid it back to him.

"You can just owe me, Sam."

Sam took a last glance at Emma.  "I think I already
owe you, Mike," he said, already turning to meet
the folks depositing their coats in the small
alcove by the door.

"Or two, or three," Mike murmured, out of Sam's
hearing range.  This one would be a pleasure; he
could hear the wedding bells already.  Now, to just
make it impossible for his daughter to balk...
"Maybe we can make it four before the night's
over."


**********


"So, this idiot tells me that something called Pixy
Stix and - get this - *troll* dolls will one day
make millions, and I should get in while I can."

Sam followed the conversation reluctantly.  After
brief introductions (Dana's leggy sister was
definitely wasted on that little man), they'd
spotted a table by the window and made a beeline
for it, this 'Frohike' person - what *was* it with
last names? - chattering to Fox non-stop about his
day at the office.  From the looks of his expensive
suit and gold watch, the man was worth some money. 
But Sam had only been around him for an hour, tops
- and already he was bored stiff with all  the talk
of business.  How did Fox put up with this?

"Troll dolls, huh?" His brother finished up his
steak, his attention still half-focused on his
friend in a show of good manners.

"Troll dolls."  Frohike did the same with the T-
bone in front of him, making short work of the
remaining steak.  "I kid you not."

Sam picked at his meal, definitely feeling like a
fifth wheel.  The ladies talked softly as they sat
beside each other; he, on the other hand, sat
between Fox and Frohike, expected to join in now
and then.  And he did, though he felt lost in all
the talk about importing goods from Asia -
supposedly the next big manufacturing boom was to
take place overseas, and Frohike had the inside
track.  Sam offered little or no response, other
than an occasional yes or no when asked a question. 
His mind was elsewhere as he searched the bar for
Emma, his ear only picking up bits of the
conversation at hand.

"I don't see why you shouldn't invest, Frohike,"
Fox was saying.  "After all, you could save a bit
of money with some shortcuts."

"Oh, yeah?  How so?"

"You wouldn't have to hire models for the dolls. 
Just put on a pair of pointed ears and get rid of
the suit."

At that, Sam turned to Fox, who sat with a wicked
grin.  Frohike sputtered, but quickly dissolved
into good-natured laughter.  "I get it.  No more
work talk."  He took Melissa's hand and smiled
before giving Sam a wink.  "Not until after
dessert, anyway."

Sam flushed, a bit non-plussed at the friendly
banter between the friends and the implication that
Mr. Melvin Frohike was destined to be his savior as
far as a job was concerned.  He didn't like being
maneuvered by anyone, but he supposed Fox had his
heart in the right place.  Thankfully, the sudden
silence was broken by a welcome voice.

"Anything else, ladies and gents?"

A round of cheerful hellos greeted Emma, along with
casual inquiries about dessert choices.  She
smiled, passing a glance over each one of them
until she got to Sam.  The smile faded as his own
widened; he thought *he* was feeling uncomfortable. 
His discomfort with the set-up for a job was
nothing compared to hers at finding him there. 
Quickly, she pulled out her notepad and got down to
the business of serving them dessert.

"Where's Jenny?" Dana asked.

"Off to put one of the customers in a cab.  He had
a bit much tonight.  Why Da lets some folks in this
place sometimes is beyond me."  The bite in her
voice had nothing to do with a certain customer's
overindulgence, Sam was certain.  Especially in
light of the fact her displeased tone was directed
Sam's way.  It didn't matter what words came out of
her mouth, their sting was meant for him.

"What are you doing here tonight, Emma?" Dana
asked.  "Where's Aidan and Roberta? And Joseph and
Claire?"

"Off to Ireland for holiday," she answered shortly,
not looking up from her scratch pad.  "I'm just
helping out until they get back."

"They took the kids out of school?"

"The kids are staying with the in-laws."  She
finally looked up, though she avoided Sam like the
plague.  "I figure everyone wants a coffee and a
slice of apple pie?  No coffee for you Dana, of
course.  Might take a bit, we're kind of busy
tonight."  It was obvious Emma hurried along the
small talk, anxious to be away from him.  Had he
spooked her that much with his overtures?

"Sure," Fox replied.  "No hurry, Emma."

"And how's me favorite customers?"

Sam glanced away from Emma for a moment to find
Mike at her side, beaming at the group as he laid
an arm around Emma.  Instead of stiffening, she
relaxed into his embrace.  What the hell was going
on?

"Good, Uncle Mike.  How's Tommy?" Dana asked.

Uncle Mike?  What the - no wonder the guy had been
a friendly sort!  He was Scully through and
through.  Sam could have kicked himself for not
noticing the resemblance, as Mike shared the same
fair complexion and red hair.

"Getting around pretty good on those crutches, but
we're in a bit of a spot for help."

"We are not," Emma said quickly, elbowing her
father.

But Mike ignored her, giving her a healthy hug. 
"Now, girl - don't be telling me you're not getting
a bit tired.  I know better."  He looked at Fox
with a perplexed frown.  "Wish I had an extra pair
of hands this Christmas season.  It would make it a
whole lot easier on us all."

That was his cue; Sam felt the gentle nudge from
Mike all the way to his bones.  "I can help out,
Mike."

"No, you can't!"

"Hush, girl," Mike said, giving her a little shove
to the bar, "and get that pie.  Go on, now, do as I
say."

"But -"

"Emma!" His tone brooked no disobedience, and Emma
sulked away, giving Sam a look that could kill were
it filled with sharp objects.  "You were sayin',
Sam?"

"I need a job, Mike."

"Know how to tend bar?"

"Sam, Frohike here -" Fox tried to interrupt, but
Sam ignored him, answering the answer to his
prayers in the form of Mike Scully.

It was in bad taste to say he'd learned at his
father's knee, so he hedged the subject.  "Some."

"What say we start you out at fifty cents an hour? 
What you don't know, you can learn from Tommy."

Sam stood, taking Mike's hand over the bemused
looks of his dinner party companions.  "Deal.  When
can I start?"

"How about right now?  Go see Tommy behind the
bar."

Grateful to have the respite from Fox and Dana and
their guests, Sam nearly tripped over his chair in
his haste to leave.  He murmured a quick 'nice
meeting you' to Frohike and Melissa, and an even
quicker 'see you later' to Fox and Dana before
joining Mike, who took him in hand.

As they walked away, Sam addressed Mike in a
whisper.  "Thanks, Mike.  That Frohike guy is
just..."

"A bit stuffy, I know.  Oh, he'd have given you a
job somewhere in his office, like the good man he
is.  But you strike me as the kind of man who hates
wearing a suit and tie."

"I'm more comfortable in a baseball uniform," he
admitted.  He tugged at his tie, quickly whipping
it off to tuck it in his coat pocket.  His coat
came off next and he rolled up his sleeves.  "You
said something about tending bar?"

Mike laughed, giving him a hearty pat on the back. 
"You did more than come in here as a wee lad to
summon your Da home, didn't you?"

"I know my way around a barroom, Mike, that's
true."  One of the reasons he'd never made it to
the majors too quickly was his propensity for the
night life, and he knew it.  Back then, he figured
he had plenty of time.  Little did he know.

"As long as you don't turn out a bum, do I make
myself clear?" Though his eyes were still gleaming
with a smile, Mike's voice was stern.

"As glass."  Sam stopped, making the older man stop
as well as he caught sight of Emma filling her tray
with pints of beer. "Mike, I'm not one for taking
charity, I want you to know that."

"Oh, it's not charity, lad.  I'm gonna work your
ass off."

"I expect nothing less.  That's two I owe you,
Mike."

Mike followed Sam's line of sight, giving him a
firm look.  "That's *three* you owe me, Sam.  You
work for me now, lad.  Don't disappoint me."

"I won't."

Sam watched Mike move ahead, his gaze sliding with
unerring ease back to Emma.  With all the rotten
luck he'd had since returning home, maybe he'd
finally caught a lucky break.

Emma met his stare with a furious flash of her blue
eyes before turning her nose up and purposely
taking the long route back to his brother's table
with their coffee and pie.

Then again, maybe he hadn't.  Boy, did he have his
work cut out for him - and that work had nothing to
do with serving whiskey sours.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Nine


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"I can't believe you hired that man," Emma
whispered across the bar to her father, who stood
there looking like a little boy on his way to first
communion, all wide-eyed yet imagining how he was
going to pull on the braid of the girl in front of
him in line.

"And what would be the problem, girl?" he asked in
a cool voice.  He glanced at Sam, who tossed
bottles at the other end of the bar like he was
born to serve the masses.  "He seems competent
enough to me."

"He's... he's..."  Wonderful, she thought with
sarcasm.  How could she come out and say she
thoroughly disliked the man?  She couldn't very
well tell her father exactly how Sam had shown up
Thanksgiving night, she'd given her word to Fox to
keep a lid on their secrets.  So what to say? 
"He's just not needed, that's all."

"Do you have a personal beef with the lad, Emma?" 
Damn, her father was too intuitive sometimes.  He
leaned in closer, watching her with pale blue eyes
that probed in places she wanted no one to ever
see.  "Is there something you're not tellin' me?"

Vivid images ran through her mind like a
Technicolor film... Sam smiling at her, teasing and
hugging her tight, holding her fast as he spread
warmth with his hands and words... telling her with
anger, "Why can't you be her?"  Oh, there was lots
she could tell her father, if she wanted to make
herself out to be a fool.  No, she'd been shamed
enough by having to plead with Sam himself to leave
her be; she wasn't about to drag her dad into the
mess she'd managed to make of her emotions in two
short days.

"No, Da," she murmured, picking up her tray filled
with pints.  "I just thought we were doing fine, me
and you and Tommy."

Mike Scully ran a gentle hand over her cheek,
lifting her chin with one firm finger to look into
her sad eyes.  "You don't see what I see, Emma."

"What do you see?" she whispered, suddenly afraid
she'd given too much away with her protests.

A fine mist covered those old eyes, as he gazed
down at her with love.  "I see a woman who thinks
she has to do everything without any help.  A woman
with enough pride for two people.  Now, don't be
looking at me that way - pride's a good thing, but
it can get in the way sometimes."

Smarting, she found her voice giving up its normal,
strident tone as a lump of insecurity settled in
her throat.  "Am I so very rigid, Da?"

"No, no," her father insisted, brushing his fingers
over her cheek.  "You've just traded your dreams
for mine, love.  I see a soft, caring woman before
me - a woman who's never had a chance to live
because she's given up her own life to take care of
her Da."

"But I've never complained, Da -"

"I know you haven't, Emmagirl," he interrupted
softly.  "And you never will.  That's *my* beef
with it all - you're runnin' yourself ragged when
there's no need."

"No need?  Da, who would cook for you, and clean
for you, Tommy and Jamie, if it weren't for me? 
Who would keep you company?"

"Look around you, girl.  I have me own restaurant
full of food - and more company every day than
you've had in all your life. Tommy's almost done
with college, then he and Jenny will be on their
own.  Jamie's off to college next fall, and I don't
believe he'll be needing you to hold his hand."  He
released her with a slight pinch to her chin.  "I
need you, Emma.  I'll always need you... but I
don't *need* you.  Stop using me as an excuse to
bury yourself like an old widow woman."

The truth, while delivered in a concerned tone,
stung a bit.  Emma straightened with a huff.  "So
is that what this is all about?"  She jerked her
chin in Sam's direction.  "I've got news for you,
Da - you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Now, did I say we'd settled the dowry?"  He had
the grace to look affronted.  "Jesus, Mary and
Joseph, Emma - I just hired the man to help out in
the bar.  End of story."

"Right," she snorted, still miffed at her father,
her tongue running unbidden into dangerous
territory.  "Next thing ya know, he'll be takin'
the rooms upstairs so's to save you from havin' to
lock up at night!"

As soon as she'd said it, she wanted to take it
back.  The gleam in her father's eye fairly burst
into a glowing light bulb and he brought a hand
down on the bar.  "Now, that's a grand idea, Emma! 
The lad has no business bothering his brother with
Dana's time so close, and besides, I could use an
early night now and then."

Quickly, she scrambled to save the ship sinking in
the pit of her stomach.  "But Da - those are
Jamie's rooms, you told him he could have 'em on
his eighteenth birthday, remember?"

"I did.  But that's six months away, Emmagirl.  You
wouldn't want me to turn a homeless man out on the
street, would ya?"

"He's not homeless!"  Emma took a deep breath,
realizing she was in danger of losing her temper
totally.  Her father was getting senile, that was
it.  "Da, this is getting ridiculous.  I insist we
stop arguing about this right now."

"I agree," Mike replied, in a much calmer tone than
she herself employed.  Maybe she'd finally gotten
him to drop the subject altogether.  "Go on and
serve those pints, darlin'.  I need to make a pass
on this end of the bar.  Seein' too many empty
glasses."

"Don't do anything foolish, Da," she warned, as she
hefted the tray up to shoulder height.

"I won't, Emma, I promise.  Now get goin' before
that beer thaws out or we'll have some sore
customers on our hands."

His sincerity was without a doubt his greatest
asset.  Right or wrong, Mike Scully never told a
lie or went back on a promise.  Emma gave him a nod
before turning to venture out into the melee once
again, confident she'd said her piece well enough
to disabuse her father of any notion as far as that
blighter down the bar was concerned.


*********


"I can't believe you talked Mike into hiring you."

Fox pulled on his gloves as he grumbled at Sam,
watching Dana leave the bar with Frohike and
Melissa.  Sam clenched his jaw, having a hard time
reining in his own temper when faced with his
brother's distrust.

"I didn't *talk* Mike into anything, Fox.  He
offered me the job, I took it, simple as that."  He
wiped down the bar with an agitated hand, wondering
why Fox felt he still had to come to Sam's aid at
every opportunity.

"Frohike would have given you a job.  A nice office
job making twice what Mike's paying you for
slinging beer."

"I would have been bored stiff within a week, and
you know it."  Sam closed his eyes and counted
three before adding, "I can take care of myself,
Smokey.  And as soon as I make a bit of dough, I'll
find my own place."

"But Sam -"

"No buts, Fox.  I might be missing a couple of
years, but I still have a strong back and a good
pair of hands.  I intend to use 'em, not sit on my
ass and wait for handouts from you."

Fox sighed, hanging his head as if lost in thought. 
Sam waited for the inevitable condescension, the
'think before you act' speech that Fox was so good
at.  His brother, Sam had come to realize, acted
more like a father than his own had ever done.  He
was grateful for the guidance, but he was no longer
twelve years old.  And no longer prone to massive
mistakes his brother corrected without batting an
eyelash.  This wasn't a mistake, and he damned well
was going to make Fox see that, even if he
stretched the limits of his meager vocabulary in
the face of Fox's ten-dollar words.

"You know," Fox began after his lengthy pause,
"you've changed."

"Of course I have," Sam replied slowly, wondering
where Fox was going with the sudden temperance. 
"I've grown up.  You don't have to watch out for me
anymore, Fox.  I can handle myself."

Fox looked up, genuine concern clouding his gaze. 
"You realize you used to tie one on regularly, Sam. 
A bar is not the best place for you, especially -"
He broke off, biting his lip over what Sam already
knew was coming.

He might not remember the past two years, but the
days before the war were a blur of baseball, booze
and bimbos.  It was amazing he did so well at the
sport, considering he was a heavy drinker who could
party with the best of 'em.  He couldn't blame Fox
for worrying about his choice of employment, but he
knew those days were long past when he sought
solace from the isolation forced upon him by his
very own father, one he found in liquor.

"Especially since I can't remember shit?"  He
tilted his head at Fox's chagrin.  "I'm not going
to suddenly lose myself in the bottom of a bottle,
big brother.  I gave that up a long time ago.  The
Army has a way of sweating all the booze right out
of you."

"Are you sure about this?  I can still set up a
meeting with Frohike for Monday morning."

"I'm positive.  Give me a chance, Fox.  I can do
it, I know I can."

"All right, I'll butt out.  But if you get into
trouble again, I'm not coming to your rescue this
time."

"I don't expect you to, Fox."

"Leaving already, Mulder?"

Mike's booming voice approached from the other end
of the bar; Sam went back to the tap as he cleared
his throat into silence.  He hoped Fox wouldn't
tell Mike of his long-ago troubles with booze.  He
looked up with pleading, feeling a surge of relief
by the solemn nod of his brother's that told him
his secret was safe.

"Dana's a bit tired, so we're heading home.  Thanks
for the dinner, Mike.  Excellent, as always."

"You're welcome, lad."  Mike put an arm about Sam's
shoulders, still addressing Fox.  "This one's a
fast learner, Mulder.  Good man... hope you don't
mind I snatched him up?  With Tommy movin' a bit
slow these days, and me two oldest away -"

"Take him, he's yours," Fox said with a smile. 
"One thing for sure - he's bound to bring in the
women with that handsome face."

Mike frowned, a silly-looking pretense but worthy
of a shudder at its intensity.  "And me mug ain't
been good enough all these years?  Is that what
you're sayin'?"

Fox took his keys from his pocket and stared Mike
down.  "Good thing the food's good and the beer's
cold, or you'd have chased away all the customers
years ago with that kisser, Mike.  Believe me."

Mike laughed, and Sam felt it roar through him with
a bit of relief.  At least there were no hard
feelings between the men.  "You're a truthful man,
Fox Mulder.  Too truthful for the likes of me.  I
figure between me and Sam, we can come up with
enough blarney to bring in the ladies in droves. 
Isn't that right, lad?"

"I'll do my best."  Sam breathed again as Mike
released him; he was a big guy, and he towered over
Mike by a good few inches, but the man was all
muscle and grit.  He had no doubt Mike could crush
a few ribs in a determined choke hold.  Looking
back toward Fox, and the key dangling from a gloved
hand, he asked, "That for me?"

"Yeah.  Just leave it on the kitchen table.  I'll
get another one made Monday at the hardware store. 
I won't wait up, I promise," he added with a wink.

"Wait a second, Fox," Mike put in, before turning
to Sam.  "I've been thinking, lad."

"Bad sign," muttered Fox, who rolled his eyes.

"Oh hush, ya dandy," Mike said, ignoring Fox's
chuckle.  To Sam again, he said, "I've got a couple
of rooms above the place here.  Not much, just a
bed and a bath, really.  One by one, my boys have
used it until they off and got married, most of
'em.  The two youngest are still at home with me
and Emma, you see, and the five older than her
either off to sea or in homes of their own... and
of course, there's Aidan and Joseph -"

Nine brothers.  Damn, Fox hadn't been kidding.  Sam
gulped, waiting for Mike to continue.

"Mike," Fox interrupted softly, "Dana's waiting in
the car."

"Oh, right, right.  Sorry about that.  Sometimes me
tongue gets away from me."

"Mike, spill it."

"Well, Emma gave me the idea just now, and I
thought it a good one."

"What idea is that?"

"Why, that Sam should take the rooms upstairs as
his own.  A man needs a place to be alone, Fox, and
I could use the help locking up now and then."

"Mike, I don't think that's a good -"

"I'll take it,"Sam found himself blurting out, with
more excitement than he'd wanted.

"But you can stay with..." Fox trailed off, meeting
Sam's silent reminder of his vow to leave him be to
find his own way.  Their eyes locked, and Sam saw a
burgeoning respect take hold in his brother's face,
one that warmed him all over.  Fox dropped the key
on the bar.  "At least use it tonight, Sam.  You
can move your stuff over tomorrow after Scully goes
to mass."

Sam nodded, his throat suddenly tight as he
pocketed the key.  Mike, bless him, avoided the
awkward lull by taking Fox's hand in a jolly grip.

"Good deal, Mulder.  You go on now and take Dana
home.  I'll see the lad gets home after closing."

Sam looked up at his waiting brother, and the hand
he offered.  With a strong, determined grip, he
took it, saying softly, "Thanks, Smokey."  A world
of unspoken love for his brother underlined the
words, and he saw Fox take it as he did his hand.

"Good night, Sam.  I'll see you in the morning." 
Jamming his hat on his head, he nodded at Mike. 
"'Night, Mike.  Thanks again."

As Fox walked away, Mike stood by Sam's side,
watching the tall figure go into the night.  "He's
a good man, your brother."

"The best," Sam choked out, dropping his chin to
avoid Mike's probing gaze.  It was unmanly to shed
a tear, especially in a bar full of people.  God,
he was getting soft.

Mike must have sensed his discomfort, as he
abruptly changed tone.  "Smokey?  Never heard
anyone call Mulder that before.  Don't tell me he
smokes?"

Taking a deep breath to clear his head, Sam faced
Mike.  "My straight-arrow brother?  Nah."

"Then what gives?"

"Fox used to pitch to me when we were kids.  He had
a great arm; took me forever to learn how to hit
his fastball.  I think that's why I ended up
hitting as well as I did, because of Fox.  I told
him once he could be as great as Smokey Joe Wood. 
It stuck."

"Ah... Red Sox pitcher, wasn't he?"

At last, they were on a subject he could handle. 
The conversation quickly turned into a baseball
player's delight; Sam ate it up, feeling the weight
of the world fall away.

Times were good again.


**********


She should have known better.  She wasn't gone more
than a half hour when she turned and saw her father
and Sam shaking hands at the far end of the bar. 
Mike looked like he'd made a new friend, almost
jerking Sam's arm off as he laughed and smiled like
a big goofball.  Sam looked like... well, like he
always did when he smiled.  Like a million bucks
wrapped around a Hershey bar.  Damn them both, she
fumed, heading back with another order.  This time,
knowing her father would take no more obstinance
from her lips, she approached the more pressing
thorn in her side.  The man she swore she'd have
nothing more to do with, the man who could turn her
insides to jelly with one word, the bugger who
would tremble in the face of her wrath, she
promised herself.

By the time she'd cleared a path through the tables
and dancers in the makeshift clearing in the center
of the room, her father was long gone.  Emma said a
silent prayer of thanks that she wouldn't have to
postpone the inevitable confrontation with Sam by
avoiding her father.  Mike had moved back to his
spot by the door, where he'd practically worn a
hole in the wood floor after all these years.  He
liked to greet his guests personally, as well as
keep an eye on comings and goings.  Really, if not
for him, Mulder would most likely not have noticed
Dana's disappearance for some time the night of
Charlie's rehearsal supper almost two years past. 
It was Mike Scully who'd alerted Mulder to the
lurking Asian fellow outside the window of the bar. 
Mulder had taken quick action; though Dana was
already gone, he'd mobilized the family and law
enforcement in a massive effort to find her.  Which
they'd done - Emma shuddered inwardly at the
possibility that it could have ended much more
disastrously, then set her mind to matters more
pressing.

Sam Mulder and his unwanted intrusion into her
life.

Already, he chatted and joked with the bar patrons
like he was born to it.  With his sleeves rolled up
to his elbows and a twinkle in his eye, he served
up beer and whiskey with a charming flair.  As she
moved closer, she heard them discussing - what
else? - baseball, with the local sports fanatic,
one Chauncy McCrory.  Chauncy probably talked
baseball in his sleep, much to the dismay of his
poor wife.

"The Yankees lose to the Dodgers?  Never happen,
believe me," Sam said, as he took Chauncy's empty
glass.

At least Sam looked like he was enjoying the
conversation, which was a plus when bartending. 
Customers were always ready to talk.

"Came close this year," Chauncy replied, his ever
present cigar stuck between full lips.  "That
Robinson fella made a series out of it."

"Robinson?" Sam asked, a light frown replacing his
easy grin.

"Jackie Robinson.  Negro fella the Dodgers called
up from Kansas City coupla years ago.  Helluva
player.  Almost took 'em all the way.  Where you
been boy?  The moon?"

Sam's fluid serving technique faltered a bit; he
cursed as he overflowed Chauncy's glass at the tap,
hopping away from the spill on his shoes.  "Damn. 
Sorry about that, Mr. McCrory."

Despite her anger with Sam, Emma sensed his sudden
loss of control as if it were her own.  His smile
gone, he avoided Chauncy's question as if it had
been a pinprick to his balloon of good feeling, his
face pale.  Sam was a very affable guy, that was
obvious; and to have to constantly be on guard
against his past coming up to bite him in the ass
must have been trying on the nerves, at the very
least.  Emma rushed in with a feigned huff of busy
complaint, gently pushing her way between Chauncy
and Pee Wee, who caught her eye with a Popeye grin.

"Emma, me darlin'!  Need some help with that?"

"No thanks, Pee Wee.  I just need to sneak under
the lift gate."  By the time she'd wiggled her way
through the opening in the bar, Sam was getting up
from a crouch on the floor.  He swallowed hard at
the sight of her, breaking into a smile that didn't
quite reach his eyes as he tossed the wet rag into
the bin under the bar.

"Hey, doll.  What's up?"

Temporarily deprived of all animosity toward Sam
with one look at his fake smile, Emma moved closer
to murmur over the crowd noise, "You okay?"

He hesitated, reaching for a fresh towel from the
pile by the cash register.  "Yeah, I think so."

"You think so?"  Emma brought a hand up to touch
his forehead; with her other, she grabbed his free
hand.  "You're sweating, Sam.  And your hand is
freezing."

"Cold beer, hot bar."  In an instant, he'd relaxed,
leaning in closer.  "But maybe you should check my
temperature with my Mom's method."

"And just what is that?"

"With a kiss to my forehead.  She swore by it." 
The mischievous twinkle was back.  "As for me, I
think it works much better if you plant one on the
lips."

Her sympathy evaporated in a second.  "Oooh, you...
you..."

"Emma, if you can't spit it out, just kick me,
okay?"

Her foot, shod in black loafers, delivered a swift
blow to his shin.

"Ow!" Sam hopped around in a fair imitation of her
brother Tommy, disbelief slacking his grin. 
"Whaddya do that for?"

"Because somehow you talked my father into giving
you a job, that's why."

"I did not.  He offered me that job, Emma, fair and
square."

"And the rooms above?"  She waited for confirmation
of what she already suspected, and she wasn't
disappointed, as he straightened with a slow smile.

"*That*, from what I understand, was your idea."

She flushed to the roots of her hair, listening to
Chauncy and Pee Wee chuckle over their pints.  Her
fingers curled into a fist and her leg shifted;
before she could plant Sam a 'kiss' he'd never
forget, she found herself trapped in his arms.

"C'mon, doll.  We gotta talk."

Struggling to get herself free, she growled, "Talk? 
About what?"

"About this notion you have that I'm trying to ruin
your life."  He lifted the bar gate in one smooth
motion, turning to yell at Tommy, "Tommy, watch
this end for a sec, would ya?"

"Sure thing, Sam."  Her brother hobbled over from
his stool, abandoning his intimate conversation
with Jenny, who'd taken a break.

"The reason you were hired is to relieve Tommy,"
Emma spit out, still shoving against Sam's hold.

"He's played kissy-face long enough.  Besides, it's
closing time in half an hour.  Bar's clearing out
already."  He had her past Chauncy and Pee Wee in
the blink of an eye.  "Dance with me, Emma."

"Dance with you?  Are you nuts?"

"Your father's watching us like a hawk, ready to
pounce if you keep up this scene.  Would you have
me lose my job after only four hours?"

Emma glanced her father's way.  Sure enough, he
watched them with narrowed eyes, as if he doubted
the wisdom of hiring Sam.  Guilt swept over her;
much as she didn't like the idea of seeing Sam so
much, she didn't begrudge him honest employment.
*If* he'd come by it honestly.  He said he wanted
to talk, and he'd better have a good explanation
for muscling his way back into her life.  Not all
of the rigidity left her, but she let herself
become more loose-limbed as Sam guided her to the
dance floor.

"Good girl."  The sultry voice of Lena Horne filled
the smoky bar, and Sam wasted no opportunity in
gathering her close.

"Not so close," she muttered, putting a bit of
distance between them.  Her hand seemed lost in
his, and she kept her gaze trained on the top
button of his shirt.  Bad idea.  The skin above
beckoned and she gulped, averting her eyes to scan
the room.  "Start talking."

He sighed, the dance he'd wanted so badly turning
into a turn about the classroom floor with his
third grade teacher, thanks to her jerky slide from
foot to foot.  Well, he couldn't expect her to be
thrilled about this development, now could he?

His legs stiff, he barely moved them in place as he
began, "We got off on the wrong foot, Emma.  I
don't want to be your enemy.  I just want a job and
a life of my own.  Is that so wrong?"

When he made her feel as if she had no control over
her own emotions?  Yes, she felt it was wrong.  She
knew she was being selfish and downright shrewish,
but she'd never had a man disturb her so much, and
so quickly.  He didn't know it, but he aroused such
sympathy and plain lust within her it was all she
could do to keep from throwing herself at his head. 
He was the type of man she despised most -
arrogant, sinfully handsome and without prospects. 
They were a dime a dozen in her world, men home
from the war as heroes, expecting women to fall at
their feet with gratitude.  Most had, without even
a whimper.  But not her; she had more self-respect
than that.

And more pride than two people.  Her father's words
echoed in her mind, and, at that moment, she knew
she was being unfair to Sam.  It wasn't his fault
she'd taken an unhealthy liking to him.  Her catty
remarks and subtle roadblocks to his obvious need
for normalcy were unjust.  She'd have to live with
the fact Sam was still hung up on Dana, as long as
he remained distant from her cousin.  He looked
like he was making an honest effort to stay away
from Fox and Dana, and she admitted a grudging
admiration for his loyalty to his brother.  Times
had changed, and Sam was trying to keep up the only
way he knew how - by going on with his life.  She
would have to do the same, even if it meant
sacrificing her own familiar routine to do so.

"No, it's not wrong," she replied softly, looking
up into his solemn face.  "I'm sorry, Sam."

"For what?"

"For being a harpy.  For making it difficult for
you.  I don't mean to deny you what you need right
now."  Only by denying herself could she stabilize
Sam's shifting world.

His eyes searched her face as they slowly drifted
to a stop.  Serious, intrusive eyes, dark with an
unnamed emotion.  Her heart tripped as he kept her
enthralled with a simple look; his mouth slightly
open, as if he were a second away from saying
things she wanted to hear, but knew he wouldn't
mean.  As soon as it had come, his indecision
faded, replaced by a warm smile.

"I need... I need this job, Emma.  I need to show
Fox I can do this on my own.  Will you help me?"

"Will you stop treating me like one of your
floozies?  I have a brain, you know."

His smile waned a bit.  "I promise to treat you
with respect, Emma.  I'm sorry if I've offended you
in any way."

Finally, she cracked a grin, looking at her father
once before answering Sam in a light tone.  "See
that you don't, you big lug.  I want to be your
friend, not your 'doll'.  Get it?"

The lie rolled easily off her tongue.  Resolute
calm settled over her; she could do this.  Be his
friend; after all, she was friends with practically
every man who frequented her father's
establishment.  She could be friendly without
letting anything else enter into it - she'd have to
be, or die trying.

"Got it," Sam replied, releasing her to extend a
hand.  "Friends."

From the corner of her eye, she saw her father
crack a broad smile; she took Sam's hand and gave
it a shake.  "Now, get back to work before I have
Pee Wee there wanting to take me for a twirl.  He
has two left feet, you know."

Sam took her elbow to guide her off the dance
floor.  "And a very high tolerance for Scotch
whiskey."

Emma leaned closer to whisper, "Give him the stuff
in the unlabeled bottle.  It's the reason Da
doesn't charge him a dime."

"Watered down?" Sam whispered back.

"Yep.  He's not really supposed to have spirits -
bad heart.  But Da hasn't the heart to tell him no,
seeing as how Pee Wee is getting up in years and is
all alone since his wife Mathilda passed."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Stick with me, kid," she said, enjoying the way
Sam took to the ins and outs of working Mike's. 
"I'll see you through.  Take Chauncy there, he's a
bit of a sports fiend, so if you don't like
baseball, you'd better steer clear of him."

Sam laughed, a hearty sound she couldn't help but
embrace with her own laughter.  "What is it?" she
asked.

"Nothing.  Just how long will this take?  Should I
bring a pencil and paper tomorrow?"

They made it back to the bar, where Sam slid
through the lift gate with ease.  Emma picked up
her tray and gave him a glare.  All in good fun, of
course.  "Lesson number one: Just bring your big
self and some clothes you don't mind getting
dirty."

"Why?"

"Because tomorrow's Sunday and we're closed.  Which
means the place gets a good scrubbing from top to
bottom.  Hope you like mopping floors."

"Hey - no problem.  I'm moving in tomorrow,
remember?  I'll be here bright and early."

How could she forget, she thought.  With a wan
smile, she answered, "Not too early.  Da and I go
to 6:00 mass, then I have to do some laundry before
I begin lunch -"

"I get it, I get it.  Afternoon then."

Seeing his face fall at the prospect of spending
the morning with his brother and Dana, Emma
relented, telling him, "I'll send Da by around 9:30
to let you in so you can get started.  How's that?"

"That'll work," he said, all cheerful again.

She turned to begin rounding up the stragglers for
closing time, wondering how she'd manage to stay in
control in the face of that smile.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Ten


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"Well, Da... what shall we have today?  Pot roast
or leg of lamb?"  Emma groaned a bit as she climbed
the steps to her father's house; the Sunday morning
breakfast with Father Corkery at Rosey D's diner
had been especially heavy on her stomach this
morning.  The pancakes smelled too delicious to
pass up, and she'd had one or two with her eggs and
bacon.  "Of course, I'd sooner have a bit of soup. 
That breakfast is liable to stay with me for a
while."

"Whatever, darlin'," her father said, as he
gestured her to precede him through the front door. 
"I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to have lunch
with you today, or give you a hand with cleaning
the pub.  At least not until late this afternoon."

Emma stopped in her tracks, half in and half out
the door, her hands gripping the lapels of her
coat.  "And why not?" she asked, dread coming over
her at the prospect of having to venture into the
pub alone.  Well, she wouldn't be alone, but even
that scared her less than who she'd have to spend
the afternoon with in its close confines.

"I promised your Aunt Martha I'd come over today
and take a look at a leaky faucet.  She's cooking,
so there's no need for you to go to any trouble on
my account, Emma."

She followed him into the kitchen, watching in
disbelief as he pulled his tool box from under the
sink.  "Well, if she's cooking, then I'll just go
along and give a hand.  I always did like Aunt
Martha's pumpkin pie."

"I'll be sure and bring back a piece for you,
Emma," her father replied with an indulgent grin. 
Amidst her open-mouthed stare, he closed his tool
box and made for the washroom off the kitchen.  She
followed, this time with hands on hips.

"Bring back a piece for me?  You sound like I'm not
invited."

"You aren't."  Mike took off his coat and tie,
handing them to her before reaching for the ratty
pair of coveralls on a peg by the back door.  "You
have to go show Sam what needs to be done in the
pub today."

She almost permanently wrinkled his good blue tie
with her furious grip, then rolled it up and put it
in her coat pocket.  "What about Tommy and Jenny? 
Why can't they go?"

"Tommy and Jenny haven't been to mass yet, darlin',
neither has Jaime - you know that.  And they all
have school work to do this afternoon; when they
heard I'd hired Sam, they asked for a day off from
cleaning." Mike frowned as he zipped up the greasy
coveralls.  "What's the matter, girl?  You goin'
batty on me?"

"Batty?"  In a last minute remembrance of her
father's best suit coat, she hung it carefully on a
hangar above the ironing board before letting him
have it.  "Whatever happened to 'you're running
yourself ragged, Emma', or 'you're looking a might
tired, love'?  What about *my* day off?"

Mike sighed, shucking his dress shoes for his work
boots.  As if on automatic pilot, Emma picked them
up, brushing at a scruff with the handkerchief from
her pocket.  "See?" he said, as if it were all
crystal clear.

"See what?"  She was more confused than ever,
practically stomping her foot with anger.

"You haven't even taken off your coat.  In the
three minutes we've been home, you've hung up mine,
folded up me tie, and taken a spot off me shoes."

"What does that have to do with my day off?"

"Emma, if I gave you the day off, you'd do nothing
but clean every bit of this house and cook enough
food to feed an army.  Give it a rest, girl."

"By cleaning the pub with Sam?  How is *that*
giving me a rest?"

Her dad walked up to her, taking her by the
shoulders as he planted a kiss to her green beret,
missing her forehead by a mile.  Her Da had never
been accurate with his kisses; he was much too
impatient to aim right.  "Let the lad in, Emma. 
Show him where we keep the mop and bucket.  I think
he's got enough smarts to handle the rest.  Unless
you go on one of those cleaning tirades of yours,
you should be out of there in fifteen minutes,
tops.  Then you can do whatever you want the rest
of the day."

"Cleaning tirades?  I beg your pardon, Da.  I do
*not* have cleaning tirades."  She punctuated her
statement by tucking in his dress shirt at the
collar.  "You get grease on that, it'll take me
forever to get it out."

Her father lifted an eyebrow in silence.  She hated
when he got that 'told you so' look.

"All right, all right," she said with exasperation,
turning away to walk stiffly back into the kitchen. 
Retrieving her purse, she snatched her car keys
from the pantry.  "I'm only letting him in, you'll
see.  I'll be joining you at Aunt Martha's in under
an hour."

Still, he said nothing, only stood there with
crossed arms, slowing nodding with complacency. 
Emma seethed, this time stomping her foot as she
pointed a gloved finger his way.

"Time me!" she bit out, flinging her scarf around
her neck with defiance.

His chuckles followed her out the front door,
renewing her resolve to prove him wrong.


**********


As she turned the corner on the almost deserted
street, she saw a lump sitting on the stoop of her
father's pub.  Two lumps, actually.  She groaned,
slowing the car to a stop while she caught her
breath.  Sam and his suitcase.  It was barely nine
o'clock; had he been sitting there since dawn?  She
vaguely remembered hearing her dad tell him to show
up at 9:30 - so what the devil was he doing there
at nine?  For that matter, she had no business
arriving so early.  If she hadn't created a grand
exit for her father's sake, she might have noticed
her watch.  By the time she'd reversed out of the
drive in a huff, she couldn't backtrack without
losing face.  No way was she letting her father
know how much this mission riled her, though he
probably had a pretty good idea of it, anyway.

Well, there was no use for it.  She had to face the
man and his devastating smile.  The sooner she had
him set to cleaning, the better.  She eased up on
the clutch and took her car out of neutral,
grimacing when she felt it lurch forward and stall. 
Her foot slipped onto the brake and she jerked to a
stop right in front of Sam, who stood to watch. 
Lovely.  Not only was he smiling, but she felt like
a fool.  She'd been driving since she was thirteen
years old, and now she'd embarrassed herself in
front of... wait a minute.

They were friends, weren't they?  She vowed then
and there to keep telling herself that.  Friends
didn't get embarrassed in front of one another,
especially over little things like stalling a car. 
Setting her chin with a cool look, she pulled the
hand brake and got out, pocketing her keys.

"Got a problem with the car?"  Sam's smile had
faded into a concerned stare as he met her in front
of the vehicle.  "I can take a look if you want; I
used to be pretty handy about mechanical things."

That was better; he'd not commented on her
vehicular faux pas, like a good friend would. 
Instead, he'd offered help - if she'd done that in
front of her brothers, they'd be rolling on the
sidewalk with laughter.

"I had a '36 SS Jaguar at one time," he went on
with that look men get when discussing cars, as if
nirvana lived in horsepower and leather seats. 
"Greatest car ever...."

Of course he'd have owned a sports car, one he
could zip around in, a convertible made especially
for men with adorable windblown hair and sunlit
smiles....

"Chicks loved that car."

Oh, yes, she just bet they did.  And he was willing
to sully his race car hands on her big, black
monstrosity?  Ignoring his wistful reminiscing, she
sidestepped him and headed straight for the stained
glass door.  As she inserted the key in the lock,
she noted absently that the glass needed a vinegar
wash.  It was looking mighty streaky....

Stop it! she admonished herself.  She was *not*
getting involved in pub chores today.  No sir. 
Immediately, she began rattling off his duties.

"You can put your suitcase upstairs.  Fresh linens
in the bathroom closet.  If you need more soap,
just tell Da and we'll get it for you."  Snapping
on the lights, she waved an arm at the bare floors;
they'd picked up the chairs and put them on the
tables last night before closing up.  They always
passed a quick broom every night, and kept up with
emptying ashtrays, saving the major cleaning for
Sunday.  "Sweep and mop, wipe down the tables and
chairs with the O-Cedar, as well as the bar from
top to bottom.  There's Brasso for the bar
railings, and ammonia or vinegar for the mirror.  I
find either works best.  There's Pine Sol for the
restrooms - don't forget to do the floors in there
as well - and stock up the cabinets in them with
tissue.  Don't forget the windows in front and the
door, and -"

"Emma."

"- change any light bulbs that need changing.  All
of those supplies are in the store room off the
kitchen - "

"Emma!"

At his barked interruption, she turned, catching a
breath.  "What?  Too much for you?"

Sam shrugged out of his coat.  "No," he lightly
chastised with a grin.  His faded Yale sweatshirt
and denims were made for hard work.  "Like 'em?" 
He spread his arms wide.  "Got 'em at the Salvation
Army mission next to St. Catherine's this morning. 
Traded my suit for 'em."

"You did what?"  She pictured one of the bums in
front of the mission wearing that beautiful suit
and practically groaned.

"Just kidding," he chuckled.  "Actually, Fox was
holding back on me.  He just *happened* to find a
box of my old clothes in the attic this morning.  I
don't know whatever gave him the idea I would be
comfortable in a suit.  Never was before."  He
raised a finger, as if recalling something
pleasant.  "But you know, the chicks -"

"Loved the suits," Emma muttered.  "Yes, I imagine
they did."  She cleared her throat, turning to
survey the room once again.  "Now, there's a step
ladder in the store room for reaching the lights if
you need.  Did I mention you're to wipe down the
glass on those fixtures, too?  And if - ooof!"

Suddenly, she found herself seated on the bar, one
black pump hitting the floor with a thud as her
feet dangled helplessly.  A pair of mischievous
hazel eyes twinkled before her face; before she
could give vent to her anger, one finger pressed
against her mouth.

"Enough already," Sam said.  "I get the idea."  He
took a step back to retrieve her shoe.  "I'm
supposed to clean the place from top to bottom, no
matter how long it takes or how hungry I get -"

"There's roast beef in the kitchen cooler," she
pointed out.

"Or how tired I get doing this all alone -"

"My father will be by later to lend a hand."

"Or how I'll surely mess up and give too many
drinks to the wrong person because *someone* said
she was going to give me lessons -"

"You remembered lesson number one, didn't you? 
About the old clothes? There's lots of time yet to
learn the rest."

"Or how lonely I get listening to myself grunt and
groan -"

"There's a switch on the juke box.  You can set it
to play for free.  Just reset it when it cycles
through all the records."  The moping drop of his
chin tugged at her heart, but she refused to give
in.  "My shoe, please.  I have to meet Dad at Aunt
Martha's for lunch."

"Like hell you do," Sam growled.  "Admit it."

Oh, Lord, she thought.  Here it comes.  He can see
right through me.  He knows I'm afraid....

"You're just afraid of hard work.  You kicked up a
fuss last night when your dad hired me, but inside,
you were whooping it up.  I knew that 'good little
girl' routine was just an act."

Her heart beat again after its frightful stutter. 
Tilting her head to one side, she crossed her arms. 
"Oh it is, is it?  I'll have you know, Sam Mulder,
I can work twice as fast as you can.  And with
better results - no one will have to come behind
*me* with another bucket of soap."

He twirled her shoe in one hand, a sly look
succeeding in raising her mettle, as did his steely
dare.  "Prove it."

She'd have to call Aunt Martha's.  Explain to her
dad... what?  Sink overflowed in the ladies'
restroom?  Nah, he'd have a plumber out there in no
time.  Or worse, he'd come himself.  She could
always tell him she had trouble with her car. 
Smoothly telling him that Sam was a whiz with
automobiles, she'd promise to join him as soon as
possible.  All the while listening to his voice
choke with superior laughter.

So, she'd have to eat a bit of crow.  It was either
that or back down from Sam's challenge.  And Emma
Scully *never* backed down from a dare.

"We'll have to divide the work," she said, "and set
a time limit.  With a fifteen minute break for
lunch, of course."

"I'll do the floors and the restrooms," he offered,
"and you do all the glass and dusting, including
the bar, tables and chairs.  Fair enough?"

"First one to finish owes the other -?"

"A kiss?"

"Be serious."

"I am serious."  At her frown, he relented with a
smile.  "Oh, I forgot - just friends.  Right?"

"Right." She was actually having fun; if she'd
woken up this morning knowing she'd be enjoying
herself like this with Sam, she'd have forgone the
breakfast with Father Corkery.  Or at the very
least, limited herself to one pancake before making
her excuses.  "Now, what shall we wager?"

"Dinner and a movie.  Loser treats."

"Sounds like a date to me," she warned.

"No date.  It's just been forever since I've seen a
movie, feels like." A shadow crossed his face; as
soon as it had come, it was gone, replaced by a
nod.  "Okay, that sound good to you?"

She held out a hand, her lips parting in a simple
wisp of a smile.  "Okay.  You're on."  Instead of
shaking her hand, Sam bent over it, making a
production out of slipping her shoe back on her
foot.  "I can do that," she protested, feeling the
leather pull on her nylons.  "Watch it!  Those are
new."

"Never put a girl's shoe back on before."  He
huffed, bending lower.

"Really," she said, leaning over to see the problem
as she chuckled.  She was willing to bet he had
lots of experience with ladies' shoes - especially
in their removal.

"Really.  Guy at the shoe store yesterday said my
hands were too big and clumsy.  Said that I'd scare
the women customers."

She was scared, all right.  The frisson of fear his
touch created started in her toes and moved up her
leg with swift encroachment, setting her whole body
afire with treacherous desire.  She licked her
lips, watching the way his unruly hair fell forward
over his forehead, the way he bit his lip with
concentration.  It would be so easy to reach out
her hand and touch that lovely, dimpled cheek....

She squirmed, her skirt sliding up an inch or two
as she wiggled her foot in an attempt to help
things along.  This had to stop, and stop now.

"Stop that," Sam said, still struggling.

"It's a bit stretched out, so I don't see why it
won't go on -"  Emma shivered at the brush of his
lips over her knee.

Playful eyes lifted to her own and he murmured,
"Showed you - got my kiss, anyway."  His fingers
caressed the back of her ankle as the shoe slid on
without even a sigh of protest.  "Don't ever trust
a man with your shoe, and a lazy streak a mile
wide. *My* lesson number one."

He stepped back laughing, and she realized she'd
been had.  Big time, as he practically raced to the
kitchen.  "Last one to the broom closet is a rotten
egg."

Sliding down from the bar, she doffed her coat and
beret.  She had to hand it to him - he sure knew
how to get what he wanted.  You just had to admire
a man like that.


**********


He liked the music from the juke box, but he was
getting tired of the same tunes over and over.  It
was preoccupying Emma, who sometimes sang along in
a rich, deep tone.  She'd hardly said a handful of
words to him since their quick lunch, and he blamed
the juke box.  Of course, anything that took her
time away from him deserved a bit of hatred.

Also in the course of the afternoon, he decided
cleaning was actually fun.  Mainly because Emma
stretched and turned and climbed chairs to reach
every nook and cranny, showing off those super
straight seams in her nylons, the ones that he'd
love to trace down her calves with his finger.

And he liked the beret, but enough already.

She hadn't taken it off yet, like she expected to
fly out the door as soon as the pub was clean. 
Even when they'd stopped to eat a quick sandwich,
she'd left the damned thing on.  He should just
reach over the bar when her back was turned and
steal it.  With it on, she looked all of sixteen,
and he had a hard time justifying any romantic
overtures.

He'd never imagined she'd be the one to let him in
today; it was a boon from the Gods he'd never
expected.  It was all he could do to hold himself
apart from her - especially after he'd slipped up
with the shoe thing.  As soon as he'd touched that
curvy leg, his mouth had gone dry.  The implication
he'd played footsie with her to get her to help him
clean up was as good a recovery as he could get;
she must have gone for it, because she'd stayed. 
Looking like she was ready to bolt at any second,
but damn it, she'd stayed.

Every now and then, she'd throw a frantic look his
way and glance at her watch.  Either she was timing
their respective sprints for the finish line, or
she's told her father on the phone to rescue her at
a certain time.  Sam didn't believe the latter,
when he'd managed to overhear a snippet of their
conversation earlier.  Emma blasted Mike a couple
of times for abandoning her to cleanup duty;
apparently, she'd expected the day off and Aunt
Martha's leaky faucet could wait, in her opinion. 
When she hung up with a huff, Sam knew she hadn't
won the argument.

He should feel guilty about the way she'd
sacrificed her day off to help him, even if he'd
manipulated her with the challenge he had no
intention of winning.  But he didn't.  In fact, he
was deliberately lagging behind her furious efforts
to beat him, knowing she'd take great pleasure in
staying a bit longer to help *him* finish, all the
while sporting a superior grin.

Yeah, he'd have to admit defeat.  If she only knew
how much that hurt, she just might get an inkling
of the enormity of his feelings for her.  Which
were... hell, he didn't know.  He wanted her, he
knew that much.  Wanted to kiss her and caress her
and get her into bed something bad.  But not at the
expense of her tender heart.  God, he was a mess,
all because of one Emma Scully, a stubborn,
passably pretty but not gorgeous, too-smart-for-
her-own-good, woman who could have him kneeling
before her with a snap of her fingers.

"There!"  That beret popped up from behind the bar;
as expected, her smile was confident and almost
cocky.  "All done.  And you?"

"Umm..." Sam, temporarily blindsided by that
brilliant smile, looked down at the pine-scented
water he'd just slopped all over his shoes.  "I'm
making a mess?" he finished lamely, silently
begging for help with a pair of eyes a puppy would
envy, or so he hoped.

And as he'd hoped, she wasted no time coming out
from behind the bar, wiping her hands on the apron
she'd taken from the kitchen.  "You're supposed to
wring out the mop before you put it to the floor,
you know."  She took it from his hands, giving it a
firm squeeze as he admired the way her skirt
tightened across her backside when she bent to the
bucket.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his face, turning away
from temptation.  With any other woman, in any
other time, he'd have at the very least pinched
that luscious bottom.  What the hell was wrong with
him?  He jerked around at the subtle rush of sweet-
smelling air that signaled her straightening.

"You realize I won, don't you?" she asked, mopping
up the mess he made.

He swallowed down the urge to deny her by claiming
the victory as his own.  He'd done what he set out
to do - spend the day with her and put her at ease. 
If they never went beyond friendship, he'd just
have to live with it.

"I guess I haven't had enough practice yet with the
mop.  What say we do it again next Sunday?"  He
held his breath while waiting for her answer.

"Nope."  Head down, she finished mopping the empty
dance floor with a side-to-side flair.

"No?  Why not?"

"Because you owe me, mister.  Dinner and a movie,
remember?"  She plopped the mop down in front of
him, her lips curled in a loose, jaunty smile.

Aw, hell, he thought, condemning himself the
instant he looked into those soft, pretty eyes.

His hand trapped hers around the mop handle, his
other going straight to....

"Hey!"  Emma, her hair tumbling about her shoulders
in a cascade of waves, reached for the beret on her
tiptoes.  The indignant flush of her cheeks matched
her tone.  "Give me back my hat!"

"Nope."  Sam, pleased at the picture she made - not
to mention the way her body accidently brushed his
in her agitation - grinned at his coup.  Before
this, he'd only seen her with the whole glorious
mane pinned back or hidden under a hat.  He'd known
Emma was pretty, in a vivacious, kittenish way -
he'd never guessed what a knockout she was until
now, imagining those red locks spread out over a
pillow. *His* pillow, naturally.  "Not until you do
something for me."

Suspicion narrowed her gaze.  "And what's that?"

"Teach me to dance."  All right, so that was one
great big lie.  He knew enough about dancing to
make her head spin as he twirled her around the
floor.  He hadn't hung out in all those smoky bars
without learning a thing or two about what women
liked.

"You already know how to dance.  You danced with me
last night, remember?  Or have all those pine fumes
gone to your head and created another hole?"  She
bit her lip over the last, and an attractive pink
blossomed in her cheeks.  "Sam, I didn't mean to -"

"That's okay, Emma," he said quickly, though he
seized the chance to play on her sympathy a bit. 
"I'm not going to faint away every time you mention
the other holes in my head."

"Still, I apologize.  I should watch my manners,
you know - and my tongue.  It's my biggest fault,
this big mouth of mine."

And her most delectable asset, he decided then and
there.  One he would sample before the afternoon's
end, he promised himself.  Friends, be damned.

He felt like he was strung on a yo-yo, with Emma
wickedly directing his roll up and down.  One
minute, he was burning with lust, the next, playing
the friend.  Just when he'd hit the bottom of the
string and resign himself to being her pal and
nothing else, she'd jerk him back up with a simple
phrase disguised as a snap of her wrist.

He had to get a grip.

"Apology accepted."  He could afford to be
magnanimous in the face of her dismay.  "But only
if you teach me to dance."

The same Sinatra tune that lured him in last night
began to play on the Wurlitzer and he practically
groaned, knowing the last tune in the cycle by
heart now.  He had to work fast.

<The sky fell down, when I met you...>

"Da likes Frankie," Emma explained, seeing Sam's
grimace.  "Says he sings pretty good for an Italian
lad."

"Well, he's not my favorite, but he'll have to do." 
He was more of a Margaret Whiting or Jo Stafford
man.  Or The Andrews Sisters, or Peggy Lee.  A guy
trying to make it with a girl needed inspiration of
the female sort, he'd always found.  Then again, he
needed no inspiration, inclination, or instigation
to want to hold Emma close.  Maybe just a little
more fabrication, as she still looked at him with
some - what else? - trepidation.  "What if I have
to dance with one of the customers?  You saw how
stiff I was last night."

"We don't run an escort service, Sam."

Waving the beret to get her attention back on it
and not on more logical arguments, he said, "Want
your hat back?  Then teach me to dance."  Like
she'd go for that, but it was the only hope he had
left.

"I've got more like it at home."

Christ.  His temper flared; all he wanted was to
wind down the day with a dance.  "I've been working
my ass off all day, Emma -"

"Watch your language."

"- and I'd like to have a bit of fun before you
leave me here all alone.  You're gonna go home and
sit in front of the radio and visit with your dad,
and I'm gonna go upstairs and stare at the ceiling. 
I've done good today - don't I deserve a dance?"

"No touchy-feely stuff?"

"Scout's honor."

"You weren't a Boy Scout."

"How do you know?"

"Because of that whopper of a lie you just told. 
You've been dancing before.  A lot, I'd wager."

"True."  He sighed, lowering his arm.  Emma should
be outlawed on behalf of all men with egos.  "Here
you go."  With a slight pout, he let go of her
hand, shoving her hand back on her head.  "I've
said it before and I'll say it again - you're a
cruel woman, Emma Scully."

He was thankful she didn't push her hair back up
under the beret, though she did move away to lean
the mop against the bar.  "Sam?"

"Yeah?" He picked up the bucket and made for the
kitchen, wondering if he could find a good book
tucked away in that bedroom upstairs.

"Dance with me?"

He froze, the bucket sloshing a bit of water at the
sudden stop.  "Shit," he muttered, setting it down
to wipe at the water on his jeans.  She leaned
against the bar, the beret tilted at an angle, the
one eye visible flashing with good humor.  "What
did you say?"

"You know, I don't remember the last time I danced
- *really* danced.  I was wondering if myy friend
Sam would dance with me."

"Depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On if his friend Emma doesn't mind that he'll have
to hold her kinda close... you know, to show her
what he can do when he cuts a rug.  He wouldn't
want her to think he's putting the moves on her, or
anything."  But God, did he want to hold her in his
arms... without fear of another kick to the shin.

"Oh, she wouldn't think that." Emma walked toward
him, hands behind her back.  "He's too much of a
gentleman to take advantage of her like that, isn't
he?"

"He is."  Funny thing was, he was very much
beginning to act like the gentleman he never had a
chance to be.  Next thing you know, he'd end up
calling on Mike for permission to court his only
daughter, when before he'd just sit outside and
honk.  "Emma, my friend?"

"Yes?"

"Will you dance with me?"

Her hands came up to reach for him.  "I'd like to
very much, Sam."

She felt like down in his arms, all soft and
elusive.  The top of her head barely reached his
shoulder, and that damned beret obscured her face. 
But her hand in his was cool and a bit dry from the
soap she'd used, and he squeezed it, feeling his
warmth enclose her fingers.  A small sigh escaped
her lips after only a few moments.

"This is not going to work."

His heart sank to his toes.  "What isn't?"

"You're too tall."

"You're too short."  Before she could protest and
pull away, he tightened his arm around her back and
lifted.  "Put your feet on mine."

That one eye flashed up, but she did what he asked. 
"This is ridiculous.  I feel like I'm dancing with
Da."

Oh she did, did she?  "I can take care of that." 
With a smile, he swung her about the floor, the
Astaire in him coming to the forefront.  Her
laughter joined his over Sinatra's crooning.

<To be with you just made it seem... that walking
on snowy clouds was not a dream...>

Around and around they went, her hair flying out
from under the beret like a river of red over his
hand.  The perfume that clung to her filled his
head with dangerous thoughts, but he tamped them
down, simply enjoying the way she fit to him like a
glove.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd had
such fun.

"Enough!" she cried, now breathless and totally
pliant.

"Gotta have the big finish," he said, hearing the
tune wind down with sadness.  He promised himself
this would be one dance she'd never forget, as he
slowly came to a stop.

<You gave to me all this and heaven too... when the
sky fell down and I found you...>

At the first hint of the dip to come, Emma
stiffened.  But Sam kept going, gently curving her
back over his arm as his lips parted into a smile. 
"Don't worry, I won't drop you."

"You'd better not."

With a soft 'plop', her beret hit the floor.  The
music faded into silence as Sam held her inches
from his heart.  Her face, still high with color,
was a sight to behold, those eyes as blue as a
winter sky.  He longed to close the distance, to
put his lips to hers and end the dance the proper
way.  The *only* way, his mind screamed.  He was an
instant from doing just that when she started, her
liquid gaze leaving his face to fly away.  "Sam?"

She was pulling back, he knew it.  His arm beneath
her moved to keep her there, his voice a mere
whisper of its former strength.  "What?"

"We have company."  She scrambled from his hold.

Damn Mike and his bad timing, Sam seethed, levering
up to face the certain amusement - or wrath - of
Emma's father.  He hadn't been around long enough
to be sure of anything as far as Mike Scully was
concerned.  Fox obviously got along well with Mike,
but Fox wasn't the one panting after the man's
daughter.

"Good day to you, sir," Emma said, her hand coming
up to smooth her hair.  "Sorry, but the bar's
closed for cleaning."

It wasn't Mike.  It was a skinny, cotton-topped man
in a coat too big for him - almost a boy, really. 
Standing practically on the wet mop still propped
against the bar.  Standing almost on top of them,
actually.  Emma smiled beside Sam, who didn't feel
quite as comfortable about the intrusion as she
did.  Something about the wide, shifting eyes of
the young man spoke of nervousness.  Sam took a
step forward, placing himself between the guy and
Emma.

"You heard her," he said warily, "bar's closed. 
You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Be nice," Emma said softly, putting a hand on his
arm.  "He's probably just looking for a bit of
food.  Isn't that right?"

On second glance, Sam decided the visitor was
definitely a man.  Not a boy, as Emma had assumed. 
Though he looked young with that fair skin and
light hair, he was at least twenty-one.  Old enough
to drink, and old enough to cause trouble, even if
he looked like a scarecrow.  "Emma, go in the
kitchen."

"What?"  She sputtered a bit, searching for her
next protest, when the guy piped up.

"I don't mean nothin' by this, really I don't."

Definitely a man, with a raspy voice that spoke of
time spent outdoors in the cold.  Or in much more
sinister places.  No boy would have that growl,
even if he looked ready to pass out from fright. 
"Emma, go."  But she stood still, looking from Sam
to the other with confusion.

"Sam, do you know this man?"  Confusion, and the
dawning of a real fear.

He didn't think he did.  He certainly didn't
remember a face like that in the things he *could*
recall.  Sam took her arm to shove her away.

"I'm so sorry," the guy said quickly, stuffing his
hands in his pockets.

"Get out," he heard himself answer, all the while
pushing against Emma's refusal to budge.  "There's
no money in the cash register, if that's what
you're after."

The man blinked, his eyes shifting about the empty
room before coming back to rest on Sam.  "I got a
wife and kid, you know.  And I don't mean nothin'
by this, really."

Sam saw it all as if in slow motion.  The man
removing his hand from his pocket.  Hearing the
click of a switchblade, seeing the flash of metal. 

"I don't know why, but I gotta do this."  The
fellow was almost crying.  "Just give me the
money."

Watching the guy lose his footing on the mop,
seeing his arm flail about as he sought balance,
his hand aimed straight for Sam's chest.  Sam
reached up, clamping his free hand around the bony
wrist.

Feeling the blade slide in with a dull numbness.

Hearing Emma scream his name.

A muffled, "shit!" as the guy withdrew, his hand
covered in blood.  The pale disbelief in his eyes
as he jerked out of Sam's hold and back away.

"I didn't mean to hurt nobody!"

Using his other hand to shove Emma to the floor,
far away from danger.  Falling to his knees as his
assailant ran through the front door.

Emma.  Emma.

Seeing her lay so still, her eyes closed, just a
few feet away.

Boneless himself, sagging to the floor.

The rich scent of blood, mixed with the sharp tang
of pine.

Closing his own eyes.

Emma.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Eleven


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


With a groan, Sam rolled over onto his back.  A
slight nudge of nausea in his throat bolted him
upright, and he shook his head, taking a deep
breath to clear the unwelcome feeling.  What the
hell happened?

The front door to the pub creaked to and fro in the
blustery wind, scattering sunlight over the shiny
floor.  Silence crept around him as he propped on
one hand, hanging his head.  A flash of white on
green caught his eye... Emma!

He crawled to her side, a litany of muttered curses
streaming from his mouth.  Carefully, he swept the
hair from her too-white face.  His hands, his
shaking, oversized paws, tried to keep from hurting
her as he rolled her over.  He hissed at the way
her small body fell limp into his embrace - stupid,
stupid!  God, had she hit her head?  Was she still
breathing?

"Emma," he choked out, cradling her like the most
precious of things.  "Emma, wake up.  Please."

He touched her face, her neck, spread his fingers
over her heart as he bent his head.  The steady
beat satisfied his somewhat, as did her soft exhale
against his cheek.  But he wouldn't be calmed until
she opened her eyes.

"God, Emma... wake up.  Please, sweetheart - don't
do this to me."  Over and over, he begged her to
open her eyes.  He prayed to a God he'd not given
much thought to in years, vowing to change his ways
once and for all if she'd just wake up.  "God,
please, let her wake up."

"Mmm..."

He caught his breath at the sound.  "Emma?"

Her head lolled on his arm and her eyebrows pinched
in a prelude to full awareness.  Her lips, starkly
red in an otherwise pale face, parted on a sigh. 
"Sam?"

A swift exhale punctuated his trembling smile as
her eyes opened.  Not quite back to normal, they
slowly drifted in a blue daze.  "Hey," he breathed,
"welcome back."

He saw the exact moment her faculties returned, as
she looked up with a piercing stare.  "Sam?"  Her
hand came up to cradle his cheek.  Her fingers were
still cold, and he covered them with his own,
willing his warmth into her body as his smile
cracked a bit with emotion.

"You scared me," he said.  Was that his voice?  It
sounded like a scratchy record.  "Are you okay?"

Her gaze searched his face with a bit of confusion. 
"I'm fine."  Suddenly, he found himself face-to-
face with a very aware Emma, as she sat up, her
hands going to his stained shirt.  "Oh God, Sam -
you're hurt!"

"Emma -" He tried to stall her frantic inspection,
to no avail.

"Let me see!  Sam, oh Sam... God, please -"

He let her lift his pullover, and winced at the
feel of her fingers on his flesh.  "I'm okay,
Emma," he said with soft insistence, though she
seemed not to hear him, her head bent to look.  She
bit back a choked sob at his hiss of displeasure.

"No you're not - I saw - I saw -" She couldn't get
the words past her lips, and he let her poke
around, knowing she wouldn't be satisfied until
she'd seen for herself.  "What -?"

"You know, for a nurse, you have mighty cold
fingers," he quipped, seeking to ease her tension. 
He was more worried about the fact he'd had to pick
her up from the floor like she was gone from him
forever.  The agony he'd felt seeing her limp form
stayed with him still, and he used gentle fingers
to lift her chin, as well as assure himself she was
unhurt.  "I'm okay, Emma," he said again, this time
looking into her eyes with solemn promise.

"But the blood... your shirt is stained!  I saw
him... the knife... I saw!" Her eyes filled with
tears, as if she relived the moment.

"You felt for yourself, Emma.  He didn't stab me,"
Sam insisted.  "The fool most likely cut himself
with his own knife.  That's the blood you see. 
His, not mine."

He could have kissed her then and there, watching
the way her lower lip trembled in an effort to
maintain her composure.  She had a strong will and
later, when her fiery, proud nature took hold once
again, she was liable to pounce on him for scaring
her that way - and extract a promise to never say a
word about her fright, especially to her father. 
He wouldn't, of course.  He knew she needed to be
strong in front of the world, and he'd never deny
her the dignity she wrapped around her like armor.

But all that flew straight from his head in the
next shocking instant.  All worry, all doubt, all
sanity - all promises of friendship and distance
gone the moment her lips touched his.

The kiss he so badly wanted, she gave him, her arms
curling around his neck with almost-desperation. 
For a second or two he stiffened, shock at her
overture immobilizing him.  It was as if she'd
jumped into the Severn in the middle of January, he
was so surprised at what she'd done.  She was a
kitten suddenly transforming into a tiger, her
teeth bumping against his as she sought entrance to
his mouth.

Still, her kiss was awkward, as if she'd not had
much practice.  He wasn't surprised by that - Emma
had 'innocent' practically stamped on her forehead,
despite her sharp tongue and bright intelligence. 
He should stop her, he thought.  Pull away and
laugh it off as leftover anxiety, giving her back
that dignity he vowed just moments ago never to
strip from her.

But he could no more stop his starving response
than he could stop breathing.  He took what she
offered with all his being, opening to her kiss
with a storm of feeling.  Under his pressure, she
whimpered in the back of her throat, and he
gentled, plying with lips and tongue as he recalled
this was Emma.  Emma, who, in other times, he
wouldn't have used in such a lustful manner.  Oh,
he would have been attracted to her certainly.  But
never would he have applied his calculated
seduction.  She was too cautious, too warm and
unknowing to treat like a more worldly woman.

She tasted like no other woman before her. 
Bringing his hand to her damp cheeks, he left her
for a moment, savoring the feel of her lips with
closed eyes.  It wasn't enough; with a groan of her
name, he came back.  She was home to him - all
things familiar and favored.  He kissed her as if
he'd known her all his life, as if he'd loved her
forever.

This time he bent her over his arm, protecting her
from the evils beyond their embrace.  She was more
precious to him than his own life, and he wanted
nothing more than to worship her in the only way he
knew how....

"What the devil?"  A harsh voice broke into the
miasma of desire.  "What in Hades happened here?"


**********


Emma pulled away from Sam, reality intruding in the
form of her father's gruff entrance.  With a
muttered, "Saints preserve us," she scrambled to
her feet, ignoring Sam's gaze, though she felt it
follow her retreat.  How was she to explain this?

She'd practically thrown herself at the man.  If
her father wasn't present, she'd curse, using words
even she and Dana were afraid to say aloud.  Her
father!  Dear God, had he seen her make a hussy of
herself with Sam?

On her feet at last, she turned to face his wrath. 
But in the next instant, she realized he'd seen
nothing - the curved edge of the bar by the door
had blocked his view.  Still, he looked like he'd
seen a ghost, and it wasn't until she looked down
she understood why.

Mike stood in the door, a bloodied knife in his
hand.  "Emma!" he nearly shouted, stepping over the
fallen mop to round the bar.  "Girl, are you okay? 
Emma, answer me!"  He was at her side before she
found her voice.

"I'm fine, Da."  She smoothed the sodden apron with
a shaky hand.  Still reeling from the events of the
last five minutes, she noted absently the
overturned bucket.  Water pooled at her feet, and
the sheer effort of looking down at the flood
drained her.

"Whoa, girl, take it easy."  Her father dropped the
knife and took her arm, gently steering her to the
kitchen, where he sat her in a chair.  "Tell me
what happened."  He ran to the sink and returned
with a glass of water, which she took gratefully.

Between sips, she told him of their unwelcome
visitor, how the man had meant to rob them until
Sam stepped in the middle of the conversation.

"I thought he'd been hurt, Da," she whispered,
still unable to believe Sam had escaped harm.  "I
guess I must have fallen down.  I don't remember
much after that."

"That's because you passed out."

Sam stood in the kitchen doorway, hands in pockets. 
Even with the distance separating them, Emma saw
his eyes were a dark, stormy gray, very unlike
their usual soft, changeable hazel.  He didn't
waver in his stare, the look he gave her somber yet
challenging.  Deny me, it said.  Pretend it didn't
happen.

God, she couldn't deal with him right now, she
thought, as she lowered her chin to break the hold
of his gaze.  It was bad enough she'd thought he'd
been hurt.  Now, his whole demeanor spoke of his
intention to discuss what had happened afterward. 
And worse, to take up where they'd left off.  Thank
goodness for her father's interruption - and even
more so, for his steady presence at her side since
then.

"Is that true, Emma?"  Mike crouched before her,
taking both her hands in his.  "Are you hurt,
girl?"

"No, Da - I'm not hurt.  And I didn't pass out." 
Actually, she didn't know what had happened, but
she wasn't one for fainting, never had been.  She
had the constitution of an ox; it had served her
well in the Emergency Room.

"I couldn't wake you up."  Sam again, this time
with an impatience that spoke of his concern for
her.  She wondered if that was truly the case - or
did he just want to hurry things along so they
could talk?

"Did you hit your head when you fell, Emma?  Maybe
I should take you to the hospital for -"

"No!"  She raised her head in a panic, not wanting
to cause her father any anguish with a trip to the
hospital.  "I told you I was fine, Da.  Maybe it
was just the shock of it all.  He looked like such
a nice boy."

"A nice boy with a switchblade," Sam muttered.

Mike stood and faced Sam.  "You're all bloody, lad. 
You sure you weren't hurt?"

"I'm okay, Mike.  I think the guy slipped up and
caught his own palm with the knife."  Sam sighed,
and Emma knew by the sound he'd temporarily given
up his pursuit of her.  Her suspicions were
confirmed when he added, "I'm going to call the
police, Mike.  The guy's probably long gone by now,
but we need to report it."

"Sure, lad.  I'll sit with Emma.  Lock the front
door just in case, okay?"

Emma heard Sam leave the doorway, but only after
feeling the burn of his gaze sweep over her one
more time.  No way was he letting her leave there
without a word or two, she could see it coming. 
She hated to do it, but maybe it was time to play
on her father's sympathy.

"Da?"

"Yes, love?"  Mike pulled out another chair to sit
close beside her.  One arm came around her
shoulders and she leaned into his embrace with a
sigh.

"After you speak to the police, can we go home?"

"Sure you don't want me to take you to see a
doctor?"

"I'm just tired, Da.  It's been a long day.  I
never thought anyone would ever try to steal from
us, or hurt us.  It's upsetting."

"To say the least," Mike agreed, giving her a
reassuring hug.  "Every one in the town knows the
Scullys - if they need, all they have to do is
ask."

"He looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in
days, Da," she whispered.  "I offered to get him
something to eat, but it was like he didn't hear
me.  He kept saying how sorry he was, but he had to
do it.  He needed money.  I don't know how anyone
could do that to you... to *steal* from you."

"Maybe he was new in town, Emma."  She felt a soft,
trembling kiss brush her forehead.  "Doesn't
matter.  All that matters is you're safe, girl. 
'Tis a good thing Sam was here.  If you'd been
alone...." He broke off, his stoicism suffering a
bit from emotional upset, as if he'd finally
realized how disastrous the afternoon could have
turned out.

"But I wasn't, Da."  Emma took his hand; his
fingers wrapped around hers in a viselike grip, but
she didn't complain.  For all his gruff manner and
courageous front, her father was very susceptible
to fear, just like everyone else.  "Sam was here." 
Just in case her father had seen more than he
should have, she added, "He's a good man, Da."

"That he is, Emma.  I owe him one after this, that
I do."

Her father wasn't the only one who owed Sam.  But
he *was* the only one likely to get off with light
payment.


**********


His brother made it to the pub right after the
police arrived.  Of course, it was just like Fox to
tear up the road to see for himself Sam was okay,
even though Sam had told him not to worry.  He'd
debated even calling Fox, but knew it wouldn't do
to have his brother hearing the news from someone
else.

Sam sat at the bar, listening with half an ear to
the cops murmur to one another as they looked
around for any evidence.  The knife had been picked
up, but that was about it for anything to point a
finger in the guy's direction.  And even then, Mike
had touched it, so it was likely any fingerprints
would be useless.  So much for catching the bad
guy, Sam thought as he sipped at a glass of water.

Fox, after checking on him with a concerned glance
at the stained shirt, was in the kitchen with Mike
and Emma.  Sam hadn't wanted to call Fox, mainly
because he knew exactly what he'd hear.  Just one
day out from under his brother's watchful guard and
he fell into trouble, even if none of it was his
fault.  It didn't matter what Fox would lay on him
when he returned from the kitchen - he wasn't
giving up this job, nor was he moving back to that
cozy little house of his brother's.  In Sam's mind,
he was now on his own, and it would stay that way
until Mike kicked him out.

Or Emma made her father get rid of him with a wild
tale of unwanted sexual advances.

No, she wasn't the type to invent stories, not even
to save herself from embarrassment or
confrontation.  And there *would* be a showdown
between the two of them, that much he was sure of. 
She could avoid him all she wanted, put her father
before him like a big, brawny roadblock, or pretend
nothing had happened on the floor altogether - but
he damned well was not going to rest until they
talked about that kiss.

That wasn't a kiss between two friends, not by a
long shot.  She couldn't look him in the eye and
tell him any differently without looking like a
fool.  He could hardly wait until he had her alone
again.  Knowing her agile mind, she'd be prepared
with a list of reasons explaining her behavior,
none of which would satisfy him until she admitted
what he'd known from the beginning - they were hot
for each other.  That it took a near brush with
injury or death to bring it out wasn't unusual;
they were both strong people unwilling to give in
unless prodded a bit by extenuating circumstances.

In this case, a bloody shirt and a dead faint.

"Sam?"

Fox appeared at his side, and Sam looked up with a
steady stare.  "Don't say it, because I'm not going
anywhere."

"I know you aren't."  Fox slumped into the stool
beside him, his long arms paralleling Sam's as they
stretched out in front of him.  "It would do no
good for us to argue about it, so I won't even
try."

Sam swallowed down the lump of panic that had
shoved up his throat at Fox's return.  He'd been
prepared to argue until doomsday, though he'd not
really felt up to it; he was glad Fox realized the
futility of an argument.  Or maybe not, as his
brother faced him with a narrowed gaze.  "I will
say this, however - stop acting like Superman."

"What?"

"You heard me.  From what Emma says, you told the
guy to beat it, even though he'd drawn a knife on
you.  You're lucky he didn't gut you right there,
you idiot.  Next time, give him the God damned
money."

"He drew the knife *after* I told him to get lost," 
Sam answered with a sniff of pride.  "And it wasn't
my money to give - it was Mike's."

"I don't give a shit whose money it was!"  After a
glance at the officer behind them, Fox lowered his
voice as he leaned it to drive his point home. 
"This isn't high school, Sam.  You can't intimidate
the smaller kids with your size anymore.  And it
damn well isn't the army, where you had a dozen men
ready to back you up with rifles.  That guy could
have killed you in a second, and then gone for
Emma."

Sam swallowed at the image, staying silent.

"It's time you learned you can't always be the
winner, Sam.  There will be times you'll have to
back down, times you'll have to walk away.  This
was one of them.  You were lucky this time.  Next
time you may not be so lucky."

Still, Sam couldn't shake the last traces of
obstinance.  "All he had was a knife, Smokey.  I've
faced down knives before."

Fox threw up his hands with a huff.  "Don't
'Smokey' me, you lamebrain.  Next thing you'll be
telling me is that you've beaten bullets.  Superman
lives only in the comics, Sam."  He pinched at the
blood-stained shirt, rising from his stool. 
"Remember that."  He nodded to the police officer,
then walked out.

Sam sat, pondering his brother's warning with a
yearning for a shot of whiskey.  Damn it, he'd
saved the girl *and* the pub - wasn't that worth
even a nod of recognition?  Instead, all he'd
gotten so far was the brush off from Mike and an
ass-chewing from Fox.  He would never have put Emma
in any danger; it had all happened so fast, he
didn't have time to think.  If he'd had a moment's
thought, maybe he would have just given over the
money and suffered the humiliation of cowardice. 
But he hadn't, and what's done was done.  Fox
should thank him instead of jumping on him.

"Sam?  We're leaving now."

He looked up to see Mike standing beside him. 
"Where's Emma?"

"Already in my car - I'm driving her home.  I'll
send Jaime over later for her vehicle.  She's still
not quite calm enough to drive, I think."

Craning his neck around Mike's bulky form, Sam saw
her sitting in the front passenger seat.  Well, he
hadn't expected her to stop and chat, but the least
she could have done was say good night.  He got up
from the stool with a sigh.  "She okay?"

"Right as rain, thanks to you, son."

Except she wouldn't even look in his direction,
though she was bound to know he was staring out the
window at her - what a little coward.  They were
going to have it out, and soon, he promised
himself.

The lights of the patrol cars faded away as the
cops left; he hadn't even noticed their departure. 
"Then that's it?  What did they say?"

"They likely won't catch the guy," Mike replied. 
"They get a call or two like this around Christmas
every year.  People tend to need money more, so
they get it any way they can.  What's this world
comin' to?"  He wrapped his coat tighter around
him, then extended his hand.  "Well, it's glad I am
you're here, lad.  You done good today."

It was about time someone congratulated him on his
heroics.  Sam took Mike's hand with a small smile. 
"Thanks.  I'm glad I was here too, Mike."

The older man smiled in return, then leaned closer
as his smile became guarded.  "Next time, though -
let him have the money, lad.  I don't leave all
that much in the cash register, and it's not worth
losing your life over, you ken?"

Sam looked at his boss with a lopsided grin,
wondering if maybe there was something to be said
for backing down from a fight.  "Fox just told me
the same thing."

"Your brother's a smart man.  Not that you aren't,
Sam.  But I'd hate to see you throw away something
fine for something worthless like pride."

In the deepening dusk outside, Sam could barely
make out Emma's profile as she sat in her father's
car.  Even pale as she still was, she made him want
to shake her for running out that way without
giving him a chance to talk to her.

"She's a good woman, Sam."

He dragged his eyes from their single-minded stare
out the window to face a solemn Mike.  Of course -
Mike had noticed him looking at Emma.  Damn, he'd
probably seen every little thing between the two of
them in Sam's face, maybe even had seen the liplock
on the floor.  Would he now get the third degree
from a protective father?  He supposed he deserved
it, and he straightened his shoulders, bracing for
the lecture.  But not before he put in his two
cents on the subject.  "She is," he agreed.  "A
good, *grown* woman."

"Now don't be getting all roostered up on me, lad,"
Mike chuckled, reaching into his pocket for his
keys.  "It's not my business what's between you
two... until you *make* it my business by hurting
her.  You understand?"

"I'd never hurt Emma, Mike."

"I know you wouldn't, Sam.  A word of warning,
though, about my little Emma... she's very
headstrong.  She won't be pushed into anything by
anyone."  Mike winked, pulling down the brim of his
hat.  "Sometimes all it takes with her is a bit of
space.  Some time to come around.  See that you
remember that."  Whistling, he left the pub.

Sam stood inside the closed door, slamming the lock
home as he watched the two of them drive away.

Headstrong, stubborn, just plain hardheaded. 
Whatever word you put to it, it fit Emma to a 'T'. 
What she hadn't yet realized was that he shared
that same trait.

And the battle was just beginning.


**********


Emma breathed her first relaxed breath as they
rounded the corner.  It was cowardly of her to slip
by Sam, leaving her father to bid him good night
and thanks, but she needed some room.  

"Nice night."

Lovely.  Her father sat behind the wheel, whistling
a little Irish ditty like the day was just another
uneventful Sunday.  His comment on the night was
sure to be followed by another, more probing
statement.  Then another, and another, until he
finally got around to the subject he *really*
wanted to discuss.  She wasn't in the mood for it,
and let him know it.

"Okay, spill it."

"Spill what?"  He kept foot to the pedal and his
eyes on the road, but his voice slowed to a drawl. 
"Seems to me you did a nice enough job of that with
the mop water."  His face cracked into a disarming
smile, and she couldn't help but grin along with
him.  Maybe she was being paranoid about the whole
scene with Sam.  If her father hadn't commented on
it yet, that meant he hadn't seen it all.  No way
could Michael Aloysius Scully hold his tongue about
his children's lives if he felt compelled to do so
- and her throwing herself at Sam that waay surely
would have qualified for a little of Mike Scully's
concern, as well as a bit of fatherly ribbing.

"We did, didn't we?" she answered, smoothing her
coat over her lap with a wistful look.  She was
tired and she knew her father sensed her need for
some calm, bless him.  She could tell the afternoon
had unsettled him; though the tension of before had
faded from his face, he still glanced her way now
and then as if he expected her to go into another
faint at any second.

"Emma?"

"Yes, Da?"

"I know I don't tell you nearly often enough... but
I love you, girl."

Now she really was going to cry; her father was
blustery and he easily spouted platitudes to her
so-called beauty and charm, but he wasn't the
emotional sort who used words like 'love' lightly. 
He really must have gotten a scare today, she
thought.

"I love you too, Da."  She put her hand on his arm. 
"I know I scared you today, but I'm all right,
really I am."

"Me poor heart fairly stopped when I saw that
knife, Emma."  His gruff statement echoed her own
sentiment, as she recalled the way she'd seen the
knife sweep down toward Sam.

She was so sure he'd been stabbed.  The awful
feeling of dread still lingered, and she forced it
away, unwilling to let her father dwell on it by
adding to his fear with a remark about Sam. 
Instead, she smiled, giving him a bit of sunshine.

"Look at it this way, Da - we've had our bit of bad
luck for the year."  Her father, the oldest of
three brothers, had spent his youth in Ireland
before emigrating to the States with his family;
her uncles Bill and James were young at the time,
but Mike Scully had spent enough time in the
motherland for superstition to take hold.  Emma,
while never believing in omens like black cats and
birds, respected her father's beliefs and sought to
ease them whenever possible.

"Let's hope so, Emmagirl," he replied softly. 
"Let's hope so."


**********


Sam trudged up the stairs in near darkness,
suddenly tired beyond belief.  The day's near
disaster had drained him, and he wanted nothing
more than to get out of his stained clothes and
shower before hitting the sack.

He pulled the string above the sink in the tiny
bathroom, wincing at the blare of light.  The face
in the mirror had a shadow of stubble and the eyes
were a bit haunted, but he didn't feel like
shaving.  There was time for that tomorrow.  The
splash of red on his shirt caught his eye; his hand
came up to touch the stiff stain.  Slowly, he
raised the hem of the shirt.

Nothing.  The skin beneath it was smooth.  He still
felt the blade pierce him, but maybe it had been
nothing more than leftover anxiety from the past
few days.  After all, no one could blame him for
being a little antsy since he had no idea what his
life had been like for the past two years.  The guy
with the knife hadn't acted like he knew Sam, but
these days, he couldn't be sure.  Maybe he'd made
many enemies he knew nothing of anymore.

Or maybe he was just going crazy, like he feared
would happen at any second.

He relaxed, hanging his head with embarrassment,
though there was no one around to see.  What a
dope, he told himself.  He hadn't been stabbed,
there were no wiseguys lurking around every corner. 
He really needed to lighten up.

Pulling the sweatshirt over his head, he turned for
the bathtub then stilled, feeling his heart jump in
his chest.  His hand caught in the folds of the
shirt and he felt a brush of cooler air caress the
tip of one finger.  Bringing the fabric up to the
light, he squinted at the stain that marred the 'L'
in Yale.

One finger poked out through the red, waving at him
like a caterpillar popping up from red dirt.  A
perfect slit in the material surrounded that
finger, and his mouth went dry.

The cut was the size of a switchblade knife.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twelve


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Emma stirred milk into her coffee, giving Dana a
smile.  "You mean Fox *still* hasn't painted the
nursery?"

Her cousin shifted on the sofa with a pained sigh. 
"No, and I'm afraid he won't ever get around to it. 
We have just a little over a month left to go, you
know.  With the holidays coming up and this
business with Sam, he's running around like a
chicken with his neck cut off."  Dana winked,
sipping at her tea.  "Of course, he never could sit
still for more than five minutes at a time,
especially when he latches on to something a bit
more interesting than yellow paint and wallpaper
with lambs on it."

"True.  Your husband is one easily excited fellow,
isn't he?"  Emma laughed along with Dana, enjoying
their visit.

It was Friday morning, and she'd made her weekly
trip to Dana's with a light step.  She'd seen hide
nor hair of Sam since Sunday, which helped her get
back to a normal routine.  Work took up her
evenings and her father hadn't asked her to pitch
in during the day at the pub, claiming Sam was a
natural born worker when it came to running the
bar.  He even helped out in the kitchen when
necessary, and kept things running smoothly.  Of
course, the pub's business picked up on the
weekend, and she dreaded tomorrow night, when she'd
have to face Sam after a week's respite.  Later,
she'd think about that later.  Right now, she
planned on spending a bit of time with her favorite
cousin without thinking of what awaited her in the
form of Sam Mulder.

"Well, at least he had one of his questions
answered Monday," Dana said softly, her laughter
dying.

"What's that?"  Emma was disturbed by Dana's
serious tone.

"Sam *is* Sam, according to his fingerprints. 
Mulder confirmed it Monday through the Department
of Defense.  He also started the paperwork to bring
Sam back 'from the dead', though I don't know how
he'll ever explain it all to their satisfaction." 
Dana sighed, a worried crease coming to her brow. 
"I worry about him, Emma."

"You're not going to start with this Chang business
again, are you?"  Emma worried more about Dana than
Fox; she was looking somehow very fragile these
days, and she needed to stop thinking of Sam's
return as more than it was.  The world wasn't that
awful of a place in Emma's mind, even if she'd
escaped a brush with death Sunday afternoon at the
hands of a boyish lunatic.  Dana needed to realize
that sometimes, it took time for the world to right
itself.

All Emma had needed was a week.  Even if she
planned to upset the apple cart a bit by telling
Sam he didn't have to honor their bet, she figured
that, once done, she'd still be satisfied at the
way she'd regained her balance.

"Doesn't it seem odd to you that all these years,
your father's pub has never been robbed?  Then
suddenly - the first day Sam works there - someone
tries to do just that?"

Emma felt the blood drain from her face.  "You're
not saying Sam set that up, are you?  Because if
you are, I'll have to draw the line at that, Dana. 
He saved the pub.  He saved *me* from that knife by
putting himself between me and that man."

"From what Mulder tells me, the guy slipped on the
wet mop.  Didn't seem like he wanted to hurt either
of you at all, but he almost did by accident."

"And this means what?"  Emma was getting perturbed
by Dana's implication that Sam was something other
than the long lost brother.  She may not care to be
around him, but Sam was a decent guy - not the sort
to conspire with criminals.  "That the guy was an
incompetent fool?  I fail to see any other
explanation."

"I know you're getting tired of my paranoia, Emma." 
Dana set her cup on the side table with a sigh. 
"But I feel something's not right about Sam.  I
just can't put my finger on it."

Actually, Sam unsettled Emma in much the same
fashion, but for more obvious reasons.  Just being
in the same room with the guy made her all nervous,
even when he treated her as nothing more than a
friend.  And that kiss - well, she *still* hadn't
quite decided what to do about that, other than
ignore it.  Sam wasn't going to let it go easily,
she knew.  But there was plenty of time yet to
think of that, as Emma looked at her cousin's
troubled face.  She didn't know what to tell Dana
to set her mind to rest, but she had to try.

"I admit his return home after all these years is
rather weird," she began, picking her words
carefully.  "But seriously, Dana - you can't be
thinking he's into something criminal, especially
where you and Fox are concerned.  He spent his
first night out of the hospital with you both,
didn't he?  Surely if he meant to harm either of
you, he'd have done it then."

"You have a point," Dana said softly, meeting
Emma's gaze with a relenting smile.  "He had his
chance, didn't he?  He could have let an army in
the house without us knowing or being able to put
up any kind of fight."

"There - see?" Emma took Dana's hand and gave it a
reassuring squeeze.  "I think the way Sam came back
has put you off a bit, that's all.  It's not every
day a man thought dead comes home, now is it?"

"You're right.  I'm just nervous, that's all.  Must
be because of the baby."

"You have a right to be nervous, Dana.  You have
every right to protect your family and your home,
and deliver that child safe and sound.  With all
you've been through the last few years, I'd say you
have the most right of us all to be a bit wary of
strangers.  And Sam *is* a stranger to you.  To me
as well.  If it's any consolation, Da seems to like
him, and Da is a very good judge of character."

"He is, isn't he?"  Hope spread over Dana's face. 
"Uncle Mike has said good things about Sam?"

"Has he!  You'd think the sun rose and set in the
Sam's face, according to Da."  Actually, her father
had toned down the 'Sam praising' the last couple
of days, as compared to the first part of the week. 
Maybe that had something to do with the fact she
began to walk out of the room when her father
started up on the subject.  But she had to admit
her father wasn't just laying it on thick for
Emma's benefit; from all appearances, Sam was a
hard worker who made it possible for her father to
come home a bit early every night, usually by the
time she herself came home, which was unusual. 
Mike Scully wouldn't turn over the management of
his business to a man who wasn't on the up and up. 
"Sam can do no wrong by Da, Dana.  And I believe
him when he says Sam is a good man."

"I'm trying hard to believe, Emma, I really am. 
For Mulder's sake.  But some of the things he's
told me about Sam make me nervous."

It wasn't in Emma's nature to gossip, but the way
Dana said the last caused a prickle of alarm to
snake up her spine.  This was the man her father
had entrusted to take up the slack at the pub, and
if there was anything shady in Sam's past, it was
in their best interests for it to come out.  "Like
what?"

"Mulder didn't want Sam working at the pub, you
know.  He'd lined up a job with Frohike, one Sam
didn't want."

Emma knew Melvin Frohike in passing; he was a good
man, and totally devoted to Melissa.  But he was a
bit of a stuffed shirt and she couldn't picture Sam
working in Melvin's huge office.  Sitting at a desk
in a suit and tie was not Sam's thing, and she
understood why he'd refused the job his brother had
arranged.  "Why didn't Mulder want Sam in the pub,
Dana?  It's good work, and from what I've seen, he
knows what he's doing."

"That's just it," Dana said softly, apparently
uncomfortable with the direction their talk was
taking, as she looked away.  "Mulder says Sam used
to have a bit of a problem with liquor.  Sam was a
regular hellraiser when he was younger, and when he
got drunk, it got worse."

Emma gasped, picturing Sam as a bully.  Or worse -
as a man who couldn't keep control of his anger. 
Those types were trouble.  But not Sam, surely? 
He'd been nothing but gentle with her, with the
exception of his outburst upon seeing Dana.  That
was understandable; in fact, he hadn't taken long
to calm down, and had been duly apologetic
afterward.  However, she had to know, even if the
answer contradicted the man she knew.  "He was
abusive?"

"Toward his family?  No," Dana quickly corrected
Emma's thinking.  "More toward himself.  He had a
great career ahead of him as a baseball player,
Emma.  Mulder thinks he would have gone far, all
the way to the major leagues.  But Sam and Bill
Mulder didn't quite see eye to eye.  When Mulder's
father would push Sam too much, Sam would
retaliate.  Mulder had to bail him out of trouble
many times... most of the time, it was because Sam
was drunk.  He'd go looking for a fight - and
usually, he had no trouble finding one.  Mulder
won't tell me why Sam tried to destroy himself that
way.  Maybe Mulder doesn't know himself.  In any
case, Sam and alcohol don't mix."

The portrait Dana painted bore no resemblance to
the Sam Emma had come to know.  She'd seen many a
man lose himself to the pull of alcohol, just like
her father, who steadfastly refused to serve men
who couldn't handle their liquor.  It was true Sam
didn't even sneak a sip of beer while bartending,
according to her father, who didn't mind taking a
sip or two now and then even when he was working. 
Mike Scully would have spotted the lush in Sam
immediately, and canned him in a heartbeat.

"As far as I know, Sam's not taken a drink since he
came to work for Da."  Not even after work hours;
no way could Sam hide it from her father, who kept
a close eye on his inventory.  Besides, if Sam was
drinking on the sly, they'd know it.  Red-rimmed
eyes, the ever present smell of alcohol, the
general lethargy would be red flags... and Sam had
exhibited none of the behavior.

"He swore to Mulder he'd given it up, that first
night he worked at the pub."

Mulder had confronted Sam about it?  Of course he
would - she would have done the same with any of
her brothers.

"Sam promised all that was past, and Mulder trusts
him to keep him promise."  Dana looked at Emma with
a question in her eyes, asking very much the same
from her.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Emma promised.

"I wouldn't want you to tell anyone else this,
Emma.  Not even Uncle Mike.  Mulder would kill me
if he knew I told you."

"Why would I be telling Da?  If Sam ever drinks to
the extent you make it out to be, Da will know. 
And good man or not, Sam would be gone."

"I just don't want Mulder hurt any more than he has
been, Emma.  He worries about Sam constantly, but
he knows Sam is a grown man who can take care of
himself.  But if you or your father see any sign of
Sam doing something he's not supposed to, I want
you to tell me, not Mulder."

"You?  What can you possibly do?"

"Soften the blow for Mulder.  Make him see that
Sam's problems are not his any longer."  A slight
fierceness came to her face.  "Or I could simply
kick my brother-in-law's backside myself."

Emma snorted.  "As if you're in any shape to do
that."

Dana ran a hand over her stomach.  "Well, maybe
not.  But I know a few men who could beat some
sense into Sam - all I have to do is make a few
phone calls.  Charlie, Commander Skinner -"

"Aidan, Joseph, Tommy," Emma supplied with a
glimmer of mirth.

"While we're at it, Emma - let's go for the gold,"
Dana said with a laugh.  "No doubt Bill Junior
would love to get his hands on Sam.  If he can't
throttle Mulder, that would be the next best thing,
don't you think?"

"I'd pay good money to see Old Elmer stick it to
Sam." Emma's dry remark made Dana pause, and Emma
could have kicked her own butt for saying such a
thing - words designed to pique Dana's curiosity. 
She wasn't wrong either, as Dana gave her a
sidelong glance.

"Has he done anything to upset you, Emma?  I
thought you said he was a good man."

Oh great, Emma thought.  Just when she'd gotten
Dana past the point of suspicion, she had to open
her big mouth.  With a sigh she answered, "No.  He
*is* a good man.  Way too good at most things."

Like flirting.  Like looking at her with those
amazing eyes like she was the best thing since
sliced bread.  Like kissing her until her toes
curled in her shoes.

"Ah, I see."

"You see what?"  She hadn't given anything away,
she just knew she hadn't.  Dana couldn't possibly
know the turmoil in her heart right now, all of it
due to Sam Mulder.

"You keep forgetting something, Emma."

"What's that?"

"I've been on the receiving end of that famous
Mulder charm as well.  Deadly, I tell you. 
Deadly."  Dana's eyes twinkled.  "So, where's he
taking you on your first date?"

"Dinner and a movie," she blurted out, then looked
up with horror.  She couldn't *believe* she'd let
that slip!  "But it's not a date, not really.  You
see, we had a bet on who would finish cleaning the
pub first and you know me, I can't back down from a
challenge, and besides, Sam is just too cocky for
his own good and... and..." Her mouth pursed at
Dana's look.  "Stop looking at me like that.  It's
*not* a date.  It's just dinner and a movie.  You
know how I like movies."

Dana rose from the couch with a bit of difficulty,
waving off Emma's offered hand of help.  "Well, at
least he's more romantic than some.  He's not
cornering you in a cabin in the woods, is he?."

"What?"  Sam, romantic?  Emma had the feeling Sam's
idea of romance ran toward a bottle of gin and the
back seat of a car.  Mentally, she chastised
herself.  It wasn't fair to judge Sam that way,
especially when she'd beg off the chance to find
out if she got her way.

"Nothing.  Want some more coffee?"  Dana's voice
trailed behind her as she walked into the kitchen. 
"Or would you rather I call Bill Junior and have
him wipe the floor with Sam to save you from the
unspeakable horror of a date that's not really a
date?"

Emma followed her cousin into the kitchen,
pondering the suggestion.  It would solve all her
problems, really.  Not that she'd ever have Sam
beat up to get him to stop chasing after her....

"Emma!"

"What?" She looked up into Dana's horrified face
with a blank look.

"That was a joke, Emma," Dana warned with a black
look.

"I know it was, silly," she replied, walking to the
stove.  "Siccing Bill Junior on him probably
wouldn't do any good, anyway.  Sam's got it in his
mind - well, let's just say I don't think Sam lets
anything stop him once he has his mind made up. 
Not even Old Elmer sticking it to him."

Dana rinsed out her cup, throwing over her
shoulder, "He's after you like white on rice, is
that it?  I could always get Mulder to talk to him,
to make him back off."

"Don't!"  Another slip-up; this time, Emma felt her
face color with embarrassment.  She turned away
from Dana, making a production out of adding sugar
and milk to her coffee.  "I mean, it's nothing,
really.  Sam and I are friends, and friends we'll
stay.  I'm not a Scully for nothing, you know.  I'm
a grown woman and I can handle myself... and Sam
Mulder."

Dana turned, wiping her hands on a dish towel.  "I
said something similar once to Charlie... right
after he caught me naked on the couch with Mulder." 
She spread her hands, making a show of her belly. 
"And look where *I* ended up."

"You and Mulder were -" Emma's blush compounded
into a furious tide of red that she felt tingle all
over her scalp.  "When?  Where?"

"Oh, Mulder wasn't naked.  Not totally, anyway. 
And it was on the living room couch at Mom and
Dad's.  Right before Charlie got married."

"But - but you didn't meet Mulder until a few days
before the wedding.  How -?"

"Can things happen that fast?  They do, believe me. 
And if Sam is half the charmer Mulder is, then
you'd better prepare yourself."

Half the charmer Mulder was.  And Mulder, in Emma's
opinion, had one-tenth of Sam's charm.  She was in
serious trouble.

"Dear Lord," she breathed, the full impact of what
was happening hitting her like a ton of bricks. 
She sat at the kitchen table, sloshing her coffee
over Dana's fine white tablecloth.  "Oh, God, I'm
so sorry, Dana."

Her cousin was beside her in an instant, mopping up
the mess.  "It'll wash."  Dana pulled up a chair
beside her, laying a hand on her arm.  "This is
really serious, isn't it?  This thing between you
and Sam."

"No, it isn't," she stumbled through her reply, "at
least I don't think it is.  I mean, we've only ever
kissed once.  It was a nice kiss, but it was right
after the attempted robbery and we both know it was
the result of relief.  I've only known the man for
a week, for God's sake!"

"I married Mulder barely a week after I met him."

At that undeniable statement, Emma jumped up from
her chair.  "No.  Sam and I are just friends, Dana. 
Besides, the only reason he's -" She broke off,
this time stopping herself from making the mother
of all mistakes by saying what she really felt.

Sam had only shown interest in her because she
looked like Dana.  From the first, he'd been
attracted to a dream, to a woman who reminded him
of someone he clung to like a lifeline.  Even the
kiss was most likely due to more than leftover
stress from the situation - in saving Emma, he'd
managed to save Dana all over again, this time with
happier results.  In Emma, he got to be the hero,
got to hold the girl in his arms and kiss her with
triumph.  It was her fault she'd acted the fool and
given him the opportunity.  It was no more than him
acting out a long-standing fantasy.

"The only reason he's what?"  Dana stood as well. 
"Emma?"

She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair. 
"I have to go.  It's almost two o'clock."

"But your shift doesn't start until three.  Emma,
please -"

She pasted a smile on her face as she quickly
donned her coat.  "Thank heavens it's the end of
the week.  Though I'll have to put in a long night
at Da's tomorrow night.  Why don't you and Fox stop
by for some dinner?"  It was a stroke of genius,
one her feeble brain hadn't had since Sam arrived
on the scene.  With Dana there, Sam would have the
chance to see for himself Emma wasn't the one he
pined for; with Mulder there, maybe it would
finally hit home that Sam had no chance with Dana. 
Simple.  They were both off the hook.  Sam would
take his amorous ways and practice them on someone
else for a change.

"Emma -"

"I won't take no for an answer," she said brightly,
feeling more and more confident of success by the
minute.  "I'll tell Da to expect you both.  He can
have the girls in the kitchen make that apple pie
Mulder likes so much, okay?"  She practically ran
out the back door, stopping only to shove her feet
into the rubber overboots once she'd reached the
porch.

"Of course we'll come."  Dana stood in the open
door, her arms crossed.  "But I want you to know
this won't do any good."

"What won't do any good?"

"I used to be good at running, you know.  Used
every trick in the book, put every one in my family
between me and the truth.  Still didn't do any
good."

"I don't know what you're talking about."  Hey, she
could pretend with the best of 'em.  Especially
when there were circumstances Dana knew nothing of;
Emma swore to herself to keep it up for as long as
possible.  Eventually, her family would see that
she had no use for a man like Sam.  Short of coming
out and telling everyone of his feelings for Dana,
of course.  She'd studied the best actresses on the
silver screen for years.  Surely she could emulate
them?

"That's bullshit and you know it."

Emma's head snapped up.  "Dana!"

"Yeah, you heard me.  I didn't say 'bush tit' or
'shih-tzu' or 'Chautaqua'," she snapped, drawing
out the last word with emphasis.  "You are so full
of it, Emma."

Emma seethed, for the first time in her life
wanting to smack her cousin.  Dana stood with
pursed lips, daring her to fight back.

"Go on," Dana poked, jerking up her chin.  "You
know you want to let me have it, so do it.  But
don't stand here and deny there's something between
you and Sam, because I don't believe it.  Like I
said, that's utter bullshit.  You can even tell
Father Corkery I said that - I don't care."

Leave it to Dana to take away her last weapon of
defense, Emma thought, still struggling for words. 
Not even the fear of priestly wrath coming down
upon her head was enough to deter Dana.  Emma
stomped down the steps and onto the slushy
sidewalk, intending to make a quick getaway before
she said something terrible.

"Yeah, that's it," Dana called after her.  "Run
away!  I was right - you're a big coward, Emma
Scully!"

Emma stopped and turned, having had enough of
Dana's needling.  Drawing herself up to her full
height, she grabbed the lapels of her coat in an
offensive pose.  "You... you... *titmouse*! 
Pussywillow!  Beach!"

Dana just laughed as she leaned against the door
frame.  "You can't use the real ones, can you?  Oh,
you think 'em all right, but you're too much of a
coward in that even - you can't beat me, Emma. 
Never could."

Despite the playfulness of Dana's words, they drove
through Emma like a sword of truth.  Dana was
absolutely right, though she didn't know it.  Emma
would never beat Dana, certainly not when it came
to winning Sam's affection.

"I know I can't," she said, trying hard to keep
from showing Dana her misery.  "Just like I can
never let myself love someone like Sam.  Why can't
you see that?"

Dana lost her smile.  She stepped onto the porch,
one hand outstretched.  "Emma, wait."

"Gotta go.  I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"  Without
another word, she got in her car and sped away,
leaving Dana with a puzzled look on her face.

Thank goodness she had a bit of a drive to St.
Catherine's.  Plenty of time to dry up those pesky
tears.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Thirteen


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Sam wiggled a finger through the hole in his bar
towel.  It looked like a normal finger, felt like a
normal finger - even the fingernail was a bit
ragged and dirty underneath, though he imagined he
picked up all sorts of grime from the bar,
especially the night before cleaning day.  But that
wasn't the point of his inspection, and he damned
well knew it.  No use kidding himself; ever since
Sunday night, he'd been bothered by the sight of
that slit in his sweatshirt.  His *favorite*
sweatshirt that he'd had to throw away because he
couldn't rid it of blood stains.

He'd decided Monday morning he was imagining things
as far as the tear in the shirt was concerned.  It
had been an old, moth-eaten shirt, and he supposed
the knife might have nicked it some.  The guy
pulling on it had probably turned a little thing
into a big hole, which wouldn't have taken much
effort, seeing as the shirt was probably going on
fifteen years old.  But still, he found himself
pondering the whole scene over and over.  He could
still see the guy's face plain as day, still hear
him apologize in a shaky voice.  What kind of
bandit apologized before robbing you blind?  Not
the kind he'd ever come across, though he had to
admit he'd never come across one so deadly before. 
He'd been acquainted with men who lied, cheated and
stole from their own mothers - but none of them
would harm a flea aside from the occasional barroom
brawl.

No, he wasn't scared of the guy - but he'd sure as
hell like to talk to him.  Something about the way
the guy looked at him made him antsy, like he
should know the fellow.

"Works better if you don't make the holes bigger. 
Holes tend to ruin the towel's purpose, lad."

Sam glanced up at Mike with a grin, crunching the
towel in his hand.  "Good idea."

"What's up with you tonight, lad?  You've been
mighty quiet.  For that matter, you've been pretty
mum the whole week.  Chauncy's taken to chewing
*my* ear off about baseball."  Mike slid a beer
down the bar past Sam.  "And I'm not much of a
baseball fan.  If he'd talk boxing, maybe."

"I promise I'll take Chauncy off your hands
tonight, Mike."  He moved away, determined to do
his job like Mike wanted.  Until Mike surprised him
by clamping a hand on his arm.

"That's not what I meant, Sam.  This isn't like you
- last Saturday night, you worked the baar like a
pro.  Is it the run-in with the guy last Sunday
afternoon?  Is that what's buggin' you?"

Mike looked at him with genuine concern, but Sam
couldn't bring himself to lay his worries on his
boss.  Mike risked a lot with the Scully family by
literally hiring a man off the street.  And Sam
wanted nothing more than to prove his worth - to
Fox and to Mike.  That meant just doing his job,
period.  No use bringing personal business into it.

"I'm okay, Mike," he assured him.

But Mike Scully wasn't easily deterred.  "Because
if that's what's bothering you, you're not alone. 
Emma hasn't been the same since Sunday, either."

Sam perked up at that, hoping that maybe Emma's
problems were related to the kiss, not the robbery
attempt.  It sure would make *him* feel better
about the weak feeling he got every time she came
near.  Which wasn't often enough for his tastes, as
he hadn't seen her since Sunday.  And even then,
when she'd shown up for work tonight she hadn't
even looked his way, preferring to switch with
Jenny and work the opposite side of the room.  "She
hasn't?"

"Mighty quiet as well.  Of course, I think the
goings-on last Sunday scared her more than she'd
like to admit."

"Scared the hell out of me."  He met Mike's serious
look with one of his own, as a sudden thought
occurred to him.  "She wasn't really hurt, was she? 
Is that why she hasn't been around?  She had to see
a doctor, didn't she?"

"Whoa, boy, take it easy.  Emma's fine."  Mike
looked out over the room at his daughter.  "No, I
think she's finally been shaken out of that little
world she lives in, and she's fightin' back the
only way she knows how."

Sam felt the statement directed toward him as Mike
looked at Emma.  He wasn't a fool; he knew Mike
suspected something going on between them but was
too tactful to come right out and say it.

"By pretending nothing's changed," Sam murmured,
following Mike's lead as he watched Emma laugh and
joke with the customers.

"Bingo.  You know, you're pretty smart for an Army
man.  Never met a grunt as quick on the uptake as
you."

He faced Mike with a laugh, daring to tease the
older man.  "Spoken by a true Navy man.  I'll thank
you to take your Scully sea legs and leave me to my
work."

"Be diligent, lad," Mike said in parting.  "In
slinging beer *and* changing the world."  He left
with a whistle to tend his spot by the door.  Sam
heard his bellow of greeting with a distant mind. 
One very much on the woman who'd become his world
in a very, very short time.

Diligent.  Another ten-dollar word for a very
impatient Sam.


**********


"Here now, this makes two weekends in a row!  I'm
beginning to feel special!"

Scully leaned as far as she could over the bar to
accept Mike's hello kiss.  Behind her, Mulder
stretched a hand in Mike's direction.  "Emma
invited us to dinner, Uncle Mike," she said.  "She
didn't tell you?"

"Bah - that girl has her head in the sand these
days.  I'm surprised she remembered to show up
tonight."  He passed a firm look Emma's way before
facing Scully once more.  "Not that I'm not glad to
see the two of you.  I just wish she'd let me know
these things so I can hold the best table in the
house for you."

"We can sit anywhere, Mike," Mulder said.  "Sam
here?"

"Sure, sure.  He's at the other end of the bar, as
usual.  Right good worker he is, Mulder.  None
better."

Scully felt a kiss brush her hair below her hat. 
"I'll meet you at the table, okay?  I just want to
tell Sam hello."

"Okay." She gave the hand on her shoulder a
squeeze, then watched him walk away before leaning
in to whisper to Mike, "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure, darlin'.  Let me take you to a table so you
can sit."


**********


"So, the week's gone okay?"

Mulder couldn't deny he'd been on pins and needles
just about every night, expecting another phone
call like the one Sam made Sunday.  Except this
time, it would have been Mike.  Or worse, the
police, telling him his brother had finally met up
with the knife he couldn't handle.

"Week's been good."  Sam wiped at the bar, avoiding
Mulder's stare.  "Pay's not much, but I'm having a
great time here.  I like working for Mike, and I
like the customers.  They're all good people."

"They are," Mulder agreed, looking over his
shoulder to find Scully seated at a table with
Mike.  "And you?  How are you?"

Sam's eyes snapped up.  "I'm not drinking, if
that's what you're asking."

"That's not what I'm asking."  If Sam was back to
his old ways, he'd know it.  Scully would have
heard about it through the family grapevine. 
Besides, something in his brother's somber look
told him the opposite - Sam had more on his mind
than the need for booze.  "I'm asking if you're
okay, that's all."

"I'm fine."

As many times as Mulder had heard the same from his
wife, when it just wasn't true, he knew Sam was
giving him the same lie.  But a bar full of people
was not the place to poke into Sam's business. 
With a sigh, Mulder tapped the bar.  "Look, I have
your discharge papers in my office.  Come by one
day this week and we'll go get some lunch.  My
treat."

He saw Sam sag a bit, sure he was about to refuse. 
But Sam cracked a little smile and replied, "Sure. 
I could always use a free meal."

"I'll tell the front desk to be on the lookout for
you, say Wednesday?"

"I'll have to ask Mike."

"Just give me a call at home one evening, let me
know what day is good for you."

"Sure thing."

"And Sam?"  Mulder paused in the act of turning.

"Yeah?"

"You're doing good.  Just wanted you to know that."

Sam's smile became broader.  It made Mulder shiver
with remembrance of old times and happier days. 
Maybe those times were back.

"Thanks, Smokey.  Now go on before Mike steals Dana
away from you."


**********


"I don't know, Uncle Mike... she's just not
herself."

Scully, without giving away too many details, had
told her uncle of Emma's behavior yesterday
afternoon, wanting his opinion on the matter.  He'd
nodded and hummed with agreement several times, as
if he suspected the same thing.

"I know she isn't," he said, "and I don't think the
robbery is the reason, though it may have shaken
her up a bit.  You can't really tell with my girl,
she's so strong.  It takes a lot to make her
crack."

From the corner of her eye, Scully saw Mulder
talking to Sam.  His stiff back relaxed when Sam
smiled, and she knew her time with Uncle Mike was
coming to an end.  "Then what is it?  Is it Sam?"

Mike's eyes twinkled.  "You've hit the nail on the
head, love.  At least, that's what I think."

For all that she'd told Emma she was relenting in
her suspicion of Sam, she still couldn't shake the
feeling there was more to him than they all knew. 
She hesitated in telling Mike so, he was so taken
with Mulder's brother.  But she couldn't let it
pass without comment.  "Are you sure Sam's right
for her?  Sounds to me like she's not too keen on
the idea.  She won't even give him the time of day,
from the way she speaks of him."

"Oh, she's given him more than the time of day,
Dana me darlin'."

Mike's wink alerted her to something she wasn't
privy to - he never was all that good at keeping
secrets.  But he excelled at helping along a
budding romance, something he'd done for her and
Mulder once upon a time.  This time, however, she
had him beat.  "You're talking about the kiss?"

Mike fairly split a cheek with his puffy frown. 
"She told you?"

"She did.  And she thinks *you* didn't see it, so
keep it under your hat, Uncle Mike."

"Like I'd tease the girl about it."

Scully stared him down.

"All right, I won't say a thing," he relented. 
"But it's encouraging, don't you think?"

"Encouraging is not the word I'd use," Scully
muttered, remembering Emma's sadness at the
prospect of falling for Sam.

"What's that?"

"Here comes Mulder," she said, spying her husband's
approach.  "Listen Uncle Mike, don't push her.  I
don't think she knows what she wants right now, and
throwing her at Sam won't do any good."

Mike took her hand.  "I know that, Dana.  I promise
not to meddle."  He glanced at Sam.  "With either
side of the coin."

"Good."  It was the best she could hope for, now
that she'd had confirmation of the burgeoning
relationship.  Emma wasn't one to be forced into
any situation, and all Scully wanted was for her
cousin to be happy.

"Conspiring against me?"  Mulder's voice drifted
over them.  "Or for me?"

Mike stood, giving Mulder a hearty slap on the
back.  "Always for you, lad.  Always."  With a
smile, he left them alone.

As Mulder sat across from her, Scully gave him a
smile, feeling better now that she'd talked to
Mike.  Of course, just being in Mulder's presence
lightened her spirits.  He looked at her sometimes
like she was the finest of things, and a woman
could ask for no more than that.  She hoped Emma
enjoyed the same love one day... even if it was
with someone like Sam Mulder.

Who, she admitted to herself, she still didn't
totally trust.


**********


The hours passed in a whirl of one drink after
another, and still she hadn't said one word to him,
though she'd chatted it up practically all evening
with Fox and Dana.  He wasn't stupid; he knew she'd
used them to avoid the ultimate confrontation she
knew would come.  But he smiled when he saw his
brother and sister-in-law finally leave, knowing it
was just a matter of time until he could get Emma
alone.

As it was approaching eleven o'clock, Sam noticed
the crowd had thinned considerably.  The pub closed
at midnight and the wind outside had changed,
signaling the approach of another bout of winter
weather.  Many of the patrons, fearing a good
soaking by the coming rain, were trickling out in
an effort to beat the storm home.  It wasn't
supposed to snow, but the changeable climate of the
Chesapeake Bay area had never been easy to predict
or tame.  Sam waited, knowing exactly what tack
Emma would use to break free of his dogged
determination to speak to her.  He wasn't
disappointed.

"Da, I think I'll go home early, if that's all
right with you," she said softly to her father at
the other end of the bar, though Sam heard it
clearly over the now quieter din of the sparse
crowd.  "Weather's turning, and I want to make it
home before it hits.  People are saying a storm's
coming."

"I'd drive you home, darlin', but I need to give
Doris a lift home," Sam heard him say.  Doris was
the head cook in the kitchen, a rotund woman with
eyes only for Mike, though Sam knew his boss was
too polite to hurt the woman with a rejection.  "Go
on and take my car, I'll grab a taxi for me and
Doris."

"That's okay, Da.  I'll call a taxi for myself." 
She nodded at the phone while untying her apron,
silently asking her father to pass her the
receiver.

Sam saw his chance and took it, ignoring Mike's
raised eyebrow as he stepped forward.  "I can take
Emma home, Mike.  Then bring back the car for you."

"No!"  She just about had the quickest denials in
the world, Sam thought.  But it wasn't getting her
anywhere, not anymore.  He was determined.  "I
mean, I have the taxi company on the line already. 
They're on the way."  She looked down and barked
brisk instructions into the phone line.

Well, if she thought *that* little trick was
putting him off the scent, she was wrong.  "Can I
take my break now, Mike?  I haven't had one all
night."

"Sure, lad.  Even if we close at midnight, you
still have another hour's work ahead of you, don't
you?"

Sam nodded, totally in agreement - and totally in
sync with Mike's machinations around Emma's
determination to give Sam the slip.  He purposely
avoided the look Emma gave him, the one eerily like
a rabbit about to dart under cover, instead walking
the length of the bar to make for the kitchen.

Already winding down, the kitchen was a beehive of
cleaning activity.  Doris, up to her elbows in
dirty dishes and issuing orders, gave him a big
smile.  One he returned with a few words inquiring
as to her health.  She beamed, her ruddy cheeks
practically glowing as she wished him luck.  Did
everyone in the pub know he had it bad for Emma? 
Apparently so, though they were all nice enough to
do no more than throw a few knowing looks his way. 
He wondered if Emma enjoyed the same scrutiny, then
quickly decided she didn't.  Emma wouldn't stand
for teasing or gossip, and they all knew it.

He paused at the door that led to the back alley,
softly cursing as he realized his coat was
upstairs.  No matter - he wasn't losing the chance
to talk to her, even if he had to stand the cold in
shirt sleeves for a while.

It was very dark in the alley, with only a lone
light above the door.  Passing under it quickly, he
sought the safety of darkness as he crept along the
alley wall.  Poking his nose around the edge, he
almost smiled at his genius.

There she was, huddled in her coat on the front
step of the pub.  Like he figured, she hadn't even
waited inside for the taxi.  Damn, he was good. 
Now, to get her away from the door...

Leaning back against the wall, he let out a loud
curse.  "Son-of-a-bitch!"

As expected, she came running.  "Sam?"  She looked
at the way he favored his right hand, holding it as
if it pained him.  "What's the matter?"

"I think I sprained it trying to..."

The rabbit, still skittish, moved closer to the
trap.  "Trying to what?"

"Damn."  He turned it to and fro as he leaned in
with narrowed eyes.  "I can't see.  It's too dark."

Oh, but the rabbit had more smarts than he'd
remembered, as it twitched its nose on the scent of
danger.  "Come around to the front.  We'll go back
in the bar and have a look."  Emma slowly backed
away, all the while eyeing him with caution.

But he was quick to snap the trap shut, as he
reached out a hand to grab her coat.  In seconds,
he had her pinned against the alley wall, albeit in
a very furious squirm.  He felt her knee come up,
as she didn't even bother sputtering out a warning.

"No you don't," he said, putting his feet between
hers, effectively taking care of that threat as he
kept her hands down with his.  "Will you just
listen to me?"

"I'll scream!"

"Then I'll just have to kiss you to shut you up,"
he warned, keeping her in a light hold.  He didn't
want to do this to her, but he had no choice.  As
soon as she calmed down, he was going to let her
go.  All the closeness was not helping his mind's
rule over his body, which wanted nothing more than
to close what little distance remained between
them.

The fight within her ebbed, though she looked up at
him with scorching anger, her lips pursed over sure
curses.

"Will you promise to just listen to me for a
minute?" he asked, already loosening his hold.

Nose up in the air, she bit out, "You have until
the taxi arrives.  No longer."  With a haughty
sniff, she added, "And you can just forget about
tomorrow night.  I wouldn't walk to the corner with
you after this little stunt."

That he already knew, but he played it cool. 
"That's all I wanted to talk to you about, Emma. 
But you've been avoiding me all night."  He let her
go at last, and his body breathed a sigh of relief. 
Or was it a scream of disappointment?  "I was going
to tell you maybe it wasn't such a good idea for us
to go out together."

"You were?"

He shivered as he rubbed at the tired muscles of
his neck, half-turning to face the street.  "I
think that's your taxi."

"It'll wait." He almost smiled at the way her tune
changed from swing - and he literally meant
*swing*, as in a punch to his face - to sedate,
chamber music in an instant.  "What do you mean, it
isn't a good idea?"

"Well, after that kiss, I mean... I figure you
wouldn't want to have anything to do with me,
Emma."  Nothing worked better than the truth, even
if it was delivered with an overdone, sympathy-
inspiring sadness.  "It really meant nothing to
me..."  Like hell it didn't.  Okay, so he stretched
the 'truth' a bit.  "I mean, it meant something,
just not what I wanted from you now."

For a second, she looked almost... disappointed? 
No, that couldn't be.  Must have been a trick of
the shadows.

"Then would you mind telling me what you want from
me so we can be done with this?"  She straightened
her coat and gloves with sudden impatience,
glancing at the idling cab on the corner.

"Just like you said - friendship.  I'm sorry if the
kiss ruined all that for us, Emma.  I really just
want to be your friend."  Oh, he was in it hip deep
now.  "And I totally understand if you don't want
to go to dinner with me tomorrow night.  I suppose
I can ask one of the girls from the kitchen."

A sly, knowing look came over her face as she
crossed her arms.  "Oh, I get it."

"Get what?"

"You can't make me jealous, Sam."

Geez, she was one sharp cookie.  "What if I told
you I'd take Lydia instead?"

Lydia was one of the more overt girls in the
kitchen, a busty blond with bad teeth but a
hankering for a good time.  All week, she'd been
using every opportunity to rub that generous bosom
against him.  He'd taken to eating behind the bar,
it had gotten so bad.  Speaking of bad - man, he
must have it bad for Emma if he turned down such an
easy target.

"Have at it," she said, though her face hardened a
bit.  "She's perfect for you."

"Nah, no can do."

"Why not?"

Two could play that game.  "Because that would make
it too easy for you.  I owe you, Emma.  One dinner
and a movie.  I never welch on a bet."

"I release you from any and all obligation."  She
glanced over his shoulder at the waiting taxicab. 
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to catch a cab."

"Coward."  He'd been longing to say it since day
one, the first time she'd ducked away from him in
the hospital.  Designed to piss her off once and
for all, or prod her to face up to facts and accept
his suit, the word produced results either way.  He
waited for what seemed like an eternity, as she
stopped dead in her tracks, mere feet from escape.

He held his breath, something he always seemed to
be doing around Emma.  One of these days he was
liable to pass out from lack of oxygen.

She turned, her legs wrapped in steamy exhaust from
the waiting cab, her eyes narrowing to mere slits. 
"What did you call me?"

At least it got a serious response, even if it was
bordering on anger.  "I called you a coward."

She threw up her hands, her purse dangling in the
growing wind.  "What *is* it with people today?"

"What?"  She'd lost him, big time.  He stood
stupefied, feeling the first drops of rain splatter
against his shirt.

"First Dana, now you.  I am *not* a coward!"  She
interrupted his sure answer with an even more
vehement, "And don't you dare say 'prove it'!  I
don't have to prove anything to you, Sam Mulder! 
To you or anybody else!"

He bit his lip at her sudden tirade.  He'd pushed
her too far.  Emma could take a bit of needling
like anyone else, but her pride eventually won out
in the end.  Looked like he was at a dead end.  At
his silence, she reached for the door handle,
swinging it open with all the strength she could
muster.

"I like you, Emma.  I just want to spend some time
with you," he said softly.  He couldn't remember
ever saying that to a woman.  "Is that so wrong?"

With her back to him, he could barely hear her
answer.  The way it was delivered, in a choked
whisper, made him long to cover her with his rain-
soaked body.  To take away her pain and replace it
with happiness.

"It's wrong when you don't mean it."

She thought he didn't mean any of what he was
saying?  That he didn't want to be with her?  Was
he that much of a gigolo in her eyes?

"No, you're wrong, Emma," he replied, his voice
hoarse with fury of his own.  "You don't think I
need someone?  You don't think I just want to go
out with a beautiful woman and watch her laugh all
night long and know that she's with *me* and no one
else -"

She turned, her face hopeful and so damned lovely
it made him sputter to a stop.  "You think I'm
beautiful?"

A fist to the stomach wouldn't have had the power
to steal his breath like the sight of her face at
that moment did.  

"Christ, Emma - you're so pretty it makes me ache
just looking at you."  He stepped forward, babbling
like an idiot.  He'd never had to sweet talk a
woman before, and he felt damned foolish doing it. 
But it didn't stop him from revealing more of
himself than he ever had before.

"Don't swear."  The warning was delivered with
trembling lips, and he lost it to the avalanche of
frustration.

"Damn it, Emma, I'm spilling my guts here.  Give me
a break!"

"Go on then.  Let's see what you got, slugger."

He clammed up immediately, his mind drawing a blank
as she stood with a raised eyebrow.  One second
passed, then two, and he hung his head, his foot
kicking at the small puddle forming on the
sidewalk.  "Your hair."

Way to go, moron, he chastised himself.  That
wasn't exactly Shakespeare material.

"What about my hair?"

This was it - make it or break it time.  Two outs
in the bottom of the ninth, and he held the bat in
his hand.  He stepped forward, swallowing down the
big lump of fear in his throat.

"Your hair... God, I just want to bury myself in it
and never come up for air."

"Really?"

"Really."

The cabbie's voice intruded.  "Lady, you gettin' in
or not?"

Emma turned her head.  "Oh, hush up and start the
meter."  Then she faced Sam again, the liquid
depths of her eyes alight with anticipation. 
"Anything else?"

With relief, he realized Emma was just as
susceptible to compliments as the next woman, as
her eyes sparkled with happiness.  Of course, she
wasn't exactly falling all over him with grateful
kisses.  He didn't expect her to melt at his feet,
though that burgeoning smile was promising.

"Your smile, Emma," he continued, making his voice
soft and sure.  "Your smile makes me want to kiss
you again and again."

A slight frown pinched her forehead.  "I think we
should leave off the kissing talk for now."

He understood her avoidance of that subject; she
still regretted pouncing on him last Sunday.  As if
that were anything to regret, he thought.  He'd
never had a sweeter kiss in his life.  But he went
along with her wishes... for now.

"Your eyes bring me to my knees, whether you're
angry as hell at me or looking at me like you are
now."

"And how is that?"

"Like you want me to kiss you."  So, his resolve
lasted all of one moment.  Big deal.  She couldn't
expect him to forget how hot that kiss was, now
could she?  Damn, but he wanted to do it again.

"No kissing talk, Sam."

Mere inches from her now, he shivered in the rain,
ignoring her protest.  "I *know* you want me to
kiss you again.  Don't deny it.  I know you want to
spend time with me, to come out to dinner with me. 
But you won't let yourself.  And it beats the hell
out of me why you won't."  His hands came up to cup
her face.  "*I* mean it, Emma.  I mean every word. 
You just don't want to hear it."

Water dripped from the brim of her hat like tears,
splashing on his shoes as she dropped her chin.  He
cursed softly, finally realizing she was never
going to give in and admit they deserved a chance. 
He turned and made for the door of the pub.

"Sam?"

Hand outstretched for the door, he closed his eyes,
wondering if he should just keep going.  Emma was
definitely worth all the trouble, but he didn't
know if he could take all the see-sawing much
longer.  And if he said, "What?", he was guaranteed
another rollercoaster ride... wait a minute.  He
*had* answered her, damn his stupid tongue.

"I'll meet you here tomorrow evening around six,
okay?"

He tamped down the surge of happiness, for once
thinking with a clear head.  His pride had just
taken a severe beating, and he wanted no part of
her acceptance if it was based on friendly
sympathy.  "Don't pity me, Emma.  If you don't want
to do this, just say so."

"I like you too, Sam.  I would very much like to
spend tomorrow evening with you."

Slowly, he faced her, seeking the truth of her
words as he looked at her face.  No more dancing
around the issue, in his mind.  If they did this,
they were set on a path to something more than
friendship.  He made sure she knew that.  "As
friends?  No, thank you.  I've had enough of
friendship with you, Emma."

"I can't just jump into something... more, Sam. 
Can't you see that?"

He did; Emma wasn't like other girls he'd known. 
Hell, he'd never had to put forth so much effort
with a woman, which spoke of her uniqueness. 
"We're not jumping into anything, Emma.  We're
walking into it with our eyes wide open.  Agreed?"

"As long as we walk nice and slow.  Do you agree to
that?"

"Yes."  He would take it as slow as she wanted,
though it was liable to kill him.  One step at a
time, beginning with something he very much wanted
to do, as he walked back to her.  "May I kiss you
good night?"

She sighed, her lips curling into a pretty pout. 
"Must you always bring kissing into it?"

"I must.  It's something I like to do very much,
Emma.  Something I like to do with you."  He
grinned at her, loving the way she fought at every
turn.  Well, now that he'd claimed a small victory,
he could put up with a bit of obstinance, he
decided.

"All right then," she said on a deep exhale. 
"Tonight or tomorrow night?"

Leave it to Emma to hash out details, he thought. 
"Tonight."

She offered her lips with closed eyes.  Oh no, he
thought.  He wasn't wasting tomorrow night's kiss
on a little peck tonight.  He bent and brushed his
lips over the downy softness of her cheek,
lingering no more than necessary.

Her eyes popped open.  "That's it?"

"That's it."  He almost laughed at her
disappointment.  "Of course, I can try again if you
want."

"No, no, that was... nice," she said in a whisper,
the scent of her wafting up between them.  He
caught his breath at the sudden burst of desire
within him; neither of them moved, gently swaying
in the rain.  She looked at him from under heavy
lashes.  "See... slow can be wonderful."

Man, could it, he thought, enjoying the view as his
hand came up to her waist.  "Yeah, but I'm gonna be
taking a lot of cold showers until we get to third
gear."

Emma laughed, her frosty breath tickling his chin. 
"Just stand out in the rain, like you're doing now. 
Guaranteed to cool you off."

"Say good night, already, mack!"  The cabbie's
shout broke them apart.  "It's freezing out here!"

Sam clenched his jaw over the urge to punch the guy
out, but Emma reached up to touch his cheek with a
gloved hand.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Sam," she breathed, her
eyes like diamonds in the night.  "Try not to catch
your death of cold until then, okay?"

"I never catch cold," he said, covering her hand
with his as he tried to steal a kiss.  "But if I
do, will you be my nurse?"

"That's enough of that.  You need to get inside,
and I need to get ready for that wonderful date you
promised me."

"So it's a date now?"

"It's a date."  She ducked her head, climbing into
the car.  "Good night, Sam."

"Good night, Emma."

He watched the cab speed away.  Only then did he
allow himself to let it go, his *whoop* of victory
carrying all the way up and down the street.

"Here now, lad - what are ya doin' out here in the
rain?"

Mike stood in the door of the pub, looking at him
like he was crazy.  Sam spread his hands, his smile
goofy.  But he didn't care - he didn't care if the
whole world thought he was nuts.

He tilted his head to one side, feeling rainwater
drip on his shoulder.  "Being diligent?"

Mike huffed, shaking his head.  "You're daft."  The
door closed behind him.

Sam threw up an imaginary baseball and gave it a
swing out of the park before following Mike in.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Fourteen


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Emma tried to tell herself she wasn't a fool.  Over
and over, from the time she'd left Sam standing in
front of the pub until now, when she stood like a
statue on exactly the same spot, she denied the
little voice in the back of her mind.  The one that
whispered he was just being nice, the one that
murmured he couldn't possibly be as sincere as
she'd thought last night, the one that clamored for
priority over the other, more singsong voice that
said not to bother with pinching herself, it was
all true.  She liked listening to *that* reasoning,
against the lingering doubt that kept residence
with the snide little voice of sanity.

It didn't help that she'd agonized for an hour or
more over what to wear, a decision she'd never had
a problem with before.  Maybe if she hadn't come
out and called it a 'date', she wouldn't be so
nervous.  In the end, she scooted that little
thought away as well, donning one of her most
somber 'Sunday go to mass' dresses, a simple brown
cashmere with a starched lace collar and gold
buttons.  Its high neck and long sleeves bolstered
her vow to resist Sam's certain advance.  Now that
she'd softened toward him, he wouldn't hesitate to
press her for more, and she had to keep a cool
head.

The problem was, she wanted him.  What she wanted
*from* him, she didn't know.  Somehow, she didn't
see this relationship ending in marriage.  She
hardly knew the man, and it was way too soon for
those kind of ideas.  But neither was she going to
give him leeway to pursue more a amorous path.  At
the very least she would try to stop him, with
every weapon at her disposal, starting with the
brown dress.  She would have worn black, but
dressing like a nun was sure to bring forth the
opposite from the rascal, complete with lewd
comments and even more dares.

What the heck was she doing, anyway?  Who was she
kidding?  She was so close to being a nun, the only
thing missing was going through the final vows! 
She couldn't handle a man like Sam; he was used to
women who could flirt and dance and not cringe with
horror at the prospect of being intimate -

"Emma?"

Her head snapped up, and she focused on Sam with a
gulp.  "Yes?"

Goodness, he'd worn his suit!  He stood in the
doorway to the pub with a confused smile, so
handsome she forgot to breathe for a moment.

"Are you ready to go?"  His smile cracked a bit, as
if he expected her to turn tail and run.

Actually, that was an excellent idea, that snide
little voice of sanity shouted, as it finally made
it to the top of the chorus.

No!  She couldn't do that to Sam.  She'd just have
to be brave and muddle through somehow.  After all,
no one said she had to see him again after this
date.  He probably thought she'd fall all over him
in his expensive suit, as if blinded by the sight
of a handsome man.  Dinner - well, all the violins
and champagne in the world had no power to sway
her.  And he'd soon find out if he laid one finger
on her in a darkened theater, he'd find it chopped
off at the knuckle.

She was prepared.  Sam Mulder could wine and dine
her until doomsday, but she was immune.

"Yes, I am," she said, giving him a haughty look. 
Confident and cool, that was the way to go.  She
waved a hand at her car.  "Just hop in and point me
in the right direction."

Sam closed the door behind him, locking it before
pocketing the keys.  His overcoat billowed behind
him as he practically bounded her way.  "You look
great."

Before she could stop it, one hand went to her
loose hair.  Instead of pulling it back into a
braid or hiding it under a hat, she'd simply
fashioned a worn white ribbon into a headband. 
Why, she didn't know.  But suddenly, she felt very
uncomfortable with Sam's scrutiny.  "I didn't have
time to braid it," she lied, saying a silent
apology to the saints above for her deception.  "Da
was late for Sunday dinner, and I waited on him to
come home before I..." She trailed off with a
blush, knowing her motormouth was foolish.

"I like it."  Happy eyes swept her form from head
to toe, taking in the brown dress that peeked from
the opening in her coat.  "The dress suits you."

"It does?"  She waited for the inevitable
comparison to a Hershey bar.  Sweet, like
chocolate.  He was so predictable.

"It looks warm and soft, just like you."

Okay, so he'd abandoned the overly sweet talk for
something much simpler.  Just because the way he
said it sent a thrill up her spine didn't mean a
thing.  She was made of sterner stuff, and a little
comment like that had no power to buckle her knees.

"Well, then."  She avoided his gaze, turning to
walk to her car.  "Where to?"

"I thought maybe we'd walk."

"Walk?"

"Yeah.  The rain's gone and it's a nice night."

It was a pleasant night, not all that cold for the
middle of December.  The weather wouldn't be this
nice for long, she knew, but she was enjoying it
while she could.  And she did so love to walk
outdoors.  Besides, the little Italian place was
around the next corner - if Sam wanted to impress
her, that was his most likely choice for dinner. 
Good wine, good food, and the most lovely violin
player... she sighed, wondering how she'd ever
resist.  Then again, the Antoninis were friends of
her father's, and she could probably waste quite a
bit of time in friendly conversation, thereby
lessening the lyrical pull of the atmosphere - and
Sam's charm.

"Okay."  Pulling her coat closer, she started in
the direction of Antonini's, only to be brought
short as his hand took hers.

"This way."

His warm hand held hers in a tight clasp, and she
amended her earlier happiness at the warmer
weather, wishing for her gloves.  It would be rude
to pull away, not to mention embarrassing.  But she
dug in for a moment, asking, "Where are we going?"

"I figure we'd take in the movie first."  He
smiled, a boyish, excited thing.  "Unless you're
too hungry to wait?"

Actually, she was hungry - just not for food.  Stop
that, she admonished the other little voice that
craved Sam's touch.  "No, I'm not that hungry at
all," she said, tacking on a silent plea for
absolution to whatever saint was still listening
from above.  She hoped that she wouldn't have to
pray to the Blessed Virgin before the night was
through, as she didn't expect the higher deity to
cut her any slack.

"Good.  There's a theater a couple of blocks down." 
He'd already turned, dragging her behind him with a
little tug.  "Showing something called 'Singles' -
looks pretty good from the poster outside."

Goodness, he even looked good from the backside. 
"Singles?  What kind of name is that?"  Jump him,
Emma, jump him.  Shut up, little voice!

"'Singapore'."  As if he realized his words weren't
exactly clear, he turned, allowing her to catch up. 
"Sorry.  I seem to be going a bit too fast for
you."

Mischief laced his gaze, and she tamped down the
urge to blush.  If nothing else, he'd taught her to
rein in her propensity for blushing.  She stepped
to his side, looking up at him with cool eyes. 
"Remember Sam... we're just at an idle right now."

"Well, we need to kick it into first, or we'll
never make the movie.  We'll save second gear for
dinner, I promise."

Chuckling, she fell into step beside him.  He
matched his steps to hers; even though she walked
at a brisk pace, he had to shorten his long
strides.

"Singapore, huh?  Fred MacMurray and Ava Gardner." 
She had to fill the silence with something.

"You like movies?"

"I love movies," she admitted, as they turned the
corner.  She could see the marquee of the Paramount
Theater from where they were, the bright lights
glowing in the night like a row of icicles.  "I
never had money of my own as a child, so sometimes
I'd sneak in that very theater right there on
Saturday afternoons."

"Emma!"  Sam's shocked voice couldn't hide his
laughter.

"True."  She laughed along with him, remembering
the time she'd gotten caught by the theater
manager, Mr. Willis - who hadn't hesitated in
calling her father.  "I was ten when Da found out."

"Don't tell me - he paddled that little bottom
until you couldn't sit for a week."

"Actually no, he reserved those things for the
boys.  He made me work off what I owed to Mr.
Willis by helping clean the theater every weekend."

"And you got to see the movies for free, anyway."

"Yep.  Da was a smart man; he knew if he made me do
anything else, I'd still sneak in after my
punishment was done."  She lowered her voice,
feeling a surge of love for her father.  "After I'd
paid off my debt, he asked Mr. Willis to keep me
on.  Of course, at the time I didn't know Da gave
Mr. Willis the money to pay me.  A quarter a week -
just enough to pay for the week's movie."

"Your father's a great guy," Sam said, his face
averted.  "You're lucky to have him."

Regret welled within her; here she was, praising
her father before a man who'd not enjoyed the
luxury of a concerned, giving parent.  "Sam -"

"Here we are," he interrupted her, pulling her to a
stop.  "Still remember the way to sneak in?"

One look at his face, and she tried to pull free. 
"Oh, no you don't.  I'm not getting into trouble
this time.  If you don't have the money to pay for
the movie, I can -"

"I have the money, Emma.  I'm just wondering if you
still have the guts to sneak in."  He leaned down
with a wink.  "C'mon.  When was the last time you
did something you weren't supposed to?"

She could think of a few.  Letting him talk her
into keeping the date.  Kissing him on the wet
floor of the pub.  She bit her lip, excitement
blossoming within her at the risk of it all.

"I know you want to, I can see it on your face.  If
we get caught, I'll take the blame."

"Sure, and Mr. Willis will ban me from the theater
for life."

"He still manages it?"

"Going on seventy, but he's still there."

"Follow me."  Oh, that look of his was definitely
trouble.

"Sam, I don't think we ought to do this."  But she
went along anyway, the thrill of doing what she
normally wouldn't pushing her to walk beside him.

Sam bypassed the startled girl in the booth and
opened the door.  Emma groaned at her shouted,
"Hey, you can't do that!" and suddenly found
herself face-to-face with one steadfast Mr. Willis.

"Emma?" He relaxed a bit when he saw her standing
there, but he eyed Sam with suspicion.  "Good to
see you, my dear.  Missed you last weekend."

Last weekend, she was busy sidestepping Sam Mulder,
who extended a hand with a broad smile.

"Mr. Willis?  Sam Mulder.  How do you do?"

After a moment's hesitation, Mr. Willis uncrossed
his arms and shook Sam's hand.  "You a friend of
Emma's?"

"Yes, sir."  Good God, the man was all charm, Emma
thought, as she watched him dazzle Mr. Willis with
a million-dollar smile.  "We were passing by and
Emma mentioned how much she liked movies, but she
didn't care much for Fred MacMurray."

Oooh, what a snake!  Really, she didn't care much
for Fred MacMurray, so technically, it wasn't a
lie.  Still, she couldn't believe his nerve!

"And she told me you'd been the manager of this
theater for years, so I figure you know the other
theaters in town.  The competition, so to speak."

Emma paled and squeezed Sam's hand as hard as she
could, trying to keep her wan smile pasted on her
face.

Sam kept on, oblivious to her warning, as he
straightened to his full height, his face becoming
a bit cool.  The perfect dissatisfied customer. 
Oh, he was good, she had to give him that.

"Is there anywhere else we can take in a movie? 
Doesn't have to be close by - I can get my driver
to take us across town if needed."

His driver?  Gracious, they were knee deep in it at
that point.  Still, Sam's rich man clothes and
superior attitude did the trick, as Mr. Willis
turned from penny-pinching owner to groveling kiss-
up in an instant.

"No need to do that, son.  It's a good movie,
really it is.  Lots of action and romance."  He
turned to Emma with a hopeful smile.  "You always
did like romance, Emma, if I recall correctly."

"Yes, sir," she answered weakly, scooting her foot
across the floor to give Sam a little kick in the
shin.

Which he ignored, waving a hand in dismissal.  "But
she likes Clark Gable - any Gable movies playing in
town?"

They weren't going to get away with it, she just
knew it.  She *hated* Clark Gable, with his big
ears and skimpy mustache.  Now, Robert Taylor, on
the other hand, made her swoon.  Surely Mr. Willis
noticed her absence at Gable movies?

Mr. Willis didn't answer the question, instead
giving Sam a big smile.  Emma hadn't seen Mr.
Willis smile in years; she stood stupefied, sensing
Sam's victory a kowtow away.

"Tell you what - how about I give you two free
popcorn tonight?  Emma has always loved our
popcorn, isn't that right dear?"

She opened her mouth to get in a word, but was
promptly denied by Sam's interruption - *again*. 
She was really going to have to speak to him about
his bad habit of cutting her off.

"We couldn't do that, Mr. Willis," he said with a
rueful shake of his head.  "That's taking
advantage, and besides, there are other theaters in
town, am I right?  I'm in town for the holidays,
and in need of some entertainment, so I expect to
see a *lot* of movies."

He was *actually* going to do it!  Mesmerized, Emma
stood silently, knowing exactly what Mr. Willis
would say next.

"Oh, I wouldn't want you to drag Emma all the way
across town, Mr. Mulder!  Stay, and be my guest,
you and Emma."  Mr. Willis fawned over Sam so much
it was all Emma could do not to giggle.  "Anything
you want, it's yours!"

"Well, we really couldn't..."

"I insist!  The newsreels are almost over; you're
just in time for the latest episode of Flash
Gordon.  You look like a man who appreciates a bit
of fantasy."

*That* was the understatement of the year, Emma
thought.  Sam certainly knew his way around a tall
tale.

"What do you think, sweetheart?"

It took her a moment to realize Sam addressed her. 
With a loving, dimpled grin, of course.  Dear Lord,
he put Robert Taylor to shame.

"Sounds good to me..."  Two could play that game,
as her free hand crept up the lapel of his coat. 
Mr. Willis' eyes just about popped out of his head;
she wondered how long it would take before her
reputation lay in shreds up and down the block,
then quickly decided she didn't care.  "Mophead."

She had no idea she could bat her eyelashes like
that.  Sam gulped, all at once at a loss for words.

"Mophead?"

Uh-oh.  Mr. Willis, despite his bootlicking, looked
at them with a tad of doubt, and Emma took up the
gauntlet, thoroughly enjoying herself now.

"Oh, it's just a little private joke between Sam
and me, Mr. Willis.  He's very good with a mop, you
know - oh!"

"Say thank you, Emma."

She found herself pulled along through the lobby by
a lock-jawed Sam.  "Thank you, Mr. Willis!" she
called over her shoulder, giggles catching up with
her at last.  "I'm sure we'll enjoy the movie!"

"Balcony's almost empty, Emma!" the manager shouted
back.  "You two have fun!  And don't forget to come
back soon!"

"I can't believe you said that," Sam muttered as he
ushered her though the lobby doors.  "I was on a
roll and you almost blew it."

"That's what you get for lying," she whispered
back, smiling at his consternation, her eyes
scanning the theater for two seats.  It was very
dark, and she held on to Sam's hand.  In a few
moments, their eyes would adjust and they'd sit.

"C'mon," he whispered back, pulling her away from
the main aisle.

"Where are we going?"

"Balcony."

"Balcony!"  The only people who sat in the balcony
were kids who wanted to sneak a smoke and couples
who... oh, Lord.  She was in such trouble now.

"Shhh," she heard from a couple of rows beyond
them, and she promptly quieted.

"Yeah, balcony."  In his whisper, she heard
triumph.  "That's what *you* get for putting your
two cents in."

On stiff legs, she let him guide her up the stairs.


**********


"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Sam slouched in his seat, finally letting go of her
hand as the credits rolled.  The house lights came
up, and he saw Emma wipe furiously at her eyes. 
She was such a romantic; even though the guy had
gotten the girl from the clutches of the bad guy
and all ended happily ever after, she still cried.

"Here."  He pulled his handkerchief from his coat
pocket.  She snatched it away with a glare.

"Don't you dare say a word."

"I wasn't going to."  Actually, he could have said
it was sweet, or touching, but he figured he'd put
her through enough for the past two hours.

As stiff as a board, she'd sat through the whole
picture, jerking every time he shifted in his seat,
like she expected him to pounce.  Other couples
took advantage of the dark reaches of the balcony,
and he'd heard sighs and lip smacking all the way
around.  Oh, he'd been tempted to steal a kiss, but
he knew it would do nothing but set him a step
back, not forward.  It had been enough for him to
hold her hand.  A very soft, feminine hand, in fact
- one he took pleasure in caressing withh his thumb
at every opportunity.

Face now dry, she leaned forward in her seat.  "All
right, let's go."

"Not so fast."  He took her hand again with an
apologetic smile.  "Let's let the crowd clear out
first.  I want to tell you I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"  Emma flopped back in her seat.  "For
what?"

"For making you uncomfortable with Mr. Willis.  For
dragging you up here and making you think I meant
to ravish you."

"You didn't mean to ravish me?"  Again, his heart
thudded at her disappointed look.  He wondered if
she realized how obvious it was; if she had, she
would never let it show so much.

"Nope.  I like to neck in more comfort."  He
stretched his long legs for emphasis, grimacing at
the lack of leg room.

"Ah, well," she sighed, facing forward.  "Don't be
thinking you'll get another chance, because you
won't."

He almost threw a 'Ha!' in her face, but thought
better of it.  "How'd you like the movie?"

A dreamy look swept over her face.  "It was
wonderful."

It was dreadful, in his opinion.  If that was the
kind of garbage movie studios put out since he'd
been gone, he'd pass.  Guy thinks fiancee is dead
after the Japanese invade Singapore.  Comes back
two years later to find the pearls he'd hidden,
only to find the girl very much alive and married
to another man.  Naturally, she doesn't remember
him, because she has amnesia.  He supposed he could
sympathize a little bit - especially since the girl
was a delicious Ava Gardner - but not even that
development could make him stomach the overdone
drama.  Whatever happened to John Wayne and Gary
Cooper?

"Sam?"

Emma's soft call of his name put a halt to his
thoughts.  He faced her, leaning in a bit to catch
scent of her hair.  It smelled of clean, flowery
soap - nothing expensive for his girl.  With a
rueful grin, he backed off before she could see how
close he was.  His girl.  Damn, he was getting way
ahead of himself.  "Yes?"

"Do you ever wonder what happened in those two
years?"  She faced him, a slight crease to her
brow.  "I mean, I don't want to pry or make you
feel uncomfortable...."

"I'm not uncomfortable."  Really, he felt like he
could spill his guts to Emma, something he'd never
done with anyone, man or woman.  She had an honest,
caring soul, despite her quickness to judge
sometimes.  But he guess he deserved her labeling
of him as a playboy, since he'd done nothing but
chase her from the moment he saw her.  "Do you mean
- do I have a wife somewhere I don't knoow about?"

Her frown deepened to the point of worry.  "Oh, I
hadn't thought about that."

"I don't have a wife, Emma," he hastened to assure
her.

"How do you know you don't?"

"Believe me, I don't."  One thing he was certain of
was his rampaging sexual urges... his body *felt*
like he hadn't been with a woman in two years, from
the way it clamored for Emma.  Besides, the
faceless man had said nothing to lead him to think
- he clenched his jaw over the thoughts  of the
meeting in the park.  That had been a delusion,
nothing more.

She seemed satisfied by his answer, but curious
still.  "Then where were you?  Why did you show up
on that street without clothes?"

He'd asked himself that same question many times,
and listened to the silent echo of his mind in
return.  It was frustrating, to say the least. 
"Maybe I was on my way home and got robbed."

"In Annapolis?  Please.  The closest we get to
robbery around here is -"

"A man with a knife who almost ruined our Sunday a
week ago?"

She chuckled, shaking her head.  "You've got a
point."

He could see it was important to her and he
understood why.  Emma liked order, not chaos, and
she struggled to put the pieces together to ease
her mind.  He wasn't exactly a good risk for her,
especially missing a good chunk of his life.  "I
think I was on my way home," he said softly. 
"Where I'd been, I don't know.  Maybe I'd been to
see my parents, but they weren't there.  Sure, it's
unusual to get waylaid in Annapolis, but not in
D.C.  Maybe whoever did it was on their way to
throw me in the Chesapeake, but never made it for
some reason."

"Maybe," she replied with a small smile.

He squeezed her hand, trying his best to make her
feel safe with him.  "You know what?  I don't
*care* where I've been.  What's important is that
I'm here now.  With you.  I wouldn't want to be
anywhere else, Emma."

"Not even with Ava Gardner?" she asked, her lips
curling prettily into a bigger, teasing smile.

"Oh, well... let me think about that a minute...
ow!"  The swift kick she gave him had all the
tickle of a feather, but he scrunched his face up
and watched her laugh.

"Serves you right, mophead.  Don't you know better
than to talk about other girls in front of your
date?"

"I do now."

"C'mon, ya rogue."  She stood, pulling him up with
her.  "You still owe me dinner."

"I do, don't I?"  He towered over her, intending to
steal his kiss, good night be damned.  But she
shoved at his chest and he staggered back to the
end of the row.  She followed, her nose in the air
as she made for the stairs.

"I sincerely hope I won't be forced to find a bug
in my soup," she threw over her shoulder.  "One
scam a night is all my poor Catholic soul is
allowed.  I'll be saying an extra rosary for
penance next Sunday as it is."

If he had his way, she'd be saying ten.  Or twenty. 
Just how many prayers did it take in forgiveness
for a bit of necking?

Her admonishment drifted up the stairs.  "Get your
mind out of the gutter, Sam Mulder, and feed me!"

His girl.  Yes, indeed.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Fifteen


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"A bug in your soup?"  Sam caught up with her
outside the theater.  "Are you saying I'm cheap?"

They'd made it past a glowering Mr. Willis, who'd
glanced at his watch without a word.  Emma had
simply smiled and offered thanks, knowing to linger
would be asking for trouble.

It was only when they'd reached the corner that she
acknowledged Sam, stopping in her tracks to give
him an apologetic look.  "Of course not.  I had a
great time sneaking past Mr. Willis.  I've decided
to look at it as free movie passes; he certainly
got enough work out of me for his quarter a week." 
Sam's gratification at her statement made her
smile.  "It seems I owe you an apology."

"For what?"

"For not wanting to take the chance at first.  I
enjoyed taking a chance again."

In more ways than one, she added silently.  For all
her trepidation at the start of their 'date', she
was glad now she'd gone through with it.  She was
having a good time, something she'd not had in
ages.  Chin tilted up, she let her happiness shine
through, hesitation forgotten for the moment.

It didn't dawn on her that Sam watched her until
she found him close, a look of what could only be
pleased surprise slowly lighting his face.  It
began in his eyes, creeping down his cheeks until a
brilliant show of teeth nearly blinded her.  Dear
Lord, what had she done?

"You're so beautiful," he said softly, his smile
fading as he swallowed hard.  His gaze seemed to
caress every part of her face, as if he touched
with hands and lips.

Maybe if he said it often enough she might start to
believe it.  There was no denying the sincerity of
his words at that moment, and the trickle of hope
slowly undermining the dam around her heart forced
its way through another crack.  If he kept up the
lovely words, the flood of emotion he'd cause would
certainly sweep away any remaining resistance.

"You don't have to keep saying it," she said, only
half serious, as she admitted to a certain thrill
every time he paid her a compliment.  "If you don't
have enough money for dinner, I understand."

He seemed to take her joking more seriously than
she'd intended, as he looked away.  "That's not why
I said it."

"I know it isn't."  She exposed a bit more of her
inner self, more than she wanted in her attempt to
correct her bungling.  "Look, it's just going to
take me some time to get used to the things you
say, Sam.  I've never had anyone say such things to
me before."

"Why not?"  He looked at her, quiet emphasis in his
voice.  "They're true."

"I just wish you wouldn't talk about it quite so
much."

She fell silent, wishing they could backtrack a few
moments.  Sam had a knack for making her feel
awkward, when in truth, she was usually pretty deft
at handling most situations.  It spoke volumes of
the effect he had on her.

"Look," he said, his tone now light and playful. 
"Let's get some dinner and we can talk about
anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Anything."  He was sincere, and she welcomed the
opportunity to find out more about the man who'd
upset her neat little world.

"Then let's go.  I'm starved."  When he captured
her hand again with a smile, she hesitated.  "Must
you keep hold of me like this?"

"You can make me let go anytime you want.  Just
pull away."  He led her down the street, giving
their clasped hands a long glance.  "But you won't. 
It's been a long time since anyone held your hand,
Emma."

His soft statement, layered with double meaning,
coupled with the knowing look he gave her, held her
in speechless thrall.  The way Sam had of
uncovering her deepest insecurities was eerie and a
bit frightening.  But the way he also sensed her
need for independence in tandem with a need for
simple assurances like handholds eased that fear.

"No one's ever held my hand, Sam," she replied,
letting him take hold bit by bit.

"Someone should, and often."  He was decisive, and
a little angry.  "Everyone deserves to feel
protected now and then.  To feel like there's
someone there for them."

"And will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Be there for me?"

He stopped, bringing her fingers to his lips as he
faced her with a solemn stare.  "I will always be
there for you, Emma.  To hold your hand."  Again,
he kissed her fingers, opening their clasp to
whisper into her palm, "To give you anything you
need."  A warm mouth pressed into her flesh.  "To
tell you how beautiful you are."

Mouth dry, she watched his dark head bend to her
palm, her heart tripping with excitement and dread. 
This was neither the time or place to get so deep
in uncharted waters; she cursed herself for letting
her needy side ask the question of him, when she'd
known his answer would stir unsettling feelings
within her.  She swallowed, pulling her hand away
as she croaked, "Dinner?"

Disappointment creased his brow for an instant; it
was gone by the time he straightened, his smile
easy.  "I did promise you dinner, didn't I?"  He
deliberately kept his eyes up, but she knew he
didn't miss the way she pocketed her hands.

"You did.  Shall we go?"

"After you."  He gave her a slight bow, letting the
hand she'd held for so long wave her on.

Emma started forward, her tongue finally loosening
up.  "Antonini's is around the next corner."

"Is that what you want?"  Sam fell into step beside
her.  Something in his voice told her he didn't
care much for her choice.

She was going to regret her reply, she just knew
it.  But truly, if he didn't have enough money to
do dinner in style, then she had no right to
embarrass him by suggesting an expensive
restaurant.  Antonini's wasn't expensive by her
standards, but Sam had only been working for her
father for a week, and his funds were bound to be
tight.  A sudden thought made her slow - maybe he'd
wanted to sneak into the theater because he
couldn't afford the tickets!  She felt badly after
that realization, and she forced a lightness to her
answer.

"I'll tell you what - let's just go back to the
house, and I can fix something for us.  Da would
like to see you, I know he would."

The curl of Sam's lips told her he cared for that
suggestion even less.  "Actually, I had something
in mind all along.  Something I think you'll like."

"Oh?  What's that?"

He held out his hand in silence, a little grin
challenging her once again.  It wasn't wise, but
she couldn't resist the warmth that waited for her
there.  With an inner sigh at her foolishness, she
put her hand in Sam's and let him take her away
from sanity once again.


**********


"Keep your eyes closed.  That's it.  Just hold on
to my hand."

Intrigued beyond imagination, she muttered for the
fifth time, "This is ridiculous," but she let him
lead her on.  Her shoe bumped into something and
she stumbled, feeling his hand steady her.

"Easy."  Sam let go of her hand and moved her
around.  "Now, sit."

She did, wondering what he had up his sleeve. 
They'd passed any number of decent, affordable
diners on their way to an unknown destination.  It
was only after they'd gone several blocks he'd
asked her to close her eyes, saying he wanted to
surprise her with dinner.  Her protest was weak in
the face of his twinkling, pleading smile, and
she'd relented shortly afterward.  He left her
standing on the street corner for a couple of
minutes, though he'd always stayed within earshot
as he shouted a warning or two her way about daring
to open her eyes.

Then it was a few minutes more of blindness, as he
guided her to wherever they now sat.  The seat
beneath her backside was cold, and she shivered,
picturing them at a local bus stop.  Maybe her
remarks about him being cheap had steered him to
take her to Baltimore, or Washington.  If so, she
would quickly disabuse him of that notion; she had
no need for fancy food and fine wine.

"Okay, you can open your eyes."

Emma slowly cracked open her eyes, taking in the
field before her with surprise and confusion.  Sam
sat beside her, his full hands offered with a
tentative smile.

A hot dog and a bottle of Coca-Cola.  She
remembered seeing the street vendor across the way
the moment before he'd asked her to close her eyes. 
The smell had been mouth-watering, and it had
stayed with her after Sam had joined her once
again.  This was his idea of dinner?

She was mildly disappointed.  Of course, she
remembered he wasn't exactly Rockefeller at the
moment, and she gave him a small smile as she took
the food and drink.  "Nice."

His smile faded.  "You don't like it."

"I do," she said quickly.  Too quickly, because Sam
stiffened beside her, giving her his profile.

He grabbed his own hot dog and soda, standing. 
"C'mon.  I think we can still make Antonini's
before it closes."  He was halfway down the
bleacher steps before she found her voice.

"Sam!"  Great.  Now she'd insulted him.  "I didn't
mean to make you angry.  It's just that I know you
don't have much money, and I don't mind cooking for
you, really -"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Emma?  I
*have* money!  I didn't always make twenty-one
dollars a month, you know," he said, quoting the
salary he'd received when he joined up back at the
beginning of the war.  Her brothers had thought it
a great deal of money at the time, but Sam
obviously looked at it with disdain.  Just more
proof he was used to the finer things in life.

He spread his hands; soda flew from the bottle in a
spray against the night.  "I made a good deal of it
when I played baseball.  Fox took control of what
I'd saved when he thought... anyway, it's still
there.  I can afford to take you *anywhere*, damn
it.  I just thought I'd..."

As he trailed off, she took up her attempt to win
back his favor.  "You just thought you'd what?"

"Never mind." He half turned, a lonely figure
against the backdrop of the field lights.

Emma went to him, still clutching the food like it
was caviar.  "Tell me," she pleaded softly, looking
up at his frown with a quiet request for
forgiveness.

Sam's cheeks, seemingly sculpted of stone, relaxed
a bit as he lowered his chin.  Whatever he wanted
to say embarrassed him, and Emma wanted to kick
herself for ruining their good time.

"I told you I'd tell you anything."  He looked up
at her; perched as she was on the steps above him,
he faced her on equal ground.  He nodded at the
baseball diamond beyond.  "This is the best part of
me, Emma.  I wanted to show you the best part of
me."

He was wrong.  Baseball wasn't the best part of
him.  It was his ability to stay normal in his
chaotic world; to bounce back from a void that
would cripple any other man and simply go on
living.  She admired his tenacity, his capacity for
finding just the right things to say and do.  To
show little pieces of himself to her when she knew
he wasn't a person who easily trusted.  It was the
last she considered the best of all.

She wanted to tell him all this, to pour out her
growing feelings for him on these cold steps amidst
an unusual December thaw.  But she didn't; it
wasn't the right time.  She knew the right time
would come soon, despite her reluctant heart.

"Then show me, Sam."  She went back to her seat,
taking a healthy bite of the hot dog.  She made a
big production out of chewing, just like a child at
her first game.  Excited, in awe, and downright
squirming with happiness.  "I've never seen 'the
best' before."

Still a little skittish, he took his time climbing
the bleachers.  "Can I eat my hot dog first?"

"Sure.  It's the best hot dog I ever tasted."

He flopped down beside her, unwrapping his dinner
with a sigh.  "It's cold."

"It's just right," she said, speaking of the
company more than the food, meeting Sam's gaze.

"It is, isn't it?" he said in return, giving her a
smile.

She sat back, enjoying the hot dog and his return
to happiness.


**********


"If you have all that money, why are you working at
Da's?"

He wondered how long it would take Emma to catch on
to that little detail.  Ten minutes - not bad. 
Just enough time to finish a cold hot dog and sip
at the soda with those plump, pink lips.  He took
the remains of her dinner, and along with his,
stuffed them under his seat, ignoring her
admonishing look.

"Why do *you* think I'm working there?" he replied,
giving her a narrowed stare.

It was the first time all night she'd blushed.  But
it wasn't the first time she'd hedged his obvious
advance.

"Okay, then."  With typical poise, she sidestepped
his question.  "Why would a man like you turn your
back on all that money?  From what I understand,
you were raised in privilege.  Don't you want to
return to your old life?  Baseball players are like
movie stars - they never want for anything."

"You forget - I never made it to the majors."

"But you were going to, Dana told me so."

"You've been talking to Dana about me?"  This time,
she clammed up instead of blushing, her lips
pursing at the way he avoided the subject.  "Okay,
okay.  I did have it all, Emma.  Doesn't mean it
made me happy."

"How could it not?  You loved the game, didn't
you?"

"I did."  That, at least, was the truth.

"You're not too old, Sam.  Lots of ball players
went off to war and came back to play again.  Look
at Joe Dimaggio, and..."  She trailed off; he could
see her mind working behind those clear blue eyes. 
She wasn't much of a fan, but she recognized name
players.

"And Ted Williams, and PeeWee Reese, and Warren
Spahn..." The list was endless.  "You're leaving
out one important detail, Emma."

"What's that?"

"Those men weren't declared dead.  They didn't turn
up out of nowhere, naked, with no memory of where
they'd been."

"So?"

She waved it off like it was of minor importance. 
But Sam knew that baseball was apple pie and
America all the way.  Even as a minor-leaguer, he'd
found his carousing covered up by management.  Fans
wouldn't appreciate reading about their supposedly
squeaky-clean heroes.

"That doesn't mean you can't still play," she
continued.  A sudden thought made her wide-eyed. 
"You *can* still play, can't you?  I mean, you
haven't forgotten how, have you?"

Sam laughed, loving how Emma could switch gears in
an instant.  He hoped she showed the same easy
ability when it came to upping the speed of their
relationship.

"No, I haven't forgotten."  He sobered, taking her
hand.  "I just don't know if that's what I want
anymore."

"You'd rather sling beer?"

Sam frowned.  Truthfully, he missed the game
terribly.  If it weren't for Emma, he would be
hounding his former agent for a chance at a
comeback.  He was in excellent shape, and he
figured it would take only a few weeks of training
for him to regain his pre-war form.  But a cloud
lingered over his return, and he could not shake
the feeling there was something more he had to
resolve before he could think about things like
baseball.

However, it didn't stop him from thinking of Emma. 
He didn't care what waited for him around the next
corner, as long as she stood by his side.

The conversation had taken a serious turn, one he
didn't care for.  He'd told her he'd talk about
anything, but the night was waning and time was
precious.

"I'd rather take a turn around the diamond, that's
true."  Standing, he pulled her up with him. 
"C'mon.  Time for the best."

Emma resisted, eyeing the field with fear.  "But I
didn't bring my galoshes!"

"I've been coming here every morning to exercise,"
he explained.  "The field is built up and drains
well.  It's not wet at all."  Actually, he'd been
delighted to find the park had a baseball diamond -
a good one, from all appearances.  Several faded
posters still lined the dugout fences, advertising
local league play and tournaments all summer long. 
Maybe if he stuck around, he'd hook up with one of
the teams for a bit of coaching or playing.

"You promise?"

Sam helped Emma over the low gate at the edge of
the grass, lifting her with ease.  "I promise."

For the next half hour, they played at imaginary
hitting and pitching, laughing like kids all the
while.  Emma dove into the play like a tomboy
reborn, huffing with disappointment when he'd beat
her to first base.

"You're pretty good," he told her at last, as he
swung at her imaginary curve ball.  "For a girl. 
Home run, by the way."

"For a girl?"  She stood on the pitcher's mound,
arms akimbo and ire raised.  "And that was not a
home run.  It was foul."

"You're just mad because you're losing 52 - 0."  He
took off like he'd hit it out of the park, with
arms raised, his face plastered with a cocky grin.

"Oh no you don't."

Sam felt a pair of hands grab his coat from behind. 
He didn't budge from his steady trot around the
bases, listening to Emma mutter all manner of slurs
- did she call him a 'puce woodpecker'? -  against
his prowess with a giddy heart.  As he rounded
second, he turned and picked her up amidst her
burgeoning laughter.

"And the crowd goes wild!" he shouted, carrying her
with ease to third, her hair spilling over his arm
like a banner of victory.  She laughed in earnest
now, her hands circling his neck and her legs
kicking like a child's.

"Mulder makes it 53 with room to spare!"  She was
so light, she barely made a dent in his breathing,
and pure joy raced up his spine as he touched home. 
"Even with an extra hundred and twenty pounds, he
still has it, ladies and gentlemen!"

"Hundred and twenty?  I'll have you know I weigh no
more than one hundred and fifteen, soaking wet." 
Still smiling, she managed a reproving glare.

Sam was in no hurry to put her down.  In fact, he
bounced her a bit, grinning at her little squeal of
distress.  "Feels like one hundred twenty to me." 
She was a lightweight, but curved in all the right
places; from the slight dismay in her tone, he knew
she wished herself thinner.  He lowered his voice,
leaning down to capture her gaze with his.  "Nice
and soft.  I like a woman with a few curves and
dimples."

He saw the rebuke flash in her eyes, then saw her
make the conscious effort to do away with it, as
she lowered her voice to match his.  "I only have
one dimple - see?"  The side of her mouth lifted,
showing him the perfect little dip in her cheek.

His lips barely brushed the enticing little notch,
and he swallowed back the urge to refute her words. 
He'd lay money on it she had more interesting
dimples.  Instead, he breathed in, letting the
scent of powder and perfume fill his head.  "I
see," he whispered, lifting the arm beneath her
head to bring her closer.  "Think our children will
have dimples?"

Where the hell had *that* come from?

Sam froze above her, waiting for the inevitable
Emma slam.  The tensing of her body, the fire in
her eyes, the pierce of her tongue as she lashed
out with defensive retreat... already, he heard her
breathing change in anticipation of her barking out
the 'no kissing' rule once again.

"Sam?"  Her fingers curled into the lapel of his
coat like talons; he couldn't see her face, he was
so close.  But he felt her sudden anxiety like a
slap in the face.

"Yes?" he sighed, moving away.

"Kiss me."  The fingers gripping his coat pulled
him back, sliding up to touch his cheek.

"Emma?"  He couldn't believe she meant it.  No way.

But one look at her slumberous gaze told a
different story; she licked her lips, her eyelashes
sweeping up then down, as if she was deciding which
part of his face she wanted to taste first.  Oh,
boy, he thought.  There was no mistaking that look. 
Still, he had to be sure.

"Emma, are you sure?"

"Are you deaf?" she huffed.  "I asked you to kiss
me, Sam Mulder.  If you don't hurry up and do it,
I'm liable to lose my nerve and tell you to put me
down and then we'll both go home very unhappy -"

It didn't take but a second for him to shut her up. 
This time, he was the aggressor, using all his
experience to woo her with his kiss.  He felt her
fingers caress his face as it went on and on; he
came up for air after a while, then dove back in,
separating his kisses into little increments as he
tasted first one corner then the other, then slowly
slid his tongue inside her welcoming mouth.  She
didn't waver under his onslaught; actually, he
imagined he felt a giggle of delight purr up her
throat.  She wasn't laughing at him - she was
ecstatic with emotion, and he almost threw his head
back and yelled like a caveman who'd conquered his
woman.

"I guess this means it's okay to kiss you now," he
breathed over her mouth, biting at the lush
fullness of her lips.

"Kissing, sure," she murmured right back, offering
him her neck.  His tongue darted into that dimple
before traveling down in a path to the pulse that
raced under the skin.  "Necking, maybe."

"This could count as necking, you know," he said
against the location in question.  Her dainty ear
beckoned, and he made a beeline for the tender
flesh, giving it a pinch between his lips.

Emma jerked in his arms and sucked in a ragged
breath.  "I - I guess," she stammered, her nails
reacting with a snaking curl into his hair.  "Sam?"

"Yeah?"  Oh, the skin beneath the collar of that
prim dress was ever so warm.  If he just pushed
with his mouth a little bit, he could find out if
it tasted even better than her cheek...

"Can you stop now?  Please?"

The bucket of cold water splashed on him by that
small plea made him come to a screeching halt,
though he took a moment to rest his head in the
crook of her shoulder with a sigh.

"I'm sorry to do this to you," she continued in a
voice filled with jittery tears, but he cut her off
before she could finish, accepting his
responsibility for the kiss.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Emma."  He
looked at her pinkened cheeks and distressed eyes
and sought to ease her worry.  "All you have to do
is ask me to stop, and I will.  I'm not the type of
guy who doesn't take 'no' for an answer."

It was the truth.  Even when he'd seduced any
number of women before the war, he'd always stopped
when they asked.  Which wasn't often, he admitted. 
It had never been easy to walk away from a
beautiful woman, and Emma - well, this was liable
to kill him.  But he'd do it.

"I didn't think you were," she said, her chest
relaxing on an exhale that gave lie to her
statement.  She was still very unsure around him,
and he supposed he couldn't blame her.  He hadn't
exactly endeared himself to her the first few days
they'd known one another.  "I just... I just liked
it a bit too much."

A slow grin split his cheeks.  "Oh, I bet that
hurt," he drawled, watching her bristle.

Like a cat, she slipped away from him, scrambling
from his arms to get her feet under her.  She
pulled her coat together and patted her hair,
missing the wayward lock that spilled over her
forehead.  Her ribbon lay askew, and he wanted
nothing more than to steal it from her hair,
letting the whole mass frame her face.  The image
nearly felled him like a redwood and he took a step
back.

"Just for that, Sam Mulder, I expect the whole nine
yards next Sunday.  Champagne, violins and
something a bit more tasty than hot dogs.  Got it?" 
Head held high, she stormed off.

It took Sam a moment to suspend his disbelief; he
caught up with her, more out of breath than he'd
been running the bases.  "We're on again for next
Sunday?"

Her profile was a study in control.  "Of course,"
she replied, as if there were no other say in the
matter.  "Now that I know you're filthy rich, I
expect to be treated with some style."

He stopped in his tracks, his chest tight.  "I'm
not 'filthy rich', Emma."  If that was all she was
after, she'd be sadly disappointed.

She stopped a few feet ahead of him, slowly turning
with a twinkle in her eye.  "Can you spring for a
spaghetti dinner?  Served on nice plates with maybe
a candle or two?  Because to me, that's grand
living.  I've never eaten by candlelight, you
know."

"You witch."  She'd made him think she was like all
the others for a second - only after his face and
his money.

Emma lazily curled a lock of hair around one
finger.  "Goes with the hair, you know.  Ask anyone
from Ireland."  She laughed, tossing back the
strands with a careless gesture before extending
her hand.  "C'mon.  I've got to get home before Da
comes looking for me."

He stared at her hand for a moment before enfolding
it in his; he was silent as they walked back to the
pub, feeling as if she'd given him the world with
the offer of her hand.


**********


"Well, this is it." Emma stood beside him on the
sidewalk, giving her car a nod.  "I don't suppose
I'll see you until Saturday at the earliest.  Try
not to get into any trouble until then, okay?"

"Who, me?"  Sam touched her cheek; he couldn't stop
his fingers from caressing her skin.  She was so
soft and warm, just as he'd said at the beginning
of the evening.  Infinitely more soft and warm than
brown cashmere.  "I don't get into trouble, Emma."

"Trouble finds you," she finished for him.  "Just
remember we have another date next Sunday.  I'd
hate to have to miss out on that great dinner
you're going to feed me because you decided to run
around naked again.  Or play with a man with a
knife."

"I won't," he promised.  He'd act like a choir boy
until then.  Avoid any and all temptations, as well
as buckets of mopwater.  "Same time next Sunday?"

She nodded.  "I'll meet you here."

He'd really have to see about getting himself some
wheels; he fancied pulling up in Emma's driveway
with a bouquet of flowers - letting her father and
the whole world know his intentions.  But he could
sense she still wasn't quite ready for that,
despite the kiss on the baseball field.  Until
then, this would have to do.

Emma shifted before him, suddenly unable to stand
still.  "Are you going to kiss me goodnight?"

He almost complied without thought, then tilted his
head to one side with a narrowed gaze.  "Do you
want me to?"

"Well, it would be nice, I think."  Hope bloomed in
her face, and Sam leaned in.

But he didn't kiss her; he stopped a mere fraction
of an inch from her lips.  "Nah.  Don't think I
will.  You've had enough kissing for one night.  I
want you to still respect me in the morning."

"Oh, you -" Emma punched him, albeit ineffectively. 
"Fine."  She walked around her car, heading for the
driver's side door.  "If you think you can just
call the tune, Sam Mulder, you've got another -"

He was getting pretty good at silencing that smart
mouth.  Pressing her against the door, he drank
deeply of her anger and even more deeply of her
passion.  Her arms went around his back, his
trapped her against glass and steel as he
insinuated himself between her legs.  He let her
feel his instant arousal, rubbing his body slowly
over her smaller form.  Her breath caught and she
tore her mouth away.

"Dear Lord," she choked out, as he sucked in air
above her.  "Is that what I have to look forward
to?"

Sam looked at her lovely face, with its closed eyes
and kiss-bruised mouth.  "Only if you say yes," he
groaned, wondering how long he'd have to wait. 
He'd go out and buy the biggest diamond tomorrow if
she even sighed her consent at that moment.

Her eyes slowly opened, twin stars in the night. 
"If you ask the right question, I just might." 
Before he could reply, she gave him a swift peck on
the cheek.  "Good night, Sam.  Sleep well."  She
was in the car and gone in the time it took him to
stagger back.

He watched her drive away, standing in the street
like an overheated car that finally gave up the
ghost and sputtered to a stop.  Sleep well?  She'd
just implied she'd give him his most ardent desire
and she expected him to sleep well?  Hell, he
wouldn't sleep all week!

He'd have to get flowers.  Lots of 'em.  And though
she hinted she favored the little Italian place
down the block, he'd give her a dinner to top them
all, even if he had to take her to Washington.  Top
of the line champagne, and maybe some dancing... no
hot dogs and awful movies this time, no sir.

Movement on the opposite side of the street broke
him from his foolish grin.  A lone figure, hunched
over in the darkness beyond the street light,
looked his way as it stumbled to a stop.  Sam went
still in a staredown of sorts with the man,
wondering who the hell it was and why he'd been
spying on him and Emma.  He was a moment away from
asking just that when the guy moved - right under
the light then quickly away down the street.

It was him!  The man who'd tried to rob Mike's! 
Sam took off at a run.  "Hey you!  Stop right
there!"

So Emma had told him not to get into trouble.  This
wasn't trouble; the guy looked like he did a week
ago, except more skinny, as if he missed another
few meals.  The short, thin legs were no match for
Sam's, and it wasn't long before Sam had him by the
collar.

"Don't hurt me, please!"

Sam shoved him face first into the nearest brick
wall, hearing the slap of the man's cheek against
the hard surface with satisfaction.  "Who the hell
are you?" he growled, doing a quick search of the
guy's pockets.  No weapon found, Sam turned him
around to snarl once again, "Who are you?  What the
hell are you doing?  Get a thrill from watching
people, is that it?  Some kind of Peeping Tom? 
Answer me!"

"I - I just wanted to see if you were okay, that's
all!"  Small, gloved hands came up in a gesture of
total surrender.  "Honest!  I didn't mean no harm,
mister."

"You're the guy who tried to rob Mike's the other
day, aren't you?"  Though he was almost positive he
recognized the guy, Sam wanted to be sure before he
called the police.  "Aren't you?"

"It wasn't my idea!  Really!  All I wanted was some
money for my wife and kid, that's all!  I never
meant to hurt you, honest!"

Sam stilled at that, giving the guy a look of
pointed suspicion.  "Not your idea?  You mean,
someone sent you in there?"

"Sent?  No, no, not really like 'sent'," the guy
said quickly.  "He was kinda spooky, ya know?"

"Who?"

"The guy who told me there was better pickin's
across the street.  I was gonna hit the diner, but
then this guy says I should go to the bar -"

Sam gave the guy a shake.  "*Who*, damn it!"

"I dunno!  I didn't see his face!  He kinda stayed
in the alley back there and had his hat pulled over
his face.  He told me I'd get better pickin's
across the street, like he knew what I was lookin'
for - weird, I'm tellin' ya!"

Fear made Sam grip harder; he almost choked the
fellow now with his own jacket.  "What did he look
like?"

"I don't know, I tell ya!  I think he had a beard,
but it coulda been the way he had his coat turned
up like some real pappy, ya know?"

"A wiseguy?" Sam said, picturing a suave criminal. 
Someone smart enough to dress well and use others
like this poor sap to do his dirty work.

"Coulda been.  Talked real nice."

"And he told you to come see me?"

"See you?  Nah.  He just said there was better -"

"Pickings across the street, I know," Sam finished
for him.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, honest."

Again, Sam was assaulted by a prickling of dread. 
"You didn't hurt me."

The guy swallowed hard, looking Sam up and down. 
"But I did.  I slipped and the knife -"

"Went over your own palm," Sam said, nodding at the
fellow's raised hand.  "C'mon.  We're going to the
police."

"No!"  Caught by surprise by the guy's slip from
his own coat, Sam was left holding nothing but
threadbare wool.  "I stabbed you!  I did!  I came
back tonight to see if you were okay - I didn't
want no murder charge on me!"

"Look, I don't want to have to chase you all over
Annapolis," Sam said, walking forward.  The guy
backed away slowly, stepping into the street with a
desperate look.  "C'mon, buddy.  If what you say is
true, then they'll go easy on you.  Mike has
friends in the police department.  If all you need
is a little help for your family, that can be
arranged."

"You don't understand, I stabbed you.  Right here." 
The fellow laid a hand over his heart.  "You should
be dead."

"I'm not, as you can see.  Now, c'mon -"

"What are you?  Some kinda zombie or somethin'?" 
Real fear raced over the guy's features.  "Don't
come near me."

"Gimme a break, fella," Sam said, catching the
approach of a bus from the corner of his eye.  "And
get out of the street before you get yourself
killed."

But the guy was having no part of him, shaking his
head with wild confusion.  He frantically stripped
off his gloves, throwing them to the pavement.

"Get out of the street!" Sam warned, not really
feeling like tackling the guy to make him comply. 
Surely he'd see the bus in a moment and get his ass
out of the way?

"See?"

"See what?"  Sam was pissed now; he stepped off the
curb, intending to drag the guy out of the road.

"My hands."  The lights of the bus cast the guy in
a ghostly glow, and Sam stopped.  "Look at my
hands."

No marks at all.  No bandages, no scratches,
certainly no slashes.  That couldn't be.  Sam
recalled the amount of blood on his sweatshirt, and
he raised a hand to his heart as he stood there
stupefied.

"See?" the guy whispered, his words almost lost in
the roar of the bus.  "I stabbed *you*.  You oughta
be dead."

Sam snapped out of his shocked stare the second he
heard the horn.  "No!" he cried, but it was too
late.  The guy made a run for it, and he almost
made it - but was a split second too slow.  The bus
clipped his leg and flipped him over like a rag
doll.  Amidst the squealing of brakes, Sam heard
the body hit the pavement with a thud.  He ran
across the street, kneeling beside the guy, who
laid bloody and bruised, his eyes wild.

"Don't talk," Sam said, wrapping the coat around
the fellow.  "I'll call an ambulance."

"Don't touch me," the man hissed, his voice
scratchy with pain.  "You're a devil!  Don't touch
me!"

"Easy, buddy, easy."  At the approach of the open-
mouthed bus driver, Sam barked, "Call an
ambulance!"  The driver ran back to his now silent
bus; Sam heard the crackle of a radio over the
hushed whispers of his few passengers.

"Get the hell away from me!"  With the last of his
strength, the would-be robber shoved Sam away. 
"Don't touch me!"

Sam sat and listened to him cry until he heard the
first siren, feeling the sudden cold wind drift
over him until there was nothing left but icy fear.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Sixteen


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"I'll be with you in a minute," Fox said softly,
holding his hand over the mouthpiece of the
telephone.  Fox didn't look too happy; Sam could
sympathize, remembering the shit he used to catch
in the service.  It must still roll downhill even
in peace time.  He sat when Fox gestured for him to
take the chair opposite, looking around the big
office with a proud eye.

Commendations and certificates lined the dark
paneled walls.  From the window beyond, Sam could
see a spectacular view of the Potomac River, the
Washington Monument soaring into the Heavens like a
single spear of justice.  When he'd first seen the
Pentagon, he'd been dazzled by its sheer size. 
Hell, he still was, marveling at the way the world
had changed since he'd been gone.

And Fox?  Well, from all appearances, his brother
was a decorated hero of Naval Intelligence.  He had
a picture of himself posing with an admiral, for
Christ's sake!  He shouldn't be surprised; Fox was
always the better man.  Smart and loyal, brave and
willing to tackle the unknown for a just cause. 
Ambition never ruled his brother - just a deep
sense of justice.

"Yes, sir," Fox was saying, his face tight.  "I
understand, sir.  I'm in a meeting right now, but
I'll be up shortly.  Thank you, sir."  He hung up,
wiping a hand over his face.

Whatever transpired on the phone had unsettled his
big brother.  Sam hoped it wasn't anything to do
with Sunday night's events.  "Ass-chewing from
above?" Sam asked, only half teasing.  If Fox had a
bone to pick, he'd do it immediately.

"Huh?"  Fox gave Sam a glazed look.

Okay.  Maybe not anything to do with Sunday night,
Sam figured.  Which made it none of his business. 
"I see you finally made Captain," he said, changing
the subject with a nod at Fox's uniform. 
"Congratulations."

"Thanks."  Fox's smile was brief, and he hastily
pulled open his middle drawer, removing a sheaf of
papers.  "Look, Sam, I can't do lunch today. 
Something's come up and I have to meet with my
commanding officer ASAP."

"I understand.  Duty calls."  Sam reached over the
desk for the papers Fox offered.  "These all I
need?"

Fox seemed to stare a hole through Sam, only
releasing the papers when Sam gave a gentle tug. 
"Uh, yeah - discharge, revocation of the death
certificate.  Your savings account passbook is in
the envelope; I've deposited your share of Dad's
estate in there.  All you need to do is re-apply
for your driver's license -"

"I don't want Dad's money."  Sam was adamant; he
didn't want any part of his father's estate.  "You
keep it.  You have a baby coming, and you'll need
every penny."

"Sam, don't do this.  Dad is long gone.  There's no
need to fight with him anymore."

Sam sighed, hanging his head as he fisted the
papers.  "All I ever wanted from him was respect. 
For me *and* for you."

"I know.  I wanted the same thing."  Sam heard Fox
shift in his chair, knowing his brother leaned
closer over the desk.  "Take it, Sam.  Buy yourself
the biggest house in D.C.  Take a long vacation. 
Give it away - I don't care.  Dad would have wanted
you to use it."

Sam remained silent, pondering Fox's statement. 
Their father had never really given a damn about
either of them except to goad them into excelling
mentally and physically.  He didn't want the money,
but neither did he want to start an argument over
it just when he and Fox were beginning to get back
to normal.  He looked up, pocketing the papers in
his coat with a small smile.  "I can think of
someone who needs a bit of cash."

Fox leaned back in his chair with a tilt of his
head.  "Wouldn't happen to be the guy who walked
right into a bus, would it?"

He couldn't have kept his run-in with the little
thief a secret, even if he'd taped Mike's mouth
shut.  There was no way he could get out of calling
Mike that Sunday night.  It was only by sheer luck
Emma hadn't yet made it home and overheard Mike's
end of their conversation.  He'd briefly explained
what had happened, leaving out the fellow's weird
behavior, naturally.  The cops were easy to
satisfy, as they weren't too keen on dragging out
their Sunday night with overdone details.  They'd
simply carted off the unconscious man in an
ambulance and told Sam they'd be in touch if the
guy survived his injuries.  Which was looking more
unlikely with every day he remained unconscious.

Mike had left Sam to deal with it on his own this
time, only saying it was a good thing Sam hadn't
gotten in the way of the bus as well.  Sam made him
promise not to tell Emma, and Mike had agreed,
saying it was best to put it all behind them.  But
Sam fully expected an irate Emma to let him have
next time they saw one another; news had a way of
traveling fast in the Scully family.  Just as he
expected his brother to give him a bit of grief,
especially when he noticed the grim look on Fox's
face as he walked through his office door moments
ago.  It was no use denying Fox's suspicions, so
Sam gave his brother the confirmation he needed. 
"He's just what he said he was - a guy down on his
luck, with a wife and kid."

Cannon was his name, Sam had found out.  He was
holding his own in the hospital, but due to heavy
sedation, he'd been unable to talk very much.  Sam
had tried to speak to him again every morning since
the accident, but with no success.  Even when the
doctors allowed Cannon to come out from under
sedation, he baffled them by simply not waking up. 
Some unknown bleeding in the brain, according to
the nurses.  Maybe he'd never wake up at all.  

It didn't help that he had to face the guy's wife,
who sat by her husband's bedside looking just as
malnourished as the poor fellow.

Three days now he'd wondered if what Cannon claimed
could be true.  Despite the blood-soaked shirt, Sam
knew he hadn't been stabbed.  It had happened so
fast, he hadn't had time to feel anything - and he
didn't recall much of what he *had* felt, other
than an overwhelming sense of panic and dread.

"None of that is your fault, Sam."

What?  No complaining?  No reprimand for putting
himself in front of the guy once again?  Whatever
was in that call must have really sidetracked his
brother, if Fox was willing to let the incident
pass with just that comment.

"I know it isn't."  He truly felt sorry for the guy
and his family, knowing post-war times were tough
for those without jobs.  "I just think about that
guy and wonder if the same thing could happen to me
one day."  He didn't know when he'd grown a
conscience, but it felt good.  In days past, he
hadn't given a damn about his fellow man - a
remnant of his father's upbringing.

Fox nodded, and Sam knew by his silence he agreed. 
Nobody was safe anymore; the war had proven that
the struggles of power-hungry men rippled down to
the most simple of folk, robbing them of freedom
and in some cases, their very lives.

"I really hate to cut this short, Sam," Fox stated
with a swift change of subject.  "But my CO needs
to see me.  Sorry about this.  I really wanted to
talk to you a bit.  Find out how you were doing."

Sam stood when Fox did, knowing the job took
precedence.  "I'm doing okay, Smokey.  No
complaints."  Except for one little thing about a
stab wound that wasn't, he really was doing great. 
The job was fulfilling, the apartment met his
needs, and he had Emma.  That was the best part of
it all.  "I gotta get back.  Mike gave me a couple
hours off to come see you, but he's shorthanded
today, so he could use my help in the kitchen."

His brother walked him to the door.  "Kitchen
duty?"  Fox shook his head with a chuckle.  "Never
thought I'd see the day my brother was up to his
elbows in dishwater."

"I don't mind.  Nothing like good hard work."  To
keep his mind off stab wounds that weren't.  To
keep his legs from walking to Emma's house every
day to steal a kiss or two.

"You're beginning to sound like Mike Scully, Sam."

"Nothing wrong with that, either."

Fox stopped at the open door, giving Sam a long
look.  "I'm... I'm glad you're doing okay, Sam."

Sam looked at his brother's outstretched hand,
knowing Fox hadn't expected him to do this well. 
He should be angry at the lack of faith behind
Fox's almost apology, but he wasn't.  If he hadn't
been such a drunken idiot all those years, he might
have inspired Fox to believe in him a little more. 
Now, seeing the light of admiration and respect in
Fox's eyes, he took the offered hand, feeling as if
the race between them was finally at an end. 
Neither had wanted it in the first place, but both
had harbored the competitive spirit instilled in
them by their father for many years.  It was time
to let it all go and move on.

"Thanks, Smokey," he said softly, feeling a new
warmth spring up in their clasped hands.  "I'm
happy for you, too.  Good wife, good job, a baby on
the way.  You deserve it."

"You deserve the same, Sam."  Fox looked up from
his study of their hands, giving Sam's fingers one
last squeeze, his eyes beaming with one last
challenge.  One not of sibling rivalry, but of the
chance to win all that mattered.  "Now do me proud
and go get it."

Long after he'd left, Sam still felt Fox's grip on
his fingers.  It was the welcome he'd waited for;
one that pulled him back home to stay.

  
**********


Scully was awakened by a lingering, warm kiss.  She
stretched, moaning under the light pressure.

"My husband isn't expected home for another couple
of hours yet," she murmured, running her fingers
through her lover's soft hair.  "I thought you'd
never get here."

"I can call the SP's on him, you know," the
masculine voice replied in a whisper against her
mouth.  "Make sure he spends the night in the brig. 
Whaddya think?"

She arched under the roaming hands, almost purring
as they caressed her now generous curves.  "Oh,
Admiral Skinner... you certainly know how to sweet
talk a girl."  Her eyes popped open to see a
grinning, handsome face above her own.  With a mock
look of surprise, she added, "Since when did you
grow hair?"

"Very funny," Mulder said, sitting on the bed
beside her.  "You feeling okay this afternoon?"

It took her a while - and a helping hand from
Mulder - but she managed to scoot up to a sitting
position.  "I'm feeling fine.  Just taking my
afternoon nap."  Speaking of - it *was* still
afternoon, judging from the bright light outside
her bedroom window.  "What are you doing home,
Mulder?  Skinner on vacation?"  Mulder's CO was a
hard-working, no-nonsense guy, and though he was
considerate of his officers' need for time off, it
wasn't yet Christmas.  Mulder had already arranged
for a couple of weeks of leave over the holidays;
showing up at home in the middle of the work week
told her he was either sick or something was up.

Mulder lowered his gaze, and she knew immediately
the news wasn't good.  "Is it Sam?"

"No.  He's doing fine, actually," he hastened to
assure her, taking her hand.  "Scully, Skinner
called me into his office today with some news."

She knew even before he said it.  Only one thing
had the power to make Mulder look so concerned
besides worry over her.  "Chang."  At his pinched
frown, she knew she was right.  "He's back, isn't
he?"

"Not that we've confirmed."  He drew back as she
shoved at him to get off the bed.  "Scully, don't
worry -"

"I'm not worried."  Well, not all *that* worried. 
She carefully kept an even tone, knowing Mulder
tended to get more worked up about these things
than she did.  In her mind, the safety of her baby
was tantamount, and a cool head in this matter
would serve them well.  She stood, straightening
her skirt as she slipped into her shoes.  "But it
looks like you are."

Mulder towered over her, trying to wipe his face of
concern.  "I'm not worried."

"Like hell you aren't."  With a huff, she realized
her bladder wouldn't wait another moment.  She made
for the bathroom, leaving the door half open as she
made use of the toilet.  She would be so happy when
she didn't have to pee every five minutes anymore. 
"You came home in the middle of the day, Mulder. 
That's not worried?"

Beyond the door, she heard him move about the
bedroom.  She could just picture him checking out
the closets, drawing back the curtains to give the
street a thorough scan.

"Skinner gave me the afternoon off."

Scully righted her clothes with relief and washed
her hands.  Over the running of the water, she
raised her voice.  "Skinner *never* just gives you
the afternoon off, Mulder."  As soon as she shut
off the water, she heard him scramble back to the
middle of the room.  She kicked open the door,
towel in hand.  Yep.  He stood there, his fake
smile trying to cover up his worry.  "Okay, tell me
what you know."

"I don't want you to worry, Scully."

"Mulder, I'm worried about *you*."  She threw the
towel on the sink and approached him.  He was still
in his overcoat; she wondered if he'd even killed
the motor on his car.  "Just tell me what you know,
and we'll deal with it together, okay?"

She headed for the kitchen, gesturing for Mulder to
follow.  He did with a sigh, pulling out one of the
chairs at the table to sit.  Scully lifted an
eyebrow, prompting him to get started as she
searched the refrigerator for the chicken she
planned to use for dinner.

"First off, let me say that Chang hasn't been seen
in the States," Mulder said.  "So this is all just
supposition at this point."

"Fair enough."  Scully took her time unwrapping the
chicken at the sink.  "Apparently Skinner heard
something, though."

"Several of Chang's former associates have been
seen around the country.  Mostly on the west coast
- San Francisco, Los Angeles."

"Why haven't they been picked up?"

"The FBI is on the trail of a heroin ring operating
out of southeast Asia.  The dope is being funneled
through Chang's old contacts; they don't want to
scare off the real leaders behind it by arresting
the underlings."

"And where does Chang fit into all this?  If he
even *does* fit."

"The Bureau's being pretty tight-lipped about it
all.  Skinner only found out today because Charlie
caught wind of it at the CIA, and got a bit uneasy
when Chang's name started floating around."

"I'll bet he did," Scully said wryly, knowing just
how Charlie felt.  While not yet overly anxious
about these developments, she could do without
*any* mention of the name 'Chang'.  "Is there any
way he can find out more about what's going on?"

"I called him before I came home.  So far, he's
heard nothing that leads him to believe Chang is
back in business - or alive, for that matter.  The
Bureau swears that Chang is dead and gone.  But
Charlie's keeping an ear out for anything."  Mulder
sighed, looking at her with disquiet.  "I still
don't like it, no matter what the Bureau thinks."

"What exactly does the Bureau think?"

"That the underlings are floating Chang's name in
some sort of power play."  He smiled a grim smile. 
"You've got to admit, his name alone is enough to
scare the hell out of some people."

Uh-oh.  Mulder had something up his sleeve, and
Scully didn't hesitate to state her unwillingness
to panic.  "I'm not packing up and leaving town,
Mulder.  It's too close to my time."

He stood, coming to her side.  "I realize that,
Scully.  But I think we should maybe lay low for a
while, let Skinner find us a safe house -"

"Somewhere miles away in the middle of nowhere?  I
don't think so.  I'd rather be close to my doctor
and my hospital, Mulder.  That's the safest thing
we can do right now."  Her tone brooked no
argument.  "Besides, you said it yourself - they're
watching Chang's friends.  If something unusual
happens, we'll know about it, won't we?"

"I suppose."

In an attempt to lighten his mood, she added, "We
wouldn't want to ruin your office Christmas party,
now would we?"

"Screw the office Christmas party."

"If we go off half-cocked, we'll end up making
Skinner's life miserable.  He'll have to assign men
to go with us, men with families of their own.  And
there's nothing more than faint rumors right now."

"Skinner was concerned enough to tell me about it,"
Mulder pointed out.  "*And* give me the afternoon
off."

"Did he specifically order you to bundle me up and
high-tail it out of town?"

"No, but -"

"No buts, Mulder.  And he didn't give you the
afternoon off, did he?  Did you sneak out?"  Her
pointed look put a halt to his protests.

"It's not like I haven't done it before," he
muttered, giving her a muted leer.  He remembered
as she did his bad habit of ducking work for an
afternoon of making love and sharing time together. 
They hadn't done that in ages, not since they were
newlyweds.  Scully missed it terribly; however, she
knew her advanced pregnancy made that an
impossibility for now.  Just as Mulder knew he
couldn't use that as a reason for his absence from
work.

"Much as I like the idea of spending the afternoon
with you, Mulder, I'm putting my foot down on this
one.  We're not going anywhere, and that's final."

Mulder still didn't look satisfied, but he relented
in the face of her adamant decision.  "I just don't
like this.  Not at all.  Not right now."

Scully left the chicken on the cutting board,
quickly washing her hands so she could devote her
full attention to her husband.  "I admit, the
timing stinks," she said, giving him a hug.  The
nagging voice in the back of her mind pressed
forward, and she added, "Mulder, you don't think I
was right about Sam, do you?"  She hated to ask,
but it had to be addressed; Sam's return and all
the Chang talk were just too coincidental to be
ignored.

Mulder's arms tightened around her.  "Scully, Sam
is not working for Chang."

"I hope he isn't, Mulder."  Sam had given them no
indication he was anything but honest about his
amnesia; his actions since then were admirable. 
Mike raved about Sam's hard work and Emma - well,
Scully hadn't spoken to her in a week or more, but
all was well on that front, according to Uncle
Mike.  The two were slowly becoming an item, which
actually set Scully's mind at ease a bit.  Emma
wouldn't give Sam the time of day if he weren't a
gentleman.

"Sam is Sam, Scully."  Mulder pressed a kiss to her
hair.  "He's still a bit egocentric, but he's
coming around.  Do you know what he wants to do
with some of the savings I kept for him?"

"What?"

"He's giving it to the wife of the man who tried to
rob Mike's.  Says they look really down on their
luck."

Scully leaned back to look at Mulder with surprise. 
"He is?"

"Yep.  Surprised the hell out of me."

"Why?  Is he a Scrooge or something?"

"No, not at all.  He's just never been the sort
to..."

"Put other's needs above his own," she finished for
him.  "I see."

"You don't," Mulder insisted.  "Sam will do
anything for anyone - if he's asked.  He's not a
martyr, but neither is he an ass.  He's the most
courageous, brash, taking, *giving* person I know. 
An ordinary guy who took a helluva long time to put
aside the chip on his shoulder.  Get it?"

She nodded, musing on that development for a
moment.  If Sam weren't the honest sort, would he
give away money like that?  Then again, if he had
an unlimited source of ill-gotten funds thanks to
an association with Chang, what better way to get
in good with the object of Chang's vengeance than
by pretending to be charitable?  None of it made
sense - unless Sam were truly what Mulder said he
was.

"I think I do," she replied half-heartedly, knowing
she'd not heard the half of Sam's past from her
husband.  She didn't want to hear all the sordid
details.  But she knew her husband.  Brother or
not, if Sam was up to no good, Mulder wouldn't
hesitate to cut him out of their lives.

"Don't get me wrong, Scully.  Sam wasn't mean, or
uncharitable.  He was just so full of life, you
know?  There was always another adventure around
the next corner.  Another race to win, another
record to break..."

She couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice.
"Another party to go to."  With a sigh, she
apologized, "I'm sorry, Mulder."

"No, you're absolutely right."  Mulder touched her
cheek with a little smile.  "Sam was a different
person back then, Scully.  It's amazing to me how
much he's changed.  Like he's a new man."

Scully lifted an eyebrow.  "An alien?"

"Nah," Mulder laughed.  "That was an idiotic idea,
wasn't it?"

She couldn't resist pressing a kiss to that smiling
mouth.  "No more idiotic than mine."

"So now you think Sam has nothing to do with
Chang?"

She couldn't make those exact words come out of her
mouth.  But neither could she bear to dim Mulder's
faith in his brother.

"I think Sam is a lost soul, Mulder.  One who's
just finding his way back home.  He needs all the
help and support we can give him."

Mulder smiled, lowering his head.  "I like the way
you think.  Almost as much as I like the way you
look."

She pinched his arm, giving herself up to his kiss,
and losing all thoughts of the wayward brother for
some time.


**********


Sam kept a silent vigil at the ward door, watching
Cannon's wife sit at her husband's bedside.  He'd
have to leave soon, dodging Emma downstairs before
heading off to work.  Mike had given him the
afternoon off, telling him he wasn't needed until
the dinner crowd came in.  But he sure as hell
didn't want to run into Emma, even though he knew
she was already at work.

Like the interloper he was, he stayed a good
distance away from Cannon and his wife.  He'd gone
immediately from his brother's office to the bank. 
It took several hours to clear up all his business,
but the wait was worth it.  With a pocket full of
money, he'd approached the missus with a broad
smile, only to be quickly asked to leave.  She
hadn't even given him a chance to make the offer.

The woman didn't trust him, which he supposed was
only natural.  While he hadn't pushed the guy in
front of the bus, he had frightened him into a
serious accident, when Cannon had only been trying
to see for himself if Sam was okay.  Mrs. Cannon
had apparently had enough of Sam's loitering, and
in her fatigue, had let loose with a tongue-lashing
designed to make Sam leave them alone.  It had
worked; well, for the moment.  He'd heard whispers
among the nurses that, unless the Cannons could
come up with cash, Mr. Cannon would soon be moved
to the state hospital in Baltimore.  There was no
telling how long his coma would last, or if he
would ever recover.

But not yet.  Sam wasn't ready to give up on the
guy; he just *had* to talk to him again.  His money
could enable Cannon to continue to receive medical
care here in Annapolis - if only he could get past
the woman's vehement rejection.

"You can always give it to the hospital in Cannon's
name as an anonymous benefactor."

Startled at the soft voice, Sam stepped back from
the door to turn and face a black-garbed figure.

"I'm sorry, Sister," he said, addressing the nun
with a confused look.  "I didn't catch that."

"I suggested you give it anonymously to the
hospital."  Hands under the folds of her habit, she
moved in a glide to stand beside him, looking at
the couple at the end of the almost-empty ward. 
The interiors darkened as the late afternoon sun
dropped behind the building next door; the nun
looked like a shadow with a too-bright face.  "Mrs.
Cannon is just scared.  Of being alone.  Of having
to face death."  Those bright blue eyes swept up to
meet his.  "Then again, aren't we all?"

Something about the woman's soft-spoken, yet
probing manner, disturbed Sam.  As did her accurate
assessment of his situation.  "How did you know -"

"That you wanted to give her money?"  Off his mute
nod, she continued, "Easy.  You come every day. 
You obviously harbor some guilt about Mr. Cannon's
condition."

Guilt didn't begin to cover it.  If he'd just let
the guy have some of the pub's money, just a bit,
he'd have gone away.  The chain of events Sam had
set off with that one arrogant decision continued
to baffle him - and make him feel as if he was
simply biding his time until his complacent world
would come to an abrupt, disastrous end.

"There's an easier way to help Mr. Cannon, Sam. 
All the money in the world couldn't do for him what
one simple touch would."

He looked at the lined, elderly face, his brow
knitting.  "A touch?"

"Just one touch."  One gnarled hand came out from
behind the folds of her habit, and she reached up
in the direction of his forehead.  "Right here,
Sam..."

But Sam jerked back, wary of her encroachment. 
"How do you know my name?"  Even if the sister knew
Emma, he knew Emma well enough to know she wouldn't
gossip about him.  Not even with a nun;
*especially* with a nun.

"I know everything about you."

Looking at the twinkle in her eye, he gave a
thought or two to relaxing his guard.  There were
many ways she could know of him without having
spoken to Emma, especially if she worked at the
hospital.  He was certain others on the staff spoke
of his unusual appearance Thanksgiving night.  But
still, he didn't like being at a disadvantage. 
"I'm afraid we haven't been introduced, Sister..."

The hand that had tried to touch him lowered but
didn't disappear into her clothing once again. 
Instead, it slowly extended in preparation for a
handshake.  Wordlessly, she looked up at him, the
mirth in her gaze fading to an expectant glow.  Sam
stared at her, then lowered his lashes to give her
hand a look, feeling his breath catch.  This wasn't
the peaceful offering Fox had bestowed upon him
earlier.  The small fingers seemed to shimmer in
the dimness of the hallway, and he knew the pull of
that handclasp would steal, not give.  He took a
step back, fear lacing his reply.

"Don't touch me."

"Take my hand, Sam."  She didn't follow his
retreat, but her voice commanded in a way that
tugged at him, made him want to do as she asked.

"No."  He glanced about, wanting to run but
hesitant; the nurses and orderlies going about
their duties already looked at him askance because
of his worry about a man who should mean nothing to
him.  "Who are you?"

Images of the faceless man sprang up in his mind. 
Though by rights this nun should have nothing
whatsoever to do with that man, Sam knew she did. 
He felt it, as if she'd come right out and
confirmed it.  In the next instant, she did - her
gaze narrowed, her voice taking on the same
pressing urgency as the one in the shadows had that
night in the park.

"Who do you want me to be?  What will make you see,
Sam?"  Right before his eyes, she seemed to waver,
the liquid black lines of her shapeless garb
floating into a sharp coat and trousers.  The
feminine hand grew larger and more blunt as it came
up, this time holding a cigarette.  "Is this what
it will take to satisfy you?  To force you to
realize the truth?"

Sam gasped, hitting the wall behind him at he
stared into his father's face.  "Dad?" Disbelief
cut his father's name into a whispered croak.

No, it couldn't be.  His father was dead.  Dead and
buried.  He'd visited the grave himself, only days
after he'd returned... damn it, Fox wouldn't lie to
him about something like that!

"Your brother has nothing to do with you and me,
Sam."  The voice *was* his father's, right down to
the harsh, unforgiving tone.  "Now, give me your
hand before you get into any more trouble."  He
threw the cigarette to the floor and reached out,
though he remained still otherwise, not chasing
after Sam.  "Do as I say, boy!"

Real fear climbed over Sam's skin; the eyes, the
face, the God damned voice!  Even the words were
his father's!

"No!"  He felt like he was twelve again, standing
up to his father with a bravery he didn't really
feel through and through, but would never let his
old man see.  He never cowered, and he wasn't
starting now.  "Get the hell away from me, whoever
- *whatever* you are!"

The stern face softened.  "Time is running out,
Sam."  His mother's solemn face watched him now,
looking as she did when youth still held out
against the trials of life with Bill Mulder.  With
love and worry, as if he'd run to her for safety
from his father's wrath.  She was more beautiful
than ever, her dark hair untouched by gray and her
smile as sweet as sunshine.  "The time will come
when I can no longer help you.  Take my hand, son. 
Don't go through this again.  Come back.  Come back
to where you belong.  With me."

Sam swallowed against the rush of tears in his
throat.  He turned his back on his mother's
pleading gaze and walked away.

"Sam, only you can do it," she called after him.

Running.  Running now, like a coward.

"Sam."

His name echoed in his head all the way back to
Mike's.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Seventeen


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


He hated being afraid of anything.  It wasn't in
him to fear, that unwanted emotion pounded out of
him by his father long ago.  Still, it was there. 
Lurking under his skin, making him break out in a
fine sweat every time a new face popped up in the
bar.  Hell, even the familiar smiles and winks took
on an underlying motive in his suspicious mind. 
Would PeeWee suddenly growl at him to take his
hand?  Would Mike's burr draw him in then harden
into a more menacing tone in triumph once he had
Sam in a dangerous hold?

Everyone was suspect now.  Sam jumped at the burst
of cold air every time the bar door swung open,
waiting for the ghost - what else could it be? - to
come for him.  For three days, he'd looked at
everyone with a jaundiced eye, keeping to himself
in word and deed.  Mike had noticed, once trying to
talk to him about it.  It ended up with Sam
snapping at the older man to leave him the hell
alone.  He'd later apologized, but it was grudging
and distant.  Like the good man he was, Mike
accepted the apology, though Sam knew Mike wondered
what was wrong.  He'd tried to give Mike a bit of
an explanation, saying the business with Cannon had
rattled him.  Mike seemed satisfied, but he kept
his distance since then.

It was Saturday now, and Sam had yet to make a
decision.  He wished he could talk to someone about
the visits from his 'friend', but who could he
tell?  Fox?  No, his brother had enough to worry
about with Dana.  Mike?  Emma?  God, no.  They
weren't family, not really.  Besides, no matter who
he told, they would think he was crazy.  Maybe he
*was* crazy.  Maybe the conversations with a ghost
were all in his mind.  Maybe his mind produced
images and sounds from his missing two years,
serving them up in an effort to stop him from doing
something very wrong.

This guy, whoever he was, could be someone from his
past.  Sam knew alcohol had made him a different
person back then - what if he'd gotten into
something more sinister?  What if he spent the last
two years in the company of some less than
honorable men?  Men who could prey upon his mind
easily, as his brain had been opened to suggestion
and dulled with opiates.  Sam had seen enough of
the drug world in southeast Asia when he'd been
stationed there during the war.  It wasn't as
prevalent or easily obtained as booze, but heroin
had a foothold among the natives.  It was big
business in a war-torn world, and there was always
money to be made, especially when everyone was busy
fighting the Nips.

And if this person wanted him back into the fold,
would he escalate his efforts?  Would he stop with
a simple 'no' as he'd done so far?  Sam didn't
think so.  Cannon had said he was guided to the bar
by an unseen man; if whoever wanted him back was
willing to use a stranger to get to Sam, he
wouldn't stop there.  Anyone in Sam's circle could
be in danger.  Sam shuddered, imagining himself
with his own hands around Emma's neck.  Finally
going over the edge because of a simple touch, one
that set him off.  God, he didn't want to hurt
anyone.  Neither did he want to turn and run;
running went against everything in his nature,
every prideful bone and skilled muscle in his body.

But maybe running was the only answer.  Running not
from his demons... rather, barreling toward them in
a final confrontation.  He didn't know anymore.

However, there was one thing he felt certain would
come to pass.  Whatever was going on, Sam had to
deal with it sooner or later.  Hiding behind the
bar wasn't helping, neither was the sour,
mistrustful attitude he served along with the
drinks.  People were beginning to look at him with
distaste, preferring to sit and Mike's end of the
bar.  But what could he do?

He could wait.  He *would* wait.  If he knew
anything at all, it was that his ghost man would
come for him again.  No matter where he was, it
would find him.  And if it was all in his own mind,
then there was no escaping that, now was there? 
Next time he got an unwelcome visit, he'd do more
than shake in his shoes.  He was determined to find
out the motive behind the man.

The trick was to keep everyone at a distance until
then.  He couldn't risk his friends and family on
the chance the guy would target him alone.  And he
couldn't very well tell them what was going on, now
could he?  He'd find himself in a straightjacket
before he finished the last word.  His track record
wasn't exactly stellar, especially since he
couldn't remember jack shit about the last two
years.

No, he just had to wait, and somehow find the
strength to fight back alone.  No problem, really. 
All he had to do was remember how he felt when he
stood up to his dad.  Easy.  Rubber knees and all.

"Choking the rag doesn't get the bar clean." 
Mike's voice interrupted Sam's thoughts, and he
jerked his head up, taking a step away at the same
time.  The soft blue eyes of his boss, so like
Emma's, narrowed at his retreat.  But Mike didn't
pursue his obvious thoughts, saying instead, "Why
don't you take your break, lad?  Me and Tommy,
we've got the bar tonight."

Actually, Tommy had finally had his cast removed
yesterday.  He hopped around the bar now like
gangbusters, taking up the slack from Sam's
inattention.  Sam wondered how long he'd have a
job, if this kept up.

"I don't need a break," he muttered, shooting Mike
a look designed to warn him off.  He didn't need
his boss sniffing around him in the mood he was in;
he hated to be so mean to those he cared about, but
he couldn't seem to make his gloom and paranoia go
away.

"Take the damned break, lad."

It wasn't anger making Mike so terse; the older man
was a study in control, just like his daughter. 
They both hated to be out of the loop about
anything, especially when it concerned family and
friends.  Sam hesitated and Mike once again
prodded.

"Just go on.  You're makin' me itchy with those
dark looks o'yours.  Get some fresh air and cool
off."

With a nod to Mike, he silently scooted in the
opposite direction and made for the kitchen.  Thank
goodness Emma hadn't yet arrived, though what he
was going to tell her, he didn't know.  He grabbed
his coat on the way out, fingering the pack of
cigarettes he'd bought yesterday when the anxiety
of it all was too much to bear.  He hadn't smoked
in years, and really hated it, the habit reminding
him too much of his father.  But the rush of
nicotine helped calm him, and he ducked out the
back door into the alley to light up, avoiding the
curious stares of the kitchen help.

The air smelled of rain to come, sharp and humid. 
Almost cold, but not.  It hadn't snowed since the
night he woke to find Emma's face before him.  The
weather felt out of sorts, just as he did.  Just as
smoking did.  Just as did his fear.

As he exhaled the smoke into damp night, he
muttered to one he knew was listening.

"Come and get me."


**********


"Well, glad you could make it, girl," Mike said,
giving Emma a knowing look, his words teasing. 
"Just in time, too.  Crowd's picking up."

Emma deposited her coat and hat behind the bar and
picked up her apron with an embarrassed smile. 
Today, she'd gotten her house chores done early and
had slipped away to scour the department stores for
just the right dress to wear for her date with Sam
tomorrow night.  Despite her silence on the
subject, her father had had a great time ribbing
her about the effort she put forth to look good for
Sam.  In any other time, she'd have sputtered and
given her dad what for, denying she felt anything
more than a bit of anticipation of a good meal.

But this was different.  She could not hide the
softness in her voice whenever she spoke of Sam,
nor the pleasure the upcoming date showed on her
face.  Let her father think what he liked; it was
all true, wasn't it?

For the first time, she was having a good time with
a man.  It wasn't love by any means.  Nor did she
expect marriage around the next corner.  But she
knew Sam felt the same way - she could see it in
his eyes and hear it in his voice every time he
spoke to her.  He was content with plain, little
Emma, just as she was with him.  They were friends
on a path to something more, and the excitement of
that thought was enough to sustain her for days, in
spite of the fact she hadn't heard from Sam all
week.

"Big crowds are good for business, Da," she replied
with a sparkle in her voice.  "Good thing Tommy's
on his feet good and proper again.  And Aidan and
Joseph should be back come next weekend."

"Thank God for that," Mike agreed, nodding. 
"Seein' as how some of us aren't exactly in the
mood for work."

Emma thought her father spoke of her tardiness, and
she opened her mouth to hush him when she noted the
lack of humor on his face.  She scanned the
immediately vicinity as she tied her apron. 
"Where's Sam?"

What little good mood there was in father's gaze
faded as he turned to build a pint.  "Out back on
break."  The curt tone he used was highly unusual,
especially when he spoke of Sam.  The golden boy
and her father were on the outs?

"Something wrong?"

"Wrong?  No, no."  Mike shrugged, giving her his
profile.  "I'm just about to kick his ass, that's
all."

"Oh, Lord," Emma muttered, knowing the onset of a
volcanic eruption when she saw one.  Moving closer,
she vowed to nip it in the bud before her father
and the man she... well, it was best to put a halt
to any hard feelings right now.  "What did you do?"

Mike's head jerked her way, his eyes blazing. 
"What did *I* do?  Not a God damned thing, girl."

"Stop swearing."

"I'll swear all I want," Mike huffed, sniffing up
his pride as he calmed down.  "The boy's the
problem, Emma.  Not me."

"Sam?"  She had trouble believing Sam would insult
her father in any way.  Yes, he was cocky and
wouldn't take an affront lightly.  But he also
respected her father and would never do anything to
hurt or anger him.  Well, at least she thought so. 
"What did he do, then?"  She fully expected this to
be a tiff over something as unimportant as the
outcome of a boxing bet, or some such nonsense. 
Men could be so sensitive about sporting things
sometimes.

"He's acting like a jerk, that's what he's done. 
Scaring the customers off with that scowl."

"Oh, like the one you have now?" she pointed out,
pinching his stony cheek.

"This is different."  Her father's face softened,
but not into a smile.  True concern shadowed his
eyes as he turned to her.  "Something's wrong with
the lad, Emma."

A prickle of dread bloomed in her chest.  "What?" 
Sam was so full of life and happiness these days,
his smile sunny despite his amnesia, as if nothing
could touch him.

"He hasn't been the same since..." Mike trailed
off, biting his lip.

He was keeping something from her - *both* of them
were, she could sense it.  Looking back over the
week, she recalled her lack of communication with
Sam and her father's increasing silence when she
casually asked about work.  Something had happened
along the way, and her father knew what it was.

"He's okay, isn't he?"  Emma grabbed her dad's arm
and gave it a shake.  "Is he hurt?"

Mike put his hand over hers; it was cold from the
pint, but underneath it was warm and true as
always.  "He's fine, Emma.  As well as a body could
be, considering he had another run-in with our
thief.  Which I wasn't supposed to tell you, by the
way."

"He what?  How dare you keep that from me, the two
of you -"

"Now, darlin', don't get all riled.  He caught the
fellow, actually.  Done right good."

But Sam as the hero didn't settle her anger; damn
him for getting into trouble when she'd asked him
not to!  "When did this happen?"

"Sunday night.  Sam saw the man across the street
from the pub and gave chase.  Poor guy walked right
into a bus; he's still in the hospital."

"A bus."  She swallowed and closed her eyes,
picturing Sam flattened by one of those monstrous
vehicles.

"He's okay, girl."  Mike gave her hand a big
squeeze.  "He knew you'd react just the way you
have, so he asked me not to tell you.  It's over
and done."

Her eyes snapped open and she pulled away.  "No it
isn't," she said through clenched teeth.

"Now, don't you be giving him grief over that,
child," Mike admonished her.  "It's rattled him
somehow, I know it.  His mood is black as night,
and if it weren't for Fox and Dana, I'd have had
him out on his rear for the way he's snappin' at
everyone."

Guilt dimmed her ire a bit; she hadn't given any
thought to the possibility Sam was hiding something
more serious.  "Are you sure he wasn't hurt?  He
may not have told anyone."

"A hurt man can't lift the barrels of beer I saw
him unloading yesterday afternoon."  Her father's
brow creased.  "No, this is different, I tell ya. 
Something's eatin' at the lad and it ain't good."

"Well, we'll soon see," she said, dodging her
father's attempt to stop her as she made her way to
the lift gate.

"Even if he is a bear, Emmagirl - you go easy on
the lad, ya hear?" Mike called after her. 
"Sometimes a man's just gotta have some time to
work things out in his head."

Maybe so, she thought.  But she wasn't letting his
direct ignorance of her request to stay out of
trouble go unnoticed.  If he wanted to stay in her
life, he'd damn well have to tame that wild side of
his.


**********


"Come on, come on," Sam said again and again,
louder in the dark of the alley.  With agitated
fingers, he brought the cigarette to his mouth,
feeling the smoke burn into his lungs.  Coat
flapping open, he stepped off the stoop, hearing
his shoes slap in the murky puddles.

"What's the matter?" he shouted to the dank brick
walls, spreading his arms.  "You too scared of me
now?  C'mon, God damn it!  Come get me!"

The sight of a man on the sidewalk, his shadowed
figure some twenty feet away, made Sam's heart
trip.  There he was.  All dark and still, waiting.

Damn.  If he'd known all it took was a shouted
challenge, he'd have done it days ago.

Sam took a step forward, eager to put an end to his
misery.  "C'mon," he softly said, throwing the
cigarette to the pavement.  He advanced, a
fierceness to his smile; it felt familiar, as if he
faced a dozen Nips bent on tearing him to pieces. 
It wasn't the first time, but it would be the last,
if he had any say about it.  "Come get me."

"Are you drunk?" the man asked, approaching Sam. 
He stepped into the light from above the kitchen
door and Sam blinked.

Oh, this was good, Sam thought.  He'd expected
something like this all week.  Did the ghost man
think the policeman's uniform would make him lie
down and quit?

"Am I drunk?" he laughed, clenching his fists. 
"Hell, no.  If I were, I wouldn't be able to kick
your ass."

The mild confusion on the cop's face turned
instantly to steely command.  "All right."  His
hands went to his belt; in moments, he had his
cuffs and night stick ready.  "Turn around, buddy. 
You need to sleep this off in a nice cozy cell."

Sam raised his fists, his snarl echoing through the
alley.  He was ready.  Come hell or high water, he
was taking this guy down.  He felt invincible, his
body tensed to strike at the least little movement
or sound.  

"Sam!"

He whirled, narrowly missing Emma's head with his
fist.  "Shit!" he cried, feeling his knees buckle
under the slam of the night stick.  He fell, his
hands hitting the grimy asphalt with a dull thud.

"No!  Stop!"  That was Emma; he saw her small feet
take her around him.  "Leave him alone!"

"Ma'am, he's drunk.  Step back, please."

"He's not drunk!"  Sam winced as he flopped to his
ass, hearing Emma plead for his freedom.  He wanted
to shout at her to leave things be, but his head
was swimming from the heady rush of smoking, not to
mention his panic at almost striking her with his
fist.  "He works in the pub!"

"Emma, is that you?"

"Davey," she replied in a relieved voice.  "Sam
here works for Da.  He was checking out the alley. 
We had a man try to rob us last week, didn't you
hear?"

"You did?  I just moved back to the precinct a
couple of days ago.  Guess I must have missed all
the hubbub."  The guy's voice held a smile.  "How's
your Da, anyway?"

"He's fine, Davey.  Just fine."

Oh, this was just great, Sam thought.  Let's have a
cup of tea while we're at it.

"You say this fella here works for your Da?"

"Sam's been with us for a couple of weeks.  You've
been gone what?  Six months or more?"

"Yep.  Me and the missus didn't like it on the
other side of town.  A bit too much noise and
carrying on."

Sam raised his head, giving the two a grimace.  He
jerked away from the cop's helping hand, growling,
"Don't touch me."  He got up, keeping a wary eye on
Davey, who brought his guard up once again.

"You sure you know this guy, Emma?"

Emma moved to Sam's side, her smile bright.  "I do. 
He's just a bit leery of that thing, you know." 
She nodded at the night stick.  "He's okay, Davey. 
You go on now and I'll get him back inside.  We
won't bother you again."

The cop tipped his hat and nodded.  "Merry
Christmas to you and yours, Emma."

"Same to you, Davey," she answered, her smile
cracking when the guy disappeared around the
corner.  In an instant, she whirled on Sam, concern
layered with anger in her barked question.  "Just
what do you think you're doing?"

Sam shook his head to clear it, stepping away from
her intoxicating nearness.  With shaky hands, he
fished out another cigarette and lit it up,
watching her eyes widen with disbelief.  "Just
taking in a bit of fresh air, doll."  God, he hated
that snide tone in his voice.  But of all the
people he wanted away from him at this dangerous
time in his life, Emma was the most important to
him.  She didn't deserve what he was about to give
her, but it had to be done.

"Stop that."  She was magnificent in her fury,
reaching up to pluck the smoke from his mouth.  She
ground it beneath the sole of her shoe, dismissing
his 'hey!' with a terse, "And don't call me doll. 
What is the matter with you, anyway?"

"Me?"  He backed off even more, feeling the damp
wall opposite the kitchen door meet his back.  He
practically lounged, stuffing his hands in his
pockets as he avoided her probing gaze.  "Nothing's
the matter with me.  In fact, you could say I'm
finally back to normal."

His pissy, arrogant, hell-bent-for-leather self. 
It didn't feel as good as it used to.

"Normal is picking fights with policemen?"  She
stepped closer, giving him a sniff.  "Was he right,
Sam?  Have you been drinking?"  Her worried
expression tugged at his heart, but he found it
easy to ignore as he slid away, trying to melt into
the wall.

"No."  He should have said yes; he mentally kicked
himself for letting the opportunity pass.  His
solemn face broke into a grin that he felt fall
short of its potential to throw her off.  He hid
behind his narrowed eyes, working to make her
believe with his words.  He didn't have his
brother's vocabulary, but he had the attitude, and
knew how to use it effectively.  "But a shot of
whiskey sounds good right now.  Be a good girl and
go get one for me, okay?"

All anger gone, she let her mouth drop open.  He
could almost see a sheen of tears swim across her
eyes.  But that was easily ignored as well, as he
bent his head to light another cigarette.  "Sam, Da
says you've been a bit down this week.  Is there
anything wrong?"

It took some effort to keep the smile going.  But
he was getting pretty good at lying.  Some things
never changed.  "Wrong?  Nothing's wrong, honey."

But Emma wasn't put off by his casual front, and he
knew then she never would be.  He'd revealed too
much of himself to the woman standing before him. 
Said and done things he'd never done with any
woman, and most likely never would again.  Emma had
opened her heart to him, he could see it in her
concerned gaze and hear it in her soft voice.

"Is it what happened Sunday night?"

"What?"

"Da told me you caught the fellow who tried to rob
us."  Emma's eyes twinkled with the beginnings of
hope; he knew she wanted desperately to put him at
ease.  But nothing would calm him, and he felt
horrible for letting her down this way.  "I really
should light into you for acting so foolish, you
know."

He shrugged.  "Then do it.  Let me have it, Emma." 
Anything but this sympathetic attempt to pull him
back in; the break needed to be clean and precise. 
Her worry didn't help.  Only her anger would do.

"Sam -"

"Do it, damn it!" he snapped, noting the death of
her good mood with a heavy heart.

"You don't have to yell at me."

"And you don't have to be so nosy."

The light in her eyes died a bit, but his harshness
failed to make a bigger dent in her calm demeanor;
damn, but she was the resilient sort, wasn't she? 
What would it take to set her apart from him?

"Tell me, Sam," she pleaded, moving his way with
one hand reaching to touch him.  He stared at it,
wondering if every offered hand would now make him
cringe and retreat.  "Something's wrong, I know it
is.  Just tell me."

Not Emma's, surely... her hand couldn't be the one
to bring him down.  It was small and so innocent in
its giving; palm up, the slender fingers and flesh
hiding a strength he knew he could grab onto.  His
own hand itched to take hers, as he experienced a
moment of weakness.  Emma could make things right. 
She'd hold him close and keep away the ghost man,
her love wrapping him in safety.

No.  His fear won out, and he let his fading smile
harden.  He had to do something, and fast.  He
would no longer put her and her family in danger. 
The decision pierced him like Cannon's knife,
tearing out a gaping hole he knew would never heal.

"I've decided to go back to baseball," he stated,
the lie falling easily from his lips as his hand
fisted in his coat pocket.  "I called my agent this
week, and he says he thinks he can get me back with
my old team in New York."

For a moment, Emma looked as if he *had* hit her,
paling under the flickering light of the doorway
lamp.  Her hand snatched back and she stood still,
her arms protectively going around her waist.  "I
see."  He'd never seen such a blank expression on
her face; he'd expected her to be thrown by his
statement.  Instead, she casually asked, "Is that
what you want, Sam?"

No, he wanted *her*.  He wanted normalcy and family
and he God damn wanted to serve beer to guys named
PeeWee and sneak kisses from this beautiful woman
in the kitchen pantry and watch her grow pregnant
with his child....

He loved Emma.  The realization staggered him. 
He'd never loved a woman before, had never wanted
the things that came with giving yourself to
another person that way.  The responsibility that
came with that revelation urged him to protect her
in every way possible.  It also made him choke down
the truth and answer with forced brightness.

"I came into money this week.  Enough to get me
back where I belong."

Her control faltered, as she raised eyes as bleak
as a winter landscape.  So pale blue.  So
distressed.  But not cold, no.  They shone with
unshed tears, a warm embrace still waiting for him
to say it was all a ruse.  To forgive and take him
in.  To make everything right.  "You don't belong
here?"

God, but he couldn't give her what she wanted. 
Neither could he stand to look at her face.  The
naked longing there - something Emma had never
allowed him to see before - made it difficult to
hang on, to finish it.

So he hung his head, breaking the pull of her eyes. 
He drew smoke into his lungs as he muttered with
deliberate bitterness, "Wherever I belong, it sure
as hell ain't in this dump."  He heard her sharp
gasp and nearly wept inside with relief.  Now she'd
listen.  Now she'd back off, responding to his
insult with Scully pride.  Enough pride to make it
easy for them both.

Except she didn't.  An unusual vulnerability took
hold in her voice, and tight sadness suffused his
chest at her soft, "And what about us?"

Again, he took a drag off the cigarette, feeling
the first drops of rain fall on his hand.  "What
about us," he said, each word a stone falling from
his lips.  They echoed off the pavement with
feigned disinterest, hitting like the last beads of
a broken strand of pearls.

"Sam, look at me."

If he couldn't face her, she'd know.  Every lie,
all the hurt he felt, the fear suffocating him...
the love burning within him.  But he'd done this
before; turned off emotion in the face of his
father's wrath.  Piece of cake.  His head snapped
up, his eyes unblinking, feeling so dark and cold
he wondered if she'd freeze right before his eyes.

"There is no 'us', Emma."  She actually flinched at
his tone, and he softened a bit.  "Look, doll - we
had a good time, didn't we?  If I led you to
believe it was more than just a few laughs, I'm..."

"Not what I thought you were," she interrupted, her
eyes becoming icy.  The winter he wanted had just
arrived.

He should be gratified with her change of demeanor,
but he wasn't.  The distaste in her gaze as she
looked him up and down turned his stomach.  She
swiped a quick hand over her cheek and pulled her
shoulders up from their slump, a final gesture of
retrieving her tattered pride.  "Guess I was wrong
in thinking you'd changed."

Beneath her contempt lay a choking disappointment,
and Sam wished he could find the words to ease her
hurt.  She wasn't wrong, damn it.  He wasn't the
bastard he used to be; she'd changed all that with
her patience and sincerity.  The moment he'd
realized she was willing to take a chance on a bum,
he'd been hers forever.

But there were bums... guys down on their luck who
just needed a break.  And there were assholes -
guys who took and turned without a second glance. 
He was fast becoming the latter in her mind; just a
few more biting words and he'd have her closing the
door between them with no chance of ever opening it
again.

"Tell me something, Sam... did you ever intend to
be serious with me?  Or was it really all just... a
few laughs?"

His silence led her to believe the worst, despite
every nerve in him screaming to shout at her that
she was everything to him.  Maybe he didn't need
words after all.  But Emma stood waiting, and he
had no choice but to crush her and her damned need
for answers.

Sam looked down, grinding his cigarette to dust
beneath his heel.  "How many times do I have to say
it?  I don't need this dead-end job anymore.  I
just need to go back where I belong."  Emma turned
away from him; Sam stopped himself after a hesitant
step, his hands fighting the need to touch her.  He
bit his lip, closing his eyes against the pain he
was sure to inflict with his next words.  "We can
still see each other, Emma.  You know... get
together and have a few drinks.  You know what I
mean?  I'm flush now, and I wanna show you a good
time."

The standard come-on, one designed to send a loose
woman swooning and a good girl into retreat. 
Delivered in a swaggering tone, it hit its mark, as
Emma steeled her shoulders.

"A good time?"

"Yeah, baby.  Me and you.  Soon as I get set up
somewhere, I'll give you a call."

"You're moving out?"

It was an inspired decision, one he didn't make
lightly.  But it made good sense to remove himself
from their lives until... well, maybe forever.

"Yeah.  This place kinda cramps my style, you know? 
Now that I have the dough to move on up -"

"Try the Governor Calvert House," she said, cutting
off his inane chatter with a swift, angry tone. 
"It caters to folks like you.  But go easy on the
drinking."  She spared a sharp glance over her
shoulder, her eyes shining with hurt.  "All the
money in the world won't get you out of jail if you
break a nineteenth century armoire to pieces."

Like he'd done to her heart.  The unspoken cemented
the path he'd taken, as he realized he'd finally
gotten what he wanted.  He never figured on it
hurting so damned much.  "Emma -"

"Just do me one favor," she whispered, giving him
her back once again.  "Da will want to know why
you're leaving.  Tell him... something.  Anything
besides telling him the work's no good for you.  It
would hurt him unbearably to hear you don't like
the pub."

In a thrice, she'd gone.  Disappeared behind the
door with a finality he felt down to his bones.

He stood there in the growing rain, despair taking
hold.  Looked like he was out of a job.  And a
place to live.

And out of Emma's life.  It was for the best,
wasn't it?  As far as the pain, that would go away
as well.  Wouldn't it?

He didn't even go back inside.  Talk to Mike?  Nah. 
Why waste the opportunity to totally destroy
himself in their eyes?  He just walked away.  From
an uncertain past and into a future without Emma.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Eighteen


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"And he just left?  Just like that?"  Scully asked
Emma, trying very hard to keep a rein on her
temper.

"Just like that.  He didn't even come back into the
pub to get his things."

Emma was dispassionate in her response, but Scully
could see Sam's defection had hurt her cousin
deeply.  Mike had phoned Mulder immediately once
they'd discovered Sam was gone; they were moments
away from summoning the police when Sam had called
and spoken to Tommy.  Just a few words, saying the
same thing he'd told Emma - he wanted out.

"He didn't even speak to Da, Dana.  Tommy couldn't
get him to stay on the phone long enough.  All he
said was he was okay and he wasn't coming back." 
The calm facade suffered a bit under the knit of
Emma's brow.  "He didn't even say goodbye.  How can
he not say goodbye?"

Damn him.  Damn him for showing up again only to
end up hurting Mulder, who'd been worrying about
Sam for days now.  Damn him for finally giving Emma
someone to care for, only to take it away with a
snap of his money-hungry fingers.

Scully wanted to tell Emma it would be all right,
that Sam was just going through a phase of sorts. 
Testing the waters after being gone so long was
natural.  But it was the way he'd gone about it
that Scully could not excuse with any inkling of
sympathy for Sam's plight.  He didn't have to crush
Emma, though she'd deny it if anyone even hinted
she was hurt by Sam.

Emma sat at the kitchen table, sipping her tea like
she always did on the days she visited.  She'd been
stingy with the precise words she and Sam had
exchanged, but Scully got the drift.  Sam had
basically told Emma she was nothing but a pretty
diversion.  Now that he was into money again, he
was striking out for greener pastures.

Scully remembered the pride in Mulder's face when
he'd told her Sam was giving his money to Cannon's
wife.  It was as if he'd found the brother he
needed all those years, the one who cared more for
people than for the accolades of the sports world.
She could cheerfully wring Sam's neck for
disillusioning Mulder with this stunt.  It was very
difficult to keep her dislike for her errant
brother-in-law under wraps in front of her husband
- a few times in the past week she'd itcheed with
the desire to personally kick Sam's butt.  With
Emma, the feelings persisted, to the point of
frustration.  How dare he make all their lives so
miserable?

"Is he drinking again?"  No use beating around the
bush.  Emma would know if Sam had hit the bottle;
Scully knew the possibility was there - and it
would explain a lot, even if no one wanted to see
him drown in liquor again.

Emma's gaze lifted from its vacant stare at the
delicate cup.  "Drinking?  No, I don't think so." 
Her eyes widened.  "Though he did ask me to get him
a shot of whiskey after his tussle with Davey.  You
think he could be in trouble, Dana?"

In trouble?  From what Scully knew of Sam, he lived
to make trouble.  This whole incident was just par
for the course.  She couldn't find it in her heart
to feel worry for Mulder's brother, nor to summon
an ounce of sympathy for the rat.  She stood,
stretching as she walked to the sink to empty the
last of her tea down the drain.  It wasn't her
place to speculate about Sam's motives, nor to
openly judge.  Unless Sam's actions put Mulder or
Emma in real danger, she'd keep her most vehement
opinions to herself.  Didn't mean she couldn't
*think* them, however.

Still, she wasn't a Scully for nothing, and she
wasn't about to whitewash the truth.  "I don't know
what to think, Emma," she said softly.  "All I know
is, he's hurt my husband with this selfish
behavior.  He's hurt you and Uncle Mike.  I would
find it difficult to give him another chance."

"Here's where I'm supposed to agree."  Emma
appeared at her side, with a grin that didn't quite
reach her eyes.

"You think that's what I want to hear?"

"No.  You've always told me the truth, Dana.  And I
always tried to give it back to you."

Over the years, Scully had seen Emma brush off men,
always with one excuse after another.

He's too clinging.  He's only after one thing. 
He'll make me give up my nursing career.  Da simply
*hates* him.

All of them delivered in a haughty, superior tone,
one designed to convince herself she didn't need
anyone.  Excuses were convenient and protective. 
Scully was dismayed to see the vulnerability
lurking in Emma's gaze.  This time, Emma had lost
something with Sam's departure.  A piece of her
heart.

"I should wash my hands of him, Dana."  Emma spoke
so softly, so painfully quiet for a woman who
didn't hesitate to argue.  It cut Scully to the
quick, and she once again sent Sam to perdition for
taking away Emma's pride. "But I don't know if I
can."

"Emma."  Scully breathed her cousin's name with
sadness, wanting to make the hurt go away.  But
there was nothing she could do, and she wasn't
about to tell Emma to go after her worthless
brother-in-law.

"Isn't that rich?"  Emma's sarcasm didn't have the
bite it needed; it suffered in the face of her
suppressed tears.  "I finally find someone I can...
oh well.  Wasn't meant to be, was it?"

While Scully struggled for the words to ease Emma's
pain, her cousin quickly moved away.  In moments,
she had her coat and purse.  Her usual warmth was
absent as she leaned in to give Scully a peck on
the cheek, her lips cool and dry.  "I've got to go,
Dana.  Thanks for the tea."

"Emma -"

But Emma was already halfway out the back door. 
"Tell Mulder I said hello, won't you?"  Her smile
didn't quite reach her eyes.  "And don't worry
about me, Dana.  I'm fine.  Really, I am."

For all the times she herself had used those words,
she knew a lie when she heard it.  She watched Emma
drive away, feeling the bite of the cold hit her
face.

Damn him once again.  Maybe if she wished it
enough, God would see fit to string him up by his
toes over a vat of boiling oil.  Hell was like
that, wasn't it?

Then again, doing without the love of that
beautiful, sad girl for a lifetime should do.


**********


Later, she wondered how she'd suddenly become the
confidant of so many.  She knew she wasn't exactly
the easiest person in the world to talk to -
especially when it came to family matters.  Charlie
was the voice of reason, not her.

"Uncle Mike?  What brings you here?"

Scully waved him in, watching as he wiped his feet
on the mat and removed his hat and coat.  His
thinning red hair, freed from the confines of his
hat, stood up in all directions.  "I can't come see
my favorite niece?"

She patted down the flyaway strands, giving him a
knowing grin.  "Last time you came over, it was
because you were hiding from Emma, remember?  Did
she ever get you to the dentist, by the way?"

Mike showed her his teeth.  "Still can open a
bottle with 'em, see?  That girl's daft if she
thinks she can haul me to the dentist like a
child."

"Hmm... but what about that molar in the back?  The
one giving you all the trouble?"

"Oh, Chauncy took care o'that for me, love."  He
brought his knuckles to his chin with a wink. 
"That man's got a mean right hook.  Did me own
surgery, just like back home."

"Uncle Mike!"

He laughed at her gasping shock, moving past her
into the living room.  "Had ya going, didn't I?" 
He gestured for her to sit on the couch.  "Don't
worry, lass - I got meself to the dentist.  On me
own time.  Emma's got a thing or two to learn about
handlin' men."  He paused, his mirth dimming.

Scully sat gingerly, waving him over as she got
comfortable.  Whatever he'd come for, it wasn't
just to pass the time in pleasant conversation. 
Would Mike dare to nose in on Emma's business?  Of
course he would.  She'd have to watch her mouth;
worry about Emma was one thing, but if Mike brought
up that lazy bum....

"Coffee?" she asked as he settled into the spot
beside her.

"No thanks, darlin'.  Don't have but a bit of time
before I have to get back for the dinner crowd." 
Mike perched on the edge of the sofa as if he
wanted to be ready to fly out the door at a
moment's notice.  His big hands, poking out from
the sleeves of his Sunday suit, flopped between his
knees.  He cracked his knuckles, keeping his face
averted.  "I ever tell you and Mulder you got a
right nice place here?"

His Sunday suit?  What was he doing wearing his
best on a weekday?  Oh, this wasn't a social call,
that was certain.

"Uncle Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong?"  Though she figured she knew what
brought her uncle around.  It had been the subject
of many a heated discussion between her and Mulder
for a few days now.  "Is it Emma?  You know, it's
going to take some time for her to come around -"

"It's not Emma, Dana.  My girl's a hardy soul. 
She'll find her way in her own time."  He looked
her way.  "It's Sam."

"I'll thank you not to mention my brother-in-law to
me, Uncle Mike."

"But love -"

"But nothing.  He left you high and dry," she
argued, repeating the same thing she'd told Mulder
since they'd discovered Sam had quit the pub. 
"Without even a word or a thank you."

"You don't think that riled me?  It did, let me
tell you.  When I found out the lad had just up and
left, I was ready to pound him to a pulp." 
Remnants of anger flashed in his blue eyes, but
they faded quickly.  "Where is he, anyway?  You and
Mulder - you've heard from him?"

Scully shifted, reaching for her cup of tea on the
side table.  "The Governor Calvert House.  He
called Mulder Sunday with a story about trying to
get back into baseball.  You still want to kick his
rear end?  Be my guest.  Far as we know, he's still
there."  

She and Mulder had argued about Sam's sudden life
changes for several days now; Mulder wanted to see
for himself how Sam was doing, but Sam had
pointedly told Mulder over the phone to mind his
own business.  Mulder's hurt fueled her anger.  As
far as she was concerned, Sam had shown his true
colors.  Once a wastrel, always a wastrel.  She had
no doubt he'd taken his inheritance and was blindly
drinking it away.

On one hand, she stood by her original assessment
of her brother-in-law.  He was no good, and Mulder
was too involved to be objective.  All this cozying
up to Mike and Emma had been just a ploy until the
money came in.  Had Sam heard of his parents'
deaths and finally decided to return home to
collect?  Was he hoping Mulder would give every
penny to him if he garnered enough sympathy with
the amnesia bit?

On the other hand, there *was* a tiny voice in her
mind that whispered for compassion.  Mulder loved
Sam, despite his faults.  He was certain there was
more to this abandonment than a love for baseball. 
Scully trusted his judgment, but love of family had
a way of clouding the issues.  Mulder denied what
he didn't want to see.

Now caught up in a possible Chang case once again,
he was beginning to spend longer hours at the
office.  Every night, as he dragged himself to bed,
he told her of his worry for Sam.  She'd had a
devil of a time convincing him that Sam was like a
cat - he always landed on his feet, apparently. 
With every passing day, she saw Mulder's hope that
Sam would come home fade away.

"I phoned him again today," Mulder would say late
at night, his body curled around hers.  "He keeps
putting me off, Scully.  It's always, 'I'm meeting
my agent', or 'I can't talk right now'.  Why does
he do that?"

Because Sam's a bastard, she wanted to answer.  He
cares nothing for you.  Even worse, he used my
family and then discarded them all like yesterday's
newspaper.

"Has Mulder seen him?" Mike asked.  "I mean, really
spoken to him in person?"

"Sam won't see Mulder.  He keeps giving him
excuses."  Scully sighed, wondering where Mike was
going with all this.  "Look, Uncle Mike - it's no
use.  Sam has cut himself off from everyone,
including his own brother.  Why should you care,
anyway?  He ran out on you, remember?"

"True."  Mike lowered his chin.  "But I'll tell you
like I told Emma - there's something wrong with the
lad."

"Yeah, he's an ungrateful, selfish bast -"

"Now, now, Dana.  No need to swear."

"I've heard worse from you.  Besides, it's true. 
What he did to you and Mulder was bad enough.  But
what he did to Emma..."

"Was wonderful."

Scully looked up at him with surprise.  "You can't
mean that.  He made the poor girl fall in love with
him!"

"Like I said... wonderful."  His eyes twinkled and
he took her hand.  "Dana, I've never seen my
Emmagirl so alive.  Ever since her mother passed,
she's been burying herself in taking care of me. 
Sam woke her up, made her remember she's a woman in
her own right.  What can be wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with it is that the princess was
kissed awake by the frog, not the prince."

"I don't think so."  Mike squeezed her hand,
halting her surge of angry condemnation.  "I could
see the way the lad looked at Emma.  He promised me
he'd never hurt her, and I think he meant it."

"But he *did* hurt her, Uncle Mike.  I couldn't get
much out of her, but I understood one thing - he
told her he'd never been serious about her.  He was
only out for 'a few laughs'.  His very words,
according to Emma."

"Mighty unusual for a man who gave me his word he'd
not hurt my daughter, don't you think?  A man who
put himself in front of a knife to protect her.  A
man who couldn't take his eyes off her whenever she
was in the room."

"You can't deny he told her some pretty nasty
things."

"But were they the truth?  The man changed in a
week's time, Dana.  Something happened to make him
withdraw from all of us.  From my girl, especially. 
He knew exactly what he was doing.  Emma doesn't
give up on anything once she's got it in her mind
to pursue it, and he knew it.  What better way to
put her off than by making her angry?"

Dread rendered Scully mute; Emma herself had said
this morning she didn't know if she could give up
on Sam. 

"She's not angry, she's..."

"Silent.  More closed up than I've ever seen her. 
I miss my girl's smile, Dana.  I miss her temper. 
I'd give anything to get that back."

"So would I," Scully agreed softly.  "But I don't
see that there's anything we can do."

She could see Mike's purpose from a mile away.  In
his quiet, hopeful stare, his intentions spoke
louder than any words could convey.

"Uncle Mike, this isn't our business," she warned.

But Mike wasn't daunted.  His determination
practically shone from his face, steeling his jaw. 
"The boy hurt her *deliberately*, Dana.  He set out
to keep her away from him the only way he knew how
- by telling her things guaranteed to make her spit
nails.  You know it as well as I -"

"No, I *don't* know it, and neither do you." 
Scully saw Mike deflate a bit as he turned away
from her, releasing her hand.  She narrowed her
eyes, seeing the red flush of guilt creep up his
cheeks.  "Uncle Mike.  You didn't eavesdrop, did
you?  I know you have a tendency to nose around,
but this is an invasion of Emma's privacy."

"I did not listen," he said with indignation,
softening his voice to add, "though maybe Doris
couldn't help but hear, bein' in the kitchen and
all.  That boy said things he didn't mean,
according to Doris.  She could tell by looking at
his face."

"She *watched*?"

"The only window in the kitchen is above the sink."

"Doris doesn't do dishes."

"For God's sake, Dana!  It doesn't matter how I
know, I just *know*."

Scully groaned, wishing Mike would keep his
meddling to a minimum.  Now he had the whole
kitchen staff involved in his shenanigans.  "All
right, since you're in the *know* now, would you
mind getting to the point?"

"The point?"

"Yes, the reason you saw fit to come here and tell
me all this.  Don't ask me to advise Emma to go
after Sam, Uncle Mike.  I won't give Sam leave to
upset her again, I won't."

"Maybe Mulder could...."

"Think again."  Scully shook her head, adamant in
her refusal to subject her husband to the same
treatment.  "I'm not encouraging Mulder to get in
the middle of this, either.  Sam's done enough to
the people I love.  You want to see him so badly,
you go."

"I tried.  He won't open the door to me.  He's left
orders at the desk to screen his visitors.  I can't
even get the damned room number out of Mr. Prissy
Pants in the lobby."

Mike looked at her expectantly; she felt the weight
of the issue fall squarely on her shoulders.  It
was damned uncomfortable, and she didn't hesitate
to nip Mike's ideas in the bud.

"Oh, no."  She slowly got to her feet, feeling
Mike's hand at her elbow.

"Now, Dana, it wouldn't take long."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly in
any shape to drive downtown."

"I'll drive you.  Wouldn't take but maybe an hour
of your time, lass."

She waved him off, ignoring his pleading gaze.  "In
the mood I'm in, I'm liable to punch him in the
nose."

"Maybe that's just what he needs."

"Uncle Mike."

He put himself firmly in front of her, leaning down
to catch her eye.  "This is your chance to find out
truly what Sam's up to.  If anyone can get to the
bottom of this, it's you, Dana."

"This won't help.  He's broken away from his
family, Uncle Mike.  Severed all ties with Mulder. 
If anything, my showing up there will just make him
more distant."

"Could be.  But wouldn't you love the chance to
tell him off, lass?  You're Scully through and
through; I know you well enough to know you can't
resist the opportunity to give him what for before
he disappears totally."

She hesitated long enough to make Mike prod a bit
further.  "C'mon.  All you have to do is get him to
open the door.  If after you talk to him, you still
insist on making him pay for what he's done, just
let me at him.  I'll be happy to oblige you."

"Re-arrange his dental work, huh?"

Mike smiled.  "With pleasure.  Did I ever tell you
I took care of one of Chauncy's bum teeth back in
'33?  Me and him, we ought to open our own
business."

"I'm going to regret this, I know I will," she
sighed.

"Does that mean you'll talk to the bullheaded
fool?"

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.  "I
thought you were on his side."

"I'm on Emma's side, Dana, as well as his.  Doesn't
mean I can't still put the fear o'God in the boy. 
Teach him what it means to toy with my daughter's
affections."  He winked, and added, "If things
don't go like I expect, I'll even give you first go
at him, darlin'.  I'll hold him down while you kick
him.  How's that?"

"We could get into such trouble, you know.  If
Mulder found out -"

Mike laid a palm over his heart.  "He won't hear a
word from me, I swear."

Scully snorted, looking up at his solemn face with
a grin.  "Gossiping is a sin, according to Father
McCue."

"So is kicking the shit out of the lad, but I
figure if I get to confession before Sunday, I can
still take communion."  Mike smiled, giving her a
wink.  "C'mon.  I know you wanna."

She couldn't deny her curiosity was at fever pitch. 
Nor could she refuse the opportunity to give Sam a
piece of her mind on the subject.

"All right.  When do we go?"

"That's my girl.  Right now is as good a time as
any."

"Right now?  I thought you had to be back at the
pub for dinner."

"Aidan and Joseph came back last night.  I've got
plenty of help.  C'mon - before you change your
mind.  I'll have you back before Fox gets home."

Of all the - he'd played her like a violin!  "Lying
is a sin, too, you know."

"So I'll say two rosaries for penance instead of
one."  He breezed by her to pick up his hat and
coat.  Stuffing the well-word hat on his head, he
turned with a slight frown.  "Well?  You'll never
plow a field while turning it over in your mind,
love."  A rush of cooler air entered the house with
his departure.

Scully followed Mike, knowing she was going to
regret this.  How would she ever keep it from
Mulder?

Better yet - what would she do if Mike was right
and Sam had bigger problems than they thought?


**********


Well, she had good taste, Sam thought.  The
Governor Calvert House.  Recommended by Emma and
loaded with antiques.  It was a nice hotel room, as
far as hotel rooms went.  A suite, actually, with a
sitting room.  He'd stayed in his share of dives in
his minor league days, and he supposed he ought to
be happy this one was a step or two up from those
rat holes.  But he was scared to sit in the chairs,
for Christ's sake.  All those spindly legs and
curvy arms.  Sheesh.

All in all, he didn't much care one way or the
other.  The silence was practically suffocating
him.  It was worse in the bedroom, where he
couldn't hear the shuffling of people in the hall. 
He'd decided the sitting room was more preferable
after the first day was spent tossing and turning
on the huge canopied bed.  The couch was big and
comfy, perfect for his large form.  It sat on the
corner of the building, and its two windows offered
a good view of the intersecting streets below.

It also came complete with a fully stocked bar.

Sam paced, giving that bar a lingering glance. 
Every time he passed those beckoning bottles of
scotch and vodka, he stared just a bit longer.  He
could taste it on his tongue still, after all these
years.  Could remember the way it burned on the way
down, the way it numbed everything the moment it
hit his stomach.

This time - the thousandth time he walked the path
from southwest sunlight to northwest cold -  he
stopped and stared at the bar.  It had been nearly
a week.  A week of hell since he'd left his new
life behind.  Since he'd left his brother in the
dark and his boss surely cursing him.

Six days since he'd left Emma.  She would be at
work now, her last day of the week.  If
circumstances were different, she'd be looking
forward to another weekend spent with him.  Their
third date.  Would he have told her he loved her
then?  Would she have given it back to him, along
with more kisses and a lifelong promise?

It was no use thinking of what could have been.  He
had more to worry about than Emma, even if she
seemed to dominate his thoughts.

He was no closer to resolving his biggest problem. 
He'd sat alone in this suite - the best money could
buy - and waited for his ghost man to appear.  He'd
had the best food delivered, the best clothes sent
over from the best department store... all without
daring to touch anyone.

Would the guy even try that stunt again?  Or would
he simply wait until Sam went stir crazy and ran
out into the street screaming like a madman?  Sam
knew he was very close to the latter.  Another day
or two of this claustrophobic existence and he'd
find himself locked up for good.  If he was of a
mind to see the humor in it all, he'd have a good
laugh at the image of himself trying to explain it
to a judge.

<Well you see, your honor... it's like this.  I had
to shake hands with everyone, whether they wanted
to or not.  Because I got tired of waiting for them
to take my hand.  Figured I'd make the first move
this time... and thanks for the straitjacket.  Good
fit.>

God, he needed a drink.

He closed his eyes, swallowing against the pull of
the booze.  It didn't work.  One jerky step
forward, and he found himself at the bar.  His
shaking hands poured a healthy glass of whiskey; he
had it halfway to his lips when a knock on the door
made him jump.

"Shit," he muttered, feeling the alcohol sting the
skin of his hand.  He mopped at the spill with a
bar towel, lamenting the loss of oblivion.

He paused, trying to recall if he'd ordered room
service.  Since the days were now blurring into an
endless stream of imprisonment, he couldn't
remember what he'd had for lunch, much less if he'd
ordered dinner.  It was going on four o'clock; he
wouldn't have sent for food that early.

Looked like the moment was at hand.  Steeling his
spine, he walked to the door.  "Who is it?"

"Sam, it's Dana.  Let me in, please."

Damn that moron at the desk; he was supposed to
call ahead when Sam had visitors.  Of course, he
hadn't had but a couple.  Fox and Mike.  He didn't
expect Emma to come knocking, and he certainly
*never* thought Dana would waste her time on him.

"Sam, I need to speak to you.  Please let me in. 
My feet hurt."

Could the ghost man impersonate a pregnant woman? 
Would he stoop that low?  Sam had no chance to
fight back, only to push forward and accept the
inevitable.

He cracked open the door, seeing a flash of red
hair in the instant before his face met solid oak. 
He reeled, blinking.  She'd practically knocked him
down with the door!

"You bastard." *Slap*.  "You selfish, lying
weasel." *Slap*.  "You, you -"

"Jesus," he muttered, feeling Dana's palm sear his
face.

"He won't help you, you piece of shit."  Her hand
swung in another arc, and the realization hit Sam
before she could make contact.

She'd touched him.  He was still here.

He stumbled back, his eyes wide.  Dana faltered in
her fury, and he smiled.  "Go on.  Do it again."

"You've been drinking.  You smell like a damned
brewery."

"I haven't... I mean... Dana!"  He was almost
speechless with happiness at being able to talk to
a familiar face without fear.  "Hit me again."

A fist met his stomach and he let out his breath in
a loud *whoosh*.

"And that was for hurting Mulder."

For a pregnant woman, she sure packed a helluva
punch, he thought.  Groaning, he stood hunched
over, his hand massaging his turning stomach. 
"Care to give me one more for Emma?"

"I would if I thought she really mattered to you."

He was exhausted.  He was giddy.  Days spent alone
had addled his mind, because he found himself
mumbling like a fool.  "She matters.  All of you
matter to me.  That's why I left."

"You left so you could drink and waste your money
on whores.  Admit it."

It was amazing to him the ease with which Dana
lashed out.  Her language would make a sailor
blush.  Once again, he was profoundly happy Fox had
found this woman.

Slumping into one of those dainty chairs, he winced
at the creak of its legs.  "I'm not drinking."

"Don't lie to me."

He looked up into a stern face; if he wasn't so
damned miserable, he'd be quaking in his shoes.  "I
was about to pour a drink when you knocked, yes. 
The first one in years, Dana.  Do you know why I
used to drink?"

She crossed her arms.  "I can't wait to hear this
one."

"I used to think I was so alone.  God, was I
wrong."  He hung his head.  "I wasn't alone back
then.  Not like this."

"Forgive me if I point out you brought it on
yourself."

"I know I did.  And I'm sorry.  So sorry."

"Mike was worried about you.  He talked me into
coming here.  I'm glad I did, to see for myself
what a pitiful wretch you really are."

There was nothing he could say to pacify her. 
Really, he deserved every hate-filled word, every
resounding slap.  He'd thought Fox would eventually
come around and give him a good dressing down -
*that* he could have handled.  Years of practice
facing his father prepared him for the pissing
contest that was a man's way of dealing with a
sticky situation.

But nothing could have prepared him for a woman's
unbridled fury.  Especially this woman, who looked
at him like she could see through every lie.  Not
even Emma had learned him in such a short time. 
Dana, however, wasn't blinded by good looks and
charm.  She had the devil's own temper and the
sharp attitude of someone who'd been around the
block more than once.

"Is that all you came for?"  If she could see
through the lies, then why couldn't she see what
drove him to push everyone away?  "If it is, then I
think you've seen enough."

"Yeah, I've seen enough.  But for some reason,
Mulder hasn't.  I'm here to tell you to stay away
from him, Sam.  Stay away from my family."

"No problem," he replied, still nursing his
stomach.

Dana gathered her coat close, her anger tamed into
a slow simmer as her face became expressionless. 
But her eyes still flashed fire as she gave him one
more command.  "He's going to come see you soon,
you know.  I can't keep him away from you forever,
much as I want to.  All I ask is that you try to
stay sober until then.  He has enough to worry
about without seeing you drunk."

It was no use denying what she thought once again;
besides, he *had* been pouring a drink.  He was
certain now he would hit the bottle as soon as the
door closed behind her.  Especially if she answered
his next question like he figured she would.

"Is Emma okay?"  He had to know.  Grasping after
crumbs of information like a lovesick fool, he let
his face reflect his need.

If she was moved by his pleading gaze, she didn't
show it.  "Like Uncle Mike, she thinks you had a
good reason for leaving.  Swears there's something
horribly *wrong* with you.  Keeps telling everyone
she's fine."  Her chuckle was slicing and cold. 
"Damn you.  She'll never be 'fine'.  She'll get
over you, but she'll never let another man get
close again.  Happy?"

"No," he said miserably, hanging his head.  He'd
never be happy without Emma.  He heard the door
open and his head snapped up.  "Dana?"

Her back to him, her reply came in a frosty tone. 
"What?"

He had nothing left to lose.  If he didn't tell
*someone*, he'd go crazy.  The whiskey was calling
his name, the walls were closing in, and he was so
fucking alone he felt dead inside.

"When you...," he began softly, searching for the
right words, "when you came back..."

"Came back from where?"  Her head turned; even in
profile, she remained haughty.  But she'd lived
through things none of them had ever even dreamed
of in their worst nightmares, according to Fox. 
Surely she would understand, if he could just get
the damn words out.

"From the war.  Did you... God damn it."  He bit
his lip over the inane babble coming from his
mouth; he sounded like an idiot.

"Did I what?"

At least he had her full attention now; she closed
the door to face him.

"Dana," he said, looking up in desperation.  "I see
a man.  He scares me."

She was silent for a moment to let it sink in. 
He thought he saw a flicker of compassion in her
gaze before it hardened once more.  "It's the
drink."

"No!  Damn it, that mess over there on the bar
represents the first time I've tried to drink in
years.  I haven't been drinking, I swear it!"

"And this man?  Who is he?"

"I don't know."  He shook his head, trying to clear
it so he could make some sense.  "He knows my name,
tells me weird things, *does* things nobody else
does.  He tries to make me go with him, like I'm
supposed to be somewhere else.  But I don't
remember, and it scares me."

"Sam, this is ridiculous."

"I know!"  He stood, rubbing his nape with a shaky
hand as he began to pace.  "He came to me the first
night I was home, when I went for a walk.  Then
again this week, when I went to see Cannon in the
hospital.  I can't explain it.  All I know is, he
wants me to go with him, but I don't want to.  I
can't."

"Can you describe him?  We can tell the police -"

Sam laughed derisively.  "How do you describe a
fucking ghost?"

Dana went so still and pale, Sam thought she was
ill.  He rushed to her side, gently steering her to
the sofa.  "You okay?"

"Did you say 'ghost'?"

He took her hand, more in an effort to still his
pounding heart than to offer her support.  "Forget
it.  I must have inhaled too many whiskey fumes."

She squeezed his fingers, her intensity wiping the
half-hearted smile from his face.  "Did you say
*ghost*?"

Sam knew he was well and truly screwed now.  Bring
on the men in white.  "Yeah, I did.  It's the only
way to describe him."  Dana let him go, getting
awkwardly to her feet.  He sighed when he saw her
pick up the telephone.  "Go on.  I don't blame you. 
I think I'm crazy, too."

"You're not crazy, Sam," she threw over her
shoulder.  "At least, I don't think you are."  She
dialed quickly, giving him a small smile.  The
transformation was miraculous - from raising hell
to raising his hopes in less than a minute.

"Then who are you calling?"

"Mulder."  As she waited for an answer, she faced
him.  "We're not going to put you away, Sam, so
stop looking at me like that."

He leaned back into the couch, feeling tired
already with the confrontation to come.  "He'll
think I'm crazy.  Or on the booze again.  Either
way, he won't believe me."

"Oh, he'll believe, Sam.  Trust me, he'll believe."

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Nineteen


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"I never wanted to hurt Emma, you know."

Scully faced Sam, who'd sat wordlessly through her
call to Mulder.  Knowing her husband, they had
little time until his arrival.  Despite the late
Friday afternoon traffic, Mulder would break all
records getting back to Annapolis, even if he had
to commandeer a taxi in the name of the U.S. Navy. 
This was her only chance to speak to Sam alone. 
She wasn't ashamed of her angry outburst when she'd
first arrived in Sam's room, but it wasn't the way
she'd wanted to set things straight.  Now was her
chance to be firm, to let him know how disappointed
they all were with his behavior of late.

"Yet you did.  Because of what you've seen?  You
could have told Mulder, Sam.  You could have found
another way."

"You think I didn't consider all that?  Emma means
everything to me - you all do."

"Then why leave with all the lies?  There was no
meeting with your agent, was there?  No chance to
get back into baseball.  You deliberately hurt
Mulder - and most especially Emma - with the way
you left.  The way you treated my family like they
were beneath you."

"I know, and I'm sorry.  But it was the only way,
don't you see?  The only way I could make sure they
didn't follow me."  He brought one hand up to scrub
at his stubbled cheek, his gaze vacant as he stared
at the floor.  "I couldn't take the chance on
this... *thing* hurting any of you."

"You should have let us make that decision.  We're
all pretty strong, you know.  Emma most of all." 
Scully hesitated to speak of love, though she knew
Emma's feelings for Sam ran deep, as did his for
her.  His desolation, the hopeless tone he used
when speaking of her, told Scully all she needed to
know.  "She cares for you, Sam.  I think you feel
the same.  I also think it's time you told her the
truth."

His head snapped up, his eyes angry.  "No.  She's
better off without me.  You know what kind of man I
used to be.  The drinking, the women.  I'm sure Fox
told you."

"He did.  He believes that's all in the past."

"But you don't, do you?"  Sam's eyes dared her to
argue.  "You saw through me from the beginning. 
You saw the man who was jealous of his own brother. 
You saw the way he was always one step from drunken
oblivion, because he was a lazy bastard who didn't
want to work for what he thought should be handed
to him on a silver platter.  How he always had that
capacity to hurt those he loved.  Well, you were
right, Dana.  I'm no good.  You knew it all along."

He pinpointed her reservations about him with
surprising accuracy.  She'd thought herself rather
good at keeping her feelings hidden.  But was she
being fair to Sam?  Mulder's love for his brother
would never change, no matter what Sam did.  Maybe
it was time to see Sam from another perspective -
one not tainted by concern for Mulder.  "And what
did Emma see?"

"What?"

"I based my opinion of you on your past
transgressions.  On the way you seemed to know just
where to hit to hurt Mulder.  But Emma saw
something else, didn't she? *Someone* else
entirely."

"I'm no saint, Dana.  I went after her from the
start, just like I always do when I see a woman I
want.  Just because she fell for my 'poor me' act
doesn't mean she sees anything else but what's
there."  He looked up, focusing on the deepening
dusk outside the window, somber anguish glazing his
eyes.  "I'm finally agreeing with you, Dana.  I am
one selfish bastard.  You should be happy."

Scully draped her coat over the back of the couch,
bracing herself to answer Sam's quiet statement.  
Dispirited and exhausted, Sam didn't seem to be
able to summon any energy to face her, as he sat in
the chair opposite.  "I'm not."

"Well, you should be," he replied, his head hanging
as he studied his hands.  "Emma deserves someone
better than me.  You saw it before anyone else."

"Sam, I never said a word to Emma."  That wasn't
quite true; while she'd never actually come out and
made her dislike of Sam known to her cousin, she'd
not kept the subtle distrust from her voice when
speaking of him.

"You didn't have to."  Once again, he managed to
home in with piercing truth.  "Anybody with eyes
could see you never liked me, Dana.  Really, I
never much liked myself.  Still don't."

It wasn't in her to lie, but neither did she want
to add to his misery any longer.  Her anger had
come and gone in light of his fantastic admission. 
They had more in common than Mulder.  "I admit I
haven't been very welcoming, Sam."

"Smart woman."

"But if you'd let me explain why -"

"Why should you?  In fact, why bother at all with
me and my ghost?  Why not just wash your hands of
me, all of you.  I'm not worth the trouble, believe
me."

Sudden anger broke through her sympathy. Scully
closed her eyes and counted to three.  The Mulder
men had an uncanny knack for belittling themselves. 
"Will you stop feeling sorry for yourself and
listen to me?"

"Sure."  He waved a dismissing hand.  "I got
nowhere else to go, do I?"

"Sam, there are a lot of things you don't know. 
About me, about your brother."

"What kind of things?"

"Things that have happened since you've been gone. 
Dangerous things."

His head snapped up.  "Dangerous things?  Like
what?"

"Mulder hasn't told you everything, has he?  About
the war, about Chang?"

"Chang?  Who the hell is Chang?"  Sam's knuckles
tightened as he fisted his hands.  She'd seen the
haunted look in his eyes before, on men worn down
by the horrors of war.  Men physically fit yet
unable to get past memories; searching for some
sort of resolution in the peaceful confines of Oak
Knoll in the days after the war.  With a flash of
guilt, she recognized the fear.  She'd felt it
herself many times - an almost paralyzing reaction
to a certain flashback.  She still had trouble at
times with tight places, recalling the suffocating
blackness of the hole at Los Banos.

"You aren't familiar with the name?"  She held her
breath, searching his face for signs of
recognition.  Or worse, the skittish avoidance of a
lie.

"Should I be?"  Genuine worry tightened his face. 
"Damn it, Dana - I have no idea who Chang is!"

She believed him.  Even if it turned out he'd once
worked for the crime boss, he certainly didn't
remember doing so.  His amnesia, while not
preventing him from living a relatively normal
life, acted as a smothering cloak.  Surrounding him
with uncertainty he dared not show for fear of
coming off as insane.  Why hadn't she noticed it
before now?  Had her own lack of trust blinded her
to Sam's trauma?

"It's bad enough I can't remember the last two
years," he continued, his voice strained.  "If it
will explain some things and help me to understand,
then tell me.  Please."

Just because he hadn't come home shell-shocked by
memories of bombs and death didn't mean he was any
less lost, she realized.  His circumstances, while
unusual, were just as life-altering.  He needed
help - and her experience made her the logical
choice.

She spilled it all - leaving out more intimate
details, of course.  Mulder mistaking her for a
spy, Chang returning to seek his revenge.  The
little things she barely knew of but only guessed -
Mulder's opium addiction, the way he'd gone crazy
when he heard of Sam's death in the war.  Charlie
hadn't been all that open about the mess in Hong
Kong, but what he'd told her about Mulder, the
*way* he'd told her, with his smile dying as he
remembered his friend's breakdown... she knew it
had been horrible for Mulder, and she spared no
words in conveying her husband's grief and trauma
to his brother.

The telling was difficult for her, with Sam's
reactions varying from anguish to fear.  She
watched him closely, looking for any glimmer of
recall.  There was none.  He sat silent through it
all, only speaking when her words trailed away.

"You thought I was connected somehow to this Chang
guy, didn't you?"

She bit her lip, the remorse she felt tamped down
for the moment.  "I did.  Using you to get to
Mulder would be right up Chang's alley."

Sam paled, realizing what she'd suspected for a
while.  "Do you still think I might be working for
him and not know it?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Sam.  It's possible."

He gulped, shooting out of his chair to walk to the
window.  "Jesus."  He propped his hands on the
windowsill, taking a deep breath.  "So this guy...
this ghost... he could be trying to get me to
remember my purpose here.  My mission, so to
speak."

"Exactly.  Back in Los Banos, the Japanese
experimented with brainwashing some of our men. 
They looked normal, acted normal, but were
programmed to act upon a specific word or phrase. 
The camp was liberated before their plans got to
the point they'd actually used these men as
assassins.  It took months for our physicians to
undo what had been done to them."  She watched his
back stiffen when she added, "Chang could do
basically the same, according to Mulder.  Opium
makes a man easy to control.  Makes it easy for him
to forget."

Sam's profile was tense, his words soft and sure. 
"I wouldn't work for someone like Chang.  Not even
if he forced me, or turned my brain to mush with
drugs."

"How do you know?"

He turned to face her, his eyes fierce.  "I know it
*here*."  One hand came up to settle over his
heart.  That lump of muscle that wavered now and
then, that stood by and let his own brother pay for
his mistakes; she wondered if he should rely on
such an inconstant thing.  To date, it had been a
cold, unforgiving part of him.  "I'd die before I
let anyone use me like that.  I'd give up my own
life before I'd ever harm my brother."

Scully wanted to believe him.  He stood before her
unblinking, his honor shining through in his
bright, determined gaze.  "I know you would," she
said, lowering her chin.  "It's obvious you're
telling the truth as you know it."

"But that still won't cut it with you, will it?"

Scully, drained herself from the afternoon's
events, sank wearily into the cushions of the sofa. 
"I can't just... forget all that's happened to
Mulder and me, Sam.  Mulder, for all he went
through, bounced back more quickly than I ever did. 
I still find it hard sometimes."

"Find it hard to do what?"

The old familiar feelings surfaced; pain, fright,
paranoia.  They hadn't grabbed hold in months. 
This time, she found a new meaning.  Talking to Sam
was like re-living those war years with a constant,
sympathetic companion.  She'd found that kind of
peace by telling Mulder of the experience.  She
wouldn't be as open with Sam, but she felt he would
appreciate the feeling of helplessness.

"To live," she whispered, raising hot, tear-filled
eyes.  "To get up in the morning and go to work
like normal people do.  To not feel as if all the
strangers on the street are watching you, spying on
you.  To button up my damned coat without feeling
as if it's strangling me."

She heard Sam take his seat once again, felt his
sigh slowly close the distance between them.  "Was
it that bad?"

She chuckled without mirth, knowing exactly what he
was asking.  "Worse.  Took me weeks in a hospital
before I could function without medication.  To
even remember how to speak English without mixing
it with Japanese."

"But you're okay now."

She nodded, feeling the knot in her chest loosen. 
"I am.  It took me a long time to let myself become
close to anyone again.  To realize that you have to
open yourself up to trust.  That you're no longer
alone."

"I still am," he replied.  He stared off into
space, hunched over.  "Alone, I mean.  No one else
knows what it's like, do they?  To lose part of
your life. I may not know what happened, may never
know.  It's gone."

Again, she felt a surge of remorse for her earlier
outburst.  Sam wasn't incapacitated by his
circumstances like some of the patients she'd
treated, those who could do nothing but mumble and
scream at inner demons.  But he was affected just
the same, felt the same isolation.

"You are not alone, Sam."  She waited for him to
face her; in his eyes confusion waned and a dawning
understanding took hold.  "I lost two years of my
life in that camp.  To this day, there are some
things that unnerve me.  Memories that freeze me
with fear."

"At least you can remember."

Thinking of the dust and heat of the hole in the
ground, she murmured, "Sometimes I wish I didn't."

"And I'd give anything if I could."  He stood on
stiff legs, his frustration palpable in the stuffy
room.  "What's wrong with me, Dana?  You think you
can sympathize, but you can't.  You don't see
ghosts."

Scully waited, trying to find the right words.  How
could she tell him she'd seen *him*?  She'd
admitted it to Mulder long ago, in the heady day
after her escape from Chang.  They'd let it hang in
the air between them, so grateful for the chance to
start over they never questioned the event.  Each
willing to believe for a moment that beings from
another plane did exist - how else could they have
survived all they'd lived through?  Sam's admission
that he'd seen something similar had been like a
bucket of ice water on her anger, given her the
impetus to probe into his fear.  Could she now
admit to him what she'd seen?

"I saw... something."

Sam turned, hands on hips, her admission cutting
through his anger.  His eyes, shadowed with
unwilling hope, swept over her face.  "Say again?"

Scully cleared her throat.  "You saw a ghost, as
you call it.  I saw something similar, not long
after I returned."

He paled, taking a step back.  "I'm crazy, aren't
I?"

"I told you I saw something just as unusual.  Do I
look crazy?"

Sam chuckled, his color returning with a burst of
humor.  "You look like you just sucked on a lemon."

It was gratifying to see him relax, but not at the
expense of her dignity.  "I do not."

"Kinda hard to admit it to yourself, isn't it? 
That you see things that aren't supposed to be."

Scully forced her face to soften; she didn't like
admitting a weakness to anyone.  One look at Sam's
face told her he felt the same.  But they were both
powerless to explain what they'd seen, at the risk
of being perceived as mentally disturbed.  Even
coming clean with each other was a monumental task.

"I don't know what I saw.  At the time, it was all
clear to me."  She remembered Sam's face and the
overwhelming sense of peace his presence summoned
in a time when she needed help to escape Chang. 
Now, she had no idea what she'd seen back then -
but she refused to believe she'd conjured up a
familiar face and voice to give her strength.  The
event had been real.  Just how and why, she didn't
know.  "It's not so clear anymore.  One thing I do
know - I saw it, whatever it was.  What you're
seeing... you believe in it, don't you?"

"Enough to scare the hell out of me."

"Then we have to find out what it is."

Explaining away visions of ghosts were not her
forte.  Mulder would most likely pounce and
immediately tie Sam's return into one of his more
outlandish theories.  It was all so confusing.  She
believed Sam when he said he didn't know Chang, and
she was willing to afford him the benefit of the
doubt from now on.  However, just because he didn't
remember Chang didn't mean he wasn't one of the
opium boss's pawns.  They were about to walk a fine
line to find the truth.  She hoped they all had the
strength to see it through.

She jumped when the phone rang; Sam nodded at her
to pick it up.  "Hello?"

"Scully, I'm downstairs.  Put Sam on so he can tell
them it's okay to let me up."

"Sure thing."  She handed the phone to Sam, saying,
"It's Mulder.  He'll know what to do, Sam.  Just
give him a chance."

He took the phone from her, lifting anxious eyes. 
"Will you stay?"

"For a while."  She nodded, listening to him
instruct the front desk to let Mulder through.

Sam saw ghosts.  Mulder saw aliens.  She wanted to
believe a more human hand manipulated Sam's life. 
She dismissed the second, hoped against reason for
the first, and prayed it wasn't the third.

No matter what, none of them would be at peace
until Sam was at peace.


**********


He didn't tell his brother everything, of course. 
It was no use bringing up the knife wound that
wasn't, simply because he still thought Cannon had
somehow pulled a fast one on him.  A circus trick,
some kind of stunt with fake blood designed to
scare the daylights out of him.  Fox, for all his
willingness to believe (which still surprised the
hell out of Sam), would probably be inclined to
agree.  They'd done such things as boys.  Everyone
had at one time gotten a kick out of making
teachers furious with fake injuries.  All in the
name of cutting class, naturally.  Sam wished all
this were that simple to explain away.

"From what you've told me, I don't think you have
to worry about any of us, Sam," Fox said, his eyes
steady with certainty.  "Whoever this is, he seems
to be targeting you, not us."

"But I can't go back, don't you see?"  He paced the
floor, eyeing Fox and Dana with a desperate look. 
"He can be anyone he wants.  What if I hurt one of
you, thinking it's him?"

"You said he wants you to come to him, to touch
him.  Something's preventing him from making the
first move, Sam.  As long as you keep your hands to
yourself, you should be fine."  Fox shook his head,
an excited smile taking shape on his face. 
"Unbelievable.  My own brother, hanging out with -"

"Mulder, I think it's time I went home," Dana
interrupted, nudging her husband.

Sam caught the subtle move, his eyes narrowing. 
"Hanging out with who?"

"Maybe not a who.  Maybe a what."

"What?"  He thought *he* was the loony one.  His
brother couldn't be serious.

Dana stood, pulling on the coat she'd taken off
once she'd called Fox.  "I think it's best Sam
stays here for the weekend, Mulder.  It's safe
enough, and he's left orders at the front desk to
screen his visitors."

"That reminds me," Sam said, ignoring Fox's
fascinated stare for the moment.  "How'd you get
past the guy at the front desk?  I never would have
let you up here if he'd called."

"Easy.  I faked a labor pain and Uncle Mike sneaked
a look at the register while the guy helped me to a
chair."  Her eyes went wide.  "Uncle Mike!  I
forgot he was waiting for me in his car!"

"I saw him parked out front.  Sent him on his way
before I came up." Fox got up from the couch to
stand beside her.  "Why didn't he come up with
you?"

"Uncle Mike's not very light with his fingers. 
Needless to say, he was immediately ushered out the
front door when Mr. 'Prissy Pants', as he calls
him, caught him thumbing through the register.  I
followed him to the car, got the room number, and
came up through the kitchen.  Piece of cake."

"And you think this place is safe?"  Sam rolled his
eyes.  "A pregnant woman and an old man made it
through on the first try, for Christ's sake!"

"Take it easy, Sam," Fox said.  "I can ask my boss
for a man to keep you company, if you want."

"A watchdog?  No, thanks.  And don't ask me to come
to your place, because that was the point of this
whole exercise."

"I understand."  Fox helped Dana with her coat,
flashing Sam an impatient look.  "I'll stop by the
desk on my way out."

"What good will that do?"

"I can impress upon Mr. Prissy Pants the importance
of denying access to you.  A matter of national
security.  All it takes is a flash of my
credentials."

"That's it?"

"You were okay all this week, weren't you?  As long
as you stay indoors, it can wait until I can get a
handle on it."

"A handle on what?"

"If it's what I think it is, I'll have to consult a
few unusual resources of mine."

"Mulder."

Again, Dana's tone held a hint of warning.  Sam
felt very uneasy about his brother's hints and
vague answers.  "Would someone please tell me what
the hell is going on?"

It was Dana who responded, moving to Sam's side
with a reassuring smile.  "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I hit you.  I'm not a violent person by
nature, and the way I reacted... well, there's no
excuse for it.  I could say it's hormones," she
added, looking down at her belly with a rueful
grin, "but pregnancy usually makes one cry, not go
around emulating Joe Louis."

"Apology accepted, though I don't blame you.  I've
never been the easiest person to get through to,
ask Fox.  Sometimes the only way to get my
attention is to pop me one."

Dana gave her husband an impatient look,
unbuttoning the coat Fox had just buttoned.  Sam
looked on, remembering the way she'd said even her
coat seemed to suffocate her sometimes.  He gave
her a nod, silently communicating his awareness of
her discomfort.

He realized the effort she'd expended in opening up
to him.  She didn't have to do it, but she had. 
She acknowledged his respect and affection with a
raised eyebrow, asking, "Did it work?"

"The punch?"  Their talk had done more to wake him
up than any fist to the gut, and she knew it.  He
cleared his throat, backing away from his brother's
wife.  Dana would always hold a special place in
his memories, but someone else had taken the upper
hand in his heart and soul.  He rubbed his stomach,
lightening the mood with a lopsided smile.  "Oh
yeah.  Think Emma will do the same?"

"Emma was always an uppercut person.  Watch your
jaw."

Just thinking of Emma gave him pause.  "About Emma. 
Don't tell her what's going on with me, okay?"

"Why not?  She deserves an explanation, Sam."

"When we figure out what's the deal with this, I'll
tell her, okay?"  He shot a look at his brother,
hoping for backup.  Fox wouldn't put Dana in harm's
way; Sam expected total agreement with his logic,
and he got it.

"That's your call, Sam."  Sam was relieved, but not
for long, as Fox added, "She'll find out anyway,
sooner or later.  You know that, don't you?"

Sam nodded, knowing Mike knew enough of the truth
to tell Emma that Sam had removed himself from
their sphere on purpose.  But he couldn't let her
come near.  Not until everything calmed down. 
"Just don't tell her anything.  I can keep her from
coming up here."

"Like you kept me away?" Dana asked softly.

"You have a point."  As they walked to the door,
Sam felt a prickle of uneasiness.  He'd never been
a coward, but all he seemed to do lately was run
and hide.  God, he needed Emma.  He needed her to
talk to him, to hold him.  He'd give anything to be
able to just look at her in silence.   "She
wouldn't come up here, anyway, even if I asked."

"You don't know that."

"She's known where I was the whole week and she
hasn't even called.  Why would she come now?"

"Because even if she tries to pretend otherwise,
she knows it's not over between you."  Dana took
her husband's hand; Sam felt the warmth of their
connection mirror his own with Emma, even if they
were separated by dozens of city blocks and a huge
mistake on his part.  "I promise you I won't say a
word to her.  But she *will* realize there's more
to your leaving... and when she does, I doubt even
Mr. Prissy Pants could stop her."

The thought of Emma putting aside her anger and
disappointment long enough to brave the desk clerk
made Sam shake his head.  "It won't come to that. 
I think I did a pretty good job of messing things
up, but good.  She probably won't speak to me ever
again."

"Oh, but she will.  Deep down, she's dying to let
you have it."

Sam opened the door with a chuckle.  "With a wicked
uppercut, right?  You know, Fox told me you'd
walloped him a long time ago.  What is it with
Scully women?  You'd rather punch a guy than give
him a kiss?"

Dana passed a sidelong glance at her husband, who
stood sheepishly in the hallway.  Sam saw Fox
blush, and he knew he'd put his brother in serious
straits with the teasing.  But Dana didn't react
other than to roll her eyes at Fox before
addressing Sam coolly, "We'd rather make him
realize he's being an idiot who deserves one before
the other."  She wrapped her arm in Fox's.  "She
will come sooner than you think, Sam.  Try not to
make her more angry before you get the explanation
out of the way."

As they walked away, Sam closed the door and locked
it.  Leaning against it, he sighed.

How the hell would he keep from making Emma more
angry?  Easier said than done.  He ran his fingers
over his jaw, already lamenting the loss of his
teeth.


*********


"You told him I hit you?  How could you, Mulder?"

"I didn't tell him *why* you'd hit me, Scully.  Or
our respective states of undress at the time." 
Mulder gripped the steering wheel with tight hands,
carefully maneuvering his car through heavy
traffic.  "Geez.  Gimme a break."

"Why tell him at all?"

"Because I was trying to impress upon him at the
time what a great woman you were - *are*.  Besides,
seems like you haven't lost the propensity for
using your hands for something other than healing
the sick, have you?"  Mock chastisement curled his
lips as he looked at his irritated wife.

"Sometimes that's the only way to get through to
the Mulder men."

"I'd keep that in mind, then.  Because it might be
the only way to get through to one particular
Scully woman when it comes to a sore subject."

"That subject being your wayward brother?"

Mulder shook his head with a chuckle.  "'Wayward'
doesn't begin to describe Sam."  He waited a beat,
turning onto a less crowded boulevard.  "You sure
changed your tune in an afternoon, Scully.  Last I
heard, you had Sam speaking Chinese and smuggling
opium.  What gives?"

"Sam isn't working for Chang, Mulder, knowingly or
not."  She was adamant, and Mulder studied her
profile as he slid to a halt at the next light.

"I always knew that."  His brother might be an
arrogant bastard at times, but he had a true,
honest nature.

Scully lifted her chin, facing him with a clear,
regretful stare.  "I'm sorry, Mulder.  I'm not
usually so quick to judge.  I've apologized to Sam. 
He's accepted it."

"I'm not angry with you, Scully.  I'm more worried
about Sam.  And fascinated with his story," he
added, shifting the car into first to pull away.

"Don't go reading more into this than what's there,
Mulder.  Sam could be suffering from nothing more
than repressed memories surfacing after a traumatic
experience.  I've seen it all too often with war
veterans."

"Well, we'll find out, won't we?  In the meantime,
don't get *your* hopes up that Emma will cooperate
with this scheme of yours."

"Scheme?  What scheme?  I don't *scheme*, Mulder."

"No, you get Mike to do it for you."  After a
second or two in which his wife sat silently, he
warned, "Get that idea right out of your head."

She sat in angelic poise, her face a tranquil mask. 
"What idea?"

"Scully, it's none of your business.   You'll end
up pissing someone off and getting into all kinds
of trouble."

She quirked an eyebrow, slanting an amused look his
way.  "Frustrating, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Arguing with someone who doesn't listen."  Her
pointed look made him flush.

"I've never not listened to you.  I just... take
your counsel under advisement."

"And do what you want, anyway.  Tell me, was
Skinner always that bald?  I'll bet he had a full
head of hair until the day you walked in his door."

"Ha ha."  Mulder pulled up into their driveway and
killed the motor.  He turned in his seat, at once
assailed by the need to kiss that smirk off her
face.  He put the urge on hold for a moment,
however, saying, "First of all, you had no business
going to that hotel today.  Mike should be
horsewhipped for talking you into it.  Second of
all, despite your family's need to meddle in each
other's affairs, this is *my* brother we're talking
about here, and he specifically said -"

"Emma is *my* cousin, I'll have you know."

"He specifically said not to tell her -"

"I said I wouldn't, and I won't.  But five'll get
you ten Uncle Mike pays us a visit in the morning. 
He won't rest until he knows what happened after I
went up to Sam's hotel room."

"You don't have to tell him."

"I would never break a confidence.  But I can offer
an opinion on a family member's well-being, can't
I?"

Mulder leaned in, catching his breath at the warm,
excited scent of the chase that clung to her. 
"That's gossip, Scully.  About Sam."

"Who said anything about Sam?  I was speaking of
Emma."

"Scully," he said softly, his voice rough with
warning and want.

"Mulder," she purred in return, one hand coming up
to caress his tight cheek.

They had on too many clothes.  It was hot in the
car.  She had the most delectable, sassy little
mouth.  He knew lovemaking was impossible because
of the advanced state of her pregnancy, but when he
tumbled backward onto their bed a scant five
minutes later, he thought he'd died and gone to
heaven.

"I'm still mad at you for traipsing off with Mike,"
he ground out as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

"I'm still mad at you for telling Sam I hit you,"
she murmured, her lips stealing kisses down his
chest.

His skin came alive with gooseflesh, his hands
moving to support her as she hovered above him.  He
sucked in a sharp breath as he closed his eyes,
feeling her cool fingers tackle his belt.  "We're
not finished, Scully."

"I should hope not."

"I meant the argument."

"What argument?"

As her lips followed the downward slide of his
zipper, he groaned, "No fair.  I had a good head of
steam going, Scully."

Her warmth left him; he opened his eyes to see her
giving him a small, ego-feeding smile, her eyes
shifting down to where he impressively reacted to
her attentions.  He grinned, shrugging with typical
male pride.

Until the curtain of her hair swept across his
hips.  His grin faded into a sigh, his head
slamming back into his pillow.

"You always come out on top."

"Mmm... I try."

"Gotta have the upper hand, that's you."

"Mulder?"

"Huh?"

"Shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

What had they fighting about, anyway?  He slid into
pleasure, losing himself to her touch.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twenty


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


"Think we'll get rain?"

"Maybe."

"It's sure nice to see the sun, even if it is
rather weak.  But me bones are aching like there's
damp around the corner."

The noncommital hum from his daughter - seemed like
the hundredth one this week - set his teeth on
edge.

Mike cradled his cup of coffee, watching Emma clean
up their lunch dishes.  The watery sunlight
streaming through the kitchen window cast her
porcelain skin in white-gold relief.  Its muted
glow did nothing to soften the burgeoning shadows
under her eyes, nor relieve the tightness around
her mouth that seemed to grow daily.  He leaned
against the counter at a discreet distance,
lamenting the loss of his Emma's smile.  He'd have
to tread carefully, lest he shatter the icy reserve
and find himself on her wrong side.

"I saw Dana today," he began casually, taking a sip
of his strong black brew.

One of his dear Fiona's crystal glasses nearly
slipped from her hand, but she recovered instantly. 
"You did?  She's doing well, I suppose.  She looked
fit enough to me yesterday."

"Brimmin' with motherhood on this fine Saturday,
she is."  Actually, Dana had a sort of peace about
her he'd not seen in weeks.  Try as he might to pry
details of her visit with Sam from her, she'd
remained placid and vague.  She wasn't the sort to
tell tales, but he had managed to catch her tone of
concern for the lad.

"He's not what he wants us to believe, Uncle Mike,"
she'd said at last, giving him a pointed look.  "I
don't think he knows himself."

Mike wasn't stupid, though he'd only managed to
barely eek out a high school education before he'd
had to take up delivering beer with his own father
to make ends meet.  Bill was the smart one, the
quiet one; something he'd passed on to his Dana. 
But Mike had the same intuitive sense all the
Scullys possessed, and he needed no words from his
niece's lips to confirm the suspicions he'd had
from the beginning.

Sam was in trouble.  Dana had done her best to help
him, as had Mulder.  But her subtle questions that
morning about Emma's frame of mind had set one of
the last puzzle pieces in place.  It was there in
Dana's solemn gaze, the nod of agreement when he'd
told her Emma wasn't herself still.  Dana knew, had
seen the common misery the two unknowingly shared. 
The boy needed Emma as much as she needed him.

"She saw Sam yesterday."

Damn, that wasn't how he'd wanted to continue. 
Cursing his clumsy tongue, he saw Emma's back
stiffen.  She scraped at a spot on one of their
older pans with unnecessary zeal.  "Really?"  Her
jerky movements belied her cool voice.  "I would
have thought he'd be livin' the good life in New
York by now."  Her snappish tone took on an angry
brogue, and Mike backed off a bit, knowing he'd
jumped in too soon.

"He's still at the Calvert," he mused in an off-
hand manner, knowing full well Emma had known Sam
was still in town.  A sore subject, indeed. 
Quickly, he changed tunes.  "Did you know Tommy and
Jenny are discussing marriage?  Oh, curse me
memory... you haven't been at the pub lately, have
you?"

"Aidan and Joseph are back, Da.  There's no need
for me to be lending a hand any longer."

"They're thinkin' of Valentine's Day."  His
youngest was *still* too young to be considering
taking a wife, but Mike wasn't blind.  He saw the
way the wind blew, and knew if they didn't tie the
knot soon, there'd be more to deal with than trying
to talk them into finishing college first.  After
his initial reservations, he'd almost reconciled
himself that Tommy was a grown man at twenty.  He
had a good head on his shoulders, and the energy to
juggle a wife and his studies.  The boy had his eye
on medicine as a living, his older sister having
put that gleam in those baby blues long ago with
her pride and dedication to healing.  "I'm thinkin'
she'll have a ring on her finger this Christmas."

"That's nice."  She retreated into herself, her
toneless reply speaking of her unintentional
disinterest in her brother's love life.

Not even a ripple of excitement, he noted.  Very
unlike his girl.  Something had to be done, and
fast.  She was so closed in now, he suspected only
a brick or two remained before her heart lay
encased in impenetrable mortar.

"So, what are your plans for this afternoon, love?" 
He poured himself another drop of coffee from the
pot on the stove, pretending an interest in the
sugar bowl he didn't have so he could buy time.

The pipes groaned a bit as she ran the rinse water. 
"Not much.  I have a bit of marketing to do, then I
promised Father Corkery I'd pick up the broadcloth
at Dickerson's for the new Lenten vestments.  Mrs.
Sweeney and I will measure the altar boys for sizes
after Catechism tomorrow afternoon.  She's a fine
hand with a needle, but her husband's off to
Baltimore today on business and she doesn't drive,
you know."

Actually, Maeve Sweeney did drive - just on the
wrong side of the road.  The poor woman had never
figured out she no longer lived in Dublin.  Mike
cursed the old bat (and the priest, may the Lord
forgive him) for innocently conspiring to give Emma
an afternoon's work.

But all was not lost.  Dickerson's was not far from
Calvert's.  "Picking up broadcloth, eh?  Have you
given any thought to a new dress for Christmas? 
Your mother so loved to turn out in green for
midnight mass."

"I can't do anything but cut and pin, Da, you know
that."

"Oh, I wasn't sayin' you were to make it, darlin'. 
Your mother gave that up once the little dress
shops sprang up on Maryland and Main.  Why don't
you take a look while you're downtown?"

If anything, Emma's face pinched more.  "I don't
need anything new, Da.  Besides, I haven't the time
to traipse all over -"

"Labovitz's is right on Main, so you've no excuse. 
Pick up something in green; I've a fancy to see my
girl in her mother's colors this year."  With any
luck, he wouldn't be the only man to enjoy the
sight of his lovely Emma by the Christmas tree. 
"And what's this about no time?  You said yourself
you're not needed at the pub this evening.  Take
some time for yourself, darlin'."

"Da, I'm bored stiff as it is."  Emma wiped down
the sink board with swift, economical passes of the
dishrag.  "Sure you don't need any help with the
pub?"

Ah, the opening.  Mike suppressed a smile and moved
to her side, where he dutifully rinsed his cup. 
"Now that you mention it, there is something you
can do for me."

She took his cup with a shake of her head and set
to cleaning it like she wanted.  His girl ran a
good kitchen, he had to give her that.  "Anything. 
Just name it."

Mike stepped to the laundry room in preparation for
a battle.  "I owe the lad a week's pay.  Would you
mind dropping by the Calvert House?  I'd sidestep
the queer little fellow behind the desk, though, if
I were you.  Sam's in 316."

He waited for the outburst as he donned his coat
and hat.  Several long seconds dragged by, Mike
slowly patting down the lapels of his coat as he
remained safely out of sight.  But there was
nothing.  Not a peep.  Her silence made him uneasy,
and he poked his head around the door.  "Emma?" 
She stood at the sink as she had since lunch,
hiding by keeping busy.  Would the girl ever face
him again?  "Did you hear me?"

"I heard."  One arm at her waist, she gripped the
dishrag in a rigid fist.  "This won't work, Da."

"Of course it will.  Here's what I owe him."  He
pretended naivete, pulling out his wallet to drop a
couple of twenty dollar bills on the table. 
"Labovitz's is right up Main from State Circle. 
Should be no trouble to pop in and out of the
hotel."

"I'm not speaking of the trip downtown Da, and you
know it."  Even with a slight bite, her words
lacked real anger.  What would it take to make
headway?

"Oh?"  He wondered how long he could keep up the
innocent act, then said 'to hell with it' in the
next breath.  "You're such a coward then, are you? 
Never thought I'd see the day one o'me own turned
tail and ran."

"I am not a coward."

"Then do as I ask, girl.  It's time for me to be
opening up the pub, and I don't have the
inclination to piss about with you over such a
trivial matter."  A stab of guilt pierced his heart
for speaking so harshly to his daughter.  But damn
it all, couldn't she see she needed this meeting? 
The outcome no longer mattered.  She and Sam would
embrace or sever the tie once and for all; at least
she could move on either way.

"I can't... I can't do this, Da."

The sheer heartbreak in her voice stilled him. 
He'd thought he seen a different Emma in the past
week, more subdued but still whole and proud.  But
this... not since Fiona's death had he seen his
girl sag.  It seemed as though a brisk wind could
blow her away.  He moved to her side, his own
discomfort with women's tears shoved down as he
took her in his arms.

"You can," he said quietly, feeling her shudder in
his embrace.  The tense line of her back melted
under the silk of her blouse, his fingers massaging
away her fear.  "You will.  If only because it's
there in you.  The pressing need to see for
yourself if it's true."

"If what's true?"

"That you love the lad beyond reason."  Mike drew
back, tilting up her chin with a calloused hand
made gentle with concern.  He gazed into her
tormented, swimming eyes, trying to give her back
the strength of generations of Scully grit.  "You
want to see if he still moves you, or if it was
just a passing fancy.  You need to tell him that he
did hurt you.  You need to see if he's hurting as
much as you are... and something tells me he is."

"But what if he doesn't want this?  What if he
hurts me again?"

"Then it's just another opening, Emmagirl.  Me Mum
used to say it's the cracked heart that's open to
love."

Her smile was instantaneous yet brief.  A flash of
levity that told him he'd broken through.  "And if
he still refuses my open heart?"

"Then he's a fool."  Mike brushed his lips over her
now warm cheek.  "One me and the boys should have
no trouble beating some sense into, don't ya
think?"

With a chuckle at her aghast expression, he left
her to seek the sunshine beyond the kitchen door. 
Half out, he turned to give her a stern look. 
"There's two twenties there, Emma.  He owes me ten
dollars and fifty cents, by my reckoning."  He
tugged on his hat with a nod.  "Don't come back
without it."

"Da?"

She had that sentimental look about her - the one
that said she was getting all mushy.  He buttoned
up his coat, answering in a gruff voice, "What
else?  I've got to go and get set up for the dinner
crowd."

"I love you, Da."

Oh, there it was.  Despite his determination to
remain manly about it all, he found himself with a
bit of tightness in his throat.  A chicken bone,
that's what it was.  He swallowed it down.

"That's enough of that now.  Go on with you and do
me proud, Emmagirl."

"I will."

He didn't let his car warm up like he usually did. 
Backing down the drive, it stalled.  With a curse,
he started it once more, chancing a look at the
house.

She blew him a kiss from the back stoop, her smile
the brightest thing he'd seen all day.  He raised
his hand as if to catch it, solemn and silent in
his acceptance of her gesture.

All the tiny fissures in his heart, those cracks
received over the years, most recently with the
loss of his beloved wife... they ignored his will
to keep them sealed and burst wide open, grabbing
her love to hold it close.


**********


There was no primping, aside from a quick look in
the mirror to check her braid.  She noticed a tinge
of color that had not been there for days now, and
dismissed it as a result of those pesky tears.  Her
cream blouse and brown skirt would have to do;
Labovitz's could wait as well.  Now that she'd made
up her mind - or rather, succumbed to her father's
not-so-subtle prodding - she wanted to get it over
with as soon as possible.

On the way over, the skies clouded, and she swept
dismayed eyes over the impending gloom.  A sign of
things to come?  No, it couldn't be any worse than
the sadness she'd lived through in the last week,
she told herself.  In the car, she had time to
think, to mull over her father's scheme.  A scheme
it was, too.  One designed to send her running to
him.  The man who'd broken her heart.

She'd tried not to think of him since he'd been
gone, but that was next to impossible.  Anger,
hurt, resignation... the last was the most
difficult to swallow.  She'd almost made it, too. 
Had almost willed herself into letting him go.  It
was easy to blame her sure lacking in his eyes at
first; after all, she wasn't a film star or glamor
girl.  Sam was used to those types, and he'd
realized he wasn't sharing the company of a woman
who'd melt over his good looks.

But that changed in an instant this afternoon.  Her
father hadn't said much, but it was what he didn't
say that made her re-assess the situation.  He'd
spoken to Dana, who'd obviously told him things
about Sam they didn't know.  Dana, of all people. 
The woman who'd not trusted her brother-in-law from
the beginning, who'd cautioned Emma to guard her
heart and not be fooled by Sam's easy smiles.  To
think her cousin had rallied to Sam's side gave
Emma the impetus to consider a meeting.

It was Mike Scully who sealed the deal, with his
concern and talk of love.  That she couldn't deny. 
She loved Sam, and a week apart had made his
absence in her life a gaping hole only his presence
could fill.  Would she be able to break through the
arrogance and get to the truth?

Time would tell.  She parked the car and took a
deep breath, eyeing the quaint hotel with
nervousness.  Maybe she should have refreshed her
lipstick.  Too late for that - her purse was at
home.

Her license!  She muttered a curse, quickly asking
the saints above for forgiveness.  This wouldn't
do.  She closed her eyes, summoning the calm she
had mastered the past week.

He wouldn't upset her.  No.  She slammed the car
door behind her and marched to the hotel.  She
wasn't a Scully for nothing.


**********


Sam winced at the tight feel of his cheek.  That's
what he got for not shaving for a week.  He didn't
know why he'd gotten up this morning and done so,
knowing he was stuck in the hotel for the time
being.  But it was as if a tremendous weight had
lifted from his shoulders after his talk with Dana
and Fox yesterday.  Hope had taken a tenuous hold
once again, as well as a bit of frustration. 
Monday couldn't come soon enough now.  By then,
surely Fox would have some answers for him,
wouldn't he?

He ate with gusto this fine day, did a few pushups
and situps to the toe-tapping sounds of Jimmy
Dorsey blaring from the radio, and phoned his old
agent in New York.  The future wasn't set, but it
was time he began to regain a sense of balance.  He
had a yen to try his hand at baseball again.  Once
this mess was over, he'd turn to securing a life
for himself and Emma.

Emma.  The next time he saw her, he'd be free.  Or
so he hoped.

She'd rave at him, that was certain.  He deserved
it, God knew.  What he really looked forward to was
the makeup kiss.  He could almost taste it now. 
Hot and clinging, her anger still on her tongue. 
Wow.  Just thinking of it made him shiver.

Of course, he'd act all cool and collected.  He'd
tell her he'd only done it for her sake.  Playing
the hero was his bag.

Standing at the window, he dropped his chin.  He
was so full of it.  He'd be lucky if he could
restrain himself from dropping at her feet like a
slave to beg forgiveness.  Hero, indeed.  Bum was
more like it.

Two sharp raps at the door made him swing around,
instantly on guard.  It was not yet three o'clock,
way too early for dinner.  The desk clerk hadn't
called with a visitor, and Sam didn't let the maids
in, preferring to just take the linens they offered
to make the bed himself.

Whoever it was, they were uninvited.  He walked
softly to the door and cautiously looked through
the peephole before staggering back.

Was it really her?  Dana had said he should expect
Emma would come, but he'd made his feelings clear
on the subject.  Despite her love for her cousin,
Dana would never go against his explicit wishes. 
Then who had?  Or rather, who the hell was that out
there?

His good mood vanished, replaced by anxiety.  He
was trapped.  He could just ignore the knocking,
but it was no use.  If this thing wanted him, it
would certainly not let a door stop it.  But Fox
had said it wanted Sam to make the first move. 
Well, he damn well wouldn't.  But neither would he
pass up the opportunity to get a few answers.  He
opened the door, and felt his heart drop to his
knees.

She was more beautiful than he'd remembered.  Her
pale skin should have suffered without the artifice
of rouge, but it glowed to his needy eyes.  She
kept her eyes downcast for a moment as if to
prolong his agony.  He wanted to blurt out her
name, his love for her, his absolute misery this
past week, but he couldn't seem to make anything
move.  Not his lips to speak, nor his arms to reach
out, nor his heart to beat with renewed life - that
stony thing hovered around his feet, a leaden
weight preventing the first step forward.

At last, she broke the silence.  Her lashes swept
up and he saw the blue ice of her gaze touch his
face.  "Can I come in?"

He felt a fool, stumbling over his own feet as he
backed away.  There was no stopping the tremulous
joy husking his voice.  "Emma."  He'd thought he'd
never say her name to her face again.  He tried it
out once more, just for good measure, hoping none
of this was a dream.  "Emma."  If not for his
furious grip on the doorknob, he'd be on the floor,
making his earlier thoughts of groveling a reality.

"I should have called first," she was saying, "but
I had an errand downtown..."

He saw her lips move, but the roar in his ears
drowned out her explanation.  He didn't care why
she'd come.  At this point, he didn't care if, in
the next instant, he found himself facing a demon. 
To have her near, to gaze upon her familiar,
beloved face, was more than enough to throw him
into a tailspin.  It made him sail over the edge
with subtle ease, as he took hold of her wrist.

It was so warm beneath the sleeve of her wool coat. 
Dimly, he realized she'd stopped speaking, but his
mind was elsewhere.  Fascinated, he ran gentle
fingers over the pulse that beat furiously under
her skin.  The tickle of silk on his thumb made him
smile, and he looked at the place they were joined
with wonder.

The jolt jumpstarted his heart.  Sizzling over and
under his skin, it pulled him in like he imagined
his ghost man would, should he ever get the chance. 
But this wasn't frightening, it never could be.  It
was exhilarating, and he let himself fall into her,
leaving his troubles behind to sink into the abyss.

She was real.  Just like Dana had said, she'd come
to him.  He was alone no longer.

"Sam?"  She stepped closer, easing the door from
his white-knuckled grip to close it behind her.  He
breathed his distress when she gently took her
wrist from his hand, then sighed when she came back
at once, her fingers curling around his.  "What is
it?  What's wrong?"

"Nothing."  Sam closed his eyes in relief, the
simple strength of her fingers helping to release
the knot of fear in his chest.  "You're here."

"Who'd you expect?"  Her voice shook, reacting to
what he knew had to be a vise around her hand. 
"Sam, you're scaring me."

"Sorry."  He loosened his hold, but didn't let her
go.  "You don't feel like a ghost.  You feel nice."

"A ghost?  Sam, have you been drinking?"

"Nope."  He wanted to say a million things to her,
but the best he could do was 'nope'?  What an
idiot, he thought.  Before he could gather enough
sense to converse logically, she'd pulled away.

He felt the room's cold loneliness hit him once
again.  Damn.  She was all tucked in as she'd been
beyond the door, her hands well away from his as
they slid into her coat pockets.

"As I was saying, I've come to give you your last
week's pay.  Da insisted."

Sam stared at the bills she offered, feeling as if
he was the last one in on a joke.

"That's what you came for?"

"Of course," she replied, lifting her chin.  "Why
else would I come?"

He'd made it plain enough back at the pub he had no
more use for her, and she'd taken it to heart.  Had
he hurt her so badly?  He knew he had; it was no
use pretending he hadn't.  He could not justify his
actions with lofty ideas about protecting her.

"Because you wanted to see me."  There.  Let her
try to deny that.

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?  You know damn well no one, not even your
father, could get you to come here unless deep down
you really wanted to.  Admit it."

"I will do no such thing," she said, her color
risen to furious glory.  She waved the money before
him.  "Here.  Take it."

Sam advanced, watching her back up to the door. 
"I'm glad you came, Emma."  A thousand or more
words fought for escape, but there was time for
that later.  Just seeing the shadows under her eyes
and the way she kept an unnatural cool told him all
he needed to know.  "You missed me, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and the moon is made of green cheese."  The
snapback was pure Emma, but her eyes were wary in
the face of his approach.  Her voice lost its edge,
taking on a softness that was more one of fear than
anticipation.  "Sam, what do you think you're
doing?"

He trapped her against the door with a hand to
either side of her head.  "Saying a proper hello."

His lips hovered above hers as he breathed in her
scent.  But just as quickly, she turned her head. 
He felt the lost moment keenly, but waited when her
hands settled at his waist.

"Don't do this to me, Sam."

It was a broken plea, one that shook him to his
bones.  He wished she'd get angry, so he could
fight back with kisses and soothing touches.  Not
this sad avoidance of what remained between them. 
He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, as he hadn't
really done or said anything to show her how he'd
missed her.  First order of business - distance. 
Emma couldn't be cornered.  It was unfair of him to
pursue his current path.  She couldn't be coaxed or
charmed into forgiving him.  His flippancy was a
bad tack to take with her, he saw now.

His traitorous body wouldn't move, however.  It
craved her warmth more than that of the inconstant
sun of late.  Clouds had settled over him in more
ways than one, and only Emma could chase them away.

"I missed you," he whispered vehemently, his hands
curling into fists beside her head.  So much for
distance.  "And I'm so God damned sorry I left
you."

"Sam."  Emma shifted, trying to make him face her.

But he couldn't, not yet.  He'd never before said
things like this to any woman.  Oh, he'd told her
she was beautiful.  Said smiling, easy praises to
her eyes and her hair.  But this... God, he was so
afraid he'd mess it up.

"I can't sleep, I can't think.  All I keep seeing
is the way you hated me that last time.  You don't
know, do you?  How much I... I - if you knew why
I'd left you'd think I was crazy."  He curled into
her, his mouth running away from his mind as it
closed in on her neck.  "But I didn't want to go,
Emma.  I didn't.  Don't hate me.  Please don't -"

His awful, clumsy explanation died the moment she
hushed him with her lips.  He tasted the slick
saltiness of tears; whether from him or her, he
didn't know, nor did he care.  Under her gentle
pressure, the wrap of her hands around his face,
all thought disappeared.

He fell into the kiss, the tumble more exhilarating
than falling from the sky under a balloon of silk. 
Finally letting his arms drop, he pulled her to
him, sighing against her eager mouth.

She was here, and that was all that mattered.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twenty-One


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


It wasn't hard at all to give in to his persuasive
words.  Even more so, his consuming embrace and
frantic kiss.  The physical attraction that had
always flared between them did so again, and she
let herself be held and touched, like a kitten
seeking a loving hand.  She still didn't know why
he'd left, but at the moment, it didn't matter.

Da had been right.  She'd not wanted to believe it,
not even after Sam took her hand like a lifeline. 
She'd tried to distance herself, to pull back and
watch for signs he'd been untruthful with his
obvious yearning.  Maybe she'd given away more than
she wanted just by looking up at him with what she
knew was sure longing.  It wasn't in her to make
the first move, nor to just go on as if he hadn't
shattered her world with his departure.

But damn it all, he'd done it to her again. 
Sneaked past her reserve before she could say her
piece.  Her denial of his statement that she'd come
to see him was feeble at best; his eyes seemed to
look into her ragged heart and find every little
aching piece of it.  She'd tried to summon some
ire, tried to gather her pride and face him down. 
But it was useless.  The truth she'd wanted
practically shone from his face as he leaned in to
trap her against the door.

He was miserable.  Even without his stumbling words
of loneliness and apology, she knew he missed her
terribly.  Her plea for him to spare her more grief
had fallen on deaf ears.  The way he kissed her
now, the way his whole body strained to get as
close as possible - it all spoke of blinding,
gripping need.

For her.  Dear God, she thought.  All this was for
her.

She'd never felt so desired, so needed.  Her fisted
hands unfurled like the petals of a flower, the
forgotten money fluttering to the floor as her
fingers crept up his chest.  Her mouth opened under
his, and she felt his shudder of surprise envelop
her in shocking warmth.

They should talk.  Clear the air and make promises
to never part again.  She really needed to kick his
backside.  Really.

But later.  Much later.  The stroke of his tongue
into the warm recesses of her mouth neatly cleared
her mind of all else but the need to succumb.

"Emma."

Sam's murmured plea signaled a hesitation on his
part, one she couldn't let happen.  If they stopped
now, if he asked her if she truly wanted this,
she'd find a reason to shy away.  She wasn't
experienced by any means, and he knew it.  But she
recognized the feelings coursing through her veins
as if she'd taken this step a hundred times. 
Passion, desire.  Her skin shivering with the need
to slide against another's as they joined in body
and mind.

"Yes," she whispered, her body crying out as she
took an instant to shed her coat.  The heavy thing
thumped as it hit the floor behind her, echoing the
furious beat of her heart.  She came back, more
intent than ever, the word now almost angry with
determination.  "Yes."

Understanding now drove his hands, and she smiled
at the success of her seduction as he stumbled with
her to the door.  Her blouse gave way to his sure
fingers.  The first touch of his mouth above her
breasts brought forth a low keening from her
throat.  The sound startled her; she hadn't known
herself capable of such blatant response.  Sam
reacted with a smile against her skin, then wasted
no time shoving aside the strap of her bra.

The first tug of his mouth in a place unused to a
man's attention brought her to her toes.  She bit
her lip to keep from mewling like a wanton.  He
sucked, he actually nipped at her flesh with his
teeth - God, she hadn't known such a thing could
feel so good!

A red tide of heat traveled up her chest as she
cradled his head.  More, she wanted to say.  More. 
Her fingers curled into his hair and he answered
her unspoken plea by uncovering the other, equally
straining breast before giving it the same
treatment.

Emma's feet left the floor as Sam's hands lifted
her.  Distantly, she heard her shoes hit the
expensive rug, then the slip of nylon over wool as
her feet sought purchase around his calves.  He no
longer had to bend down, and she gasped when he
stepped between her splayed legs.  A foreign
hardness settled in a most delicious spot as he
rubbed and teased her with his hips.  She wanted to
touch it, to explore him as he continued to do to
her with his mouth.

She knew what it was.  After all, she was a medical
professional.  Erections were not all that uncommon
in male patients.  Not even the pain of a broken
limb could deter some of the randier ones from
proudly displaying their lustful thoughts.

But this... oh, this was different.  Emma heard the
faint introduction to the Act of Contrition float
through her head as one of her hands drifted down. 
She was supposed to be a good girl, wasn't she? 
Little Emma, the neighborhood nun.  Ready with a
sharp word for the teenagers caught necking on the
porch next door.  Always first in line at
confession every Sunday, whether or not she'd
actually committed a sin.  Just thinking about it
was enough of a breach of God's law, so the sisters
had drilled into her brain long ago under threat of
a yard stick.

But dear Lord... Sam felt so nice.  His stomach
under his shirt was rock hard and she skimmed her
fingers over his waist, delighting in the way he
caught his breath with every one of her forays. 
Though he still worked her breasts with a magic
that spoke of unflappable experience, she felt him
tense under her roving hand.  She was doing this to
him.  Emma, who'd not gone farther than a few
kisses with any man in her life.  Power surged
through her, and she grabbed his nape in a strong
grip as her seeking hand finally dipped below his
belt.

Sam hissed at her bold touch, faltering a bit in
his practiced moves.  She felt his mouth go slack
against her, felt his burning cheek replace the
slick rasp of his tongue as he pressed his face to
the valley between her breasts.  A hungry groan
accompanied the surge of his hips into her hand. 
She didn't blink when she felt herself slipping in
his grasp; she trusted him to not let her fall.

She was temptress, not virgin.  Conqueror, not
slave.  Using her newfound knowledge, she plied him
at will, taking great pleasure as she gave it.  Her
lips scattered kisses over his hair as her fingers
gently shaped and caressed his erection through the
fabric of his trousers.  Slipping low, she
familiarized herself with the high, firm sac of
flesh beneath his penis.  Soon, it wasn't enough. 
She had to have more.  No barriers, nothing between
them but the friction of skin against skin. 
Reaching for his zipper, she dug her nails into his
nape, already anticipating the moment as she panted
above him.

Suddenly, she was pinned to the door with a steely
press of his body, her hand crushed between them. 
His hot breath hit the pulse in her neck.  "You
really wanna do this here?" His menacing tone
rumbled through her, but she felt his concern for
her in the way he gentled his hold, as if her
safety was tantamount.

There was no talk of yesterday, or of tomorrow.  No
reasoning, no whispers of apology or promise.  Just
the moment, and what they both knew was about to
happen.  Emma had already thrown all inhibitions
out the proverbial door the second she'd felt the
carved oak at her back, and the all too human man
warming her front.  And he was, in effect, asking
her if this what was she wanted?

"I don't care," she said softly, breathing in the
scent of sweat and lust their embrace generated. 
She leaned her head against the door, looking up at
the bright glare of the overhead light that cast
the room - and them - in bright glory.  "Anywhere,
Sam.  Just don't let me go."  She closed her eyes
against the possibility of abandonment, the light
suddenly harsh and unforgiving.  "Never let me go
again."

He drew a shaky breath.  "I won't."  One hand
settled high on her back, the other taking a firm
grasp of her behind.  "Hold on."

Cradling her with ease, Sam moved her from the
door.  Emma, her face hot with a sudden rush of
embarrassment, felt the fade of previous urgency
bring her uncharacteristic behavior to the fore. 
She couldn't meet his eyes, her hands wrapping
around his neck.

"Lock the door, Emma," he commanded roughly, his
form tense and unyielding, his words signifying the
end to her innocence as sure as if he'd already
done the deed.

She did as he asked, hearing the bolt click home. 
When she slipped the key into his shirt pocket, she
chanced a look up.

The intensity of his heavy-lidded stare was
shocking.  In all her years, she'd never had a man
look at her with such a devouring, plainly sexual
gaze.  It was impossible to look away from the
bright green-gray pull; she licked her lips,
sensing again his slide into indecision.  The
moment's respite from near oblivion had dashed him
with cold water, and she saw his face relax as if
the words of calm bubbled near the surface.

She wanted the heat back.  She wanted to lose
herself again in the pure need to make love with
Sam.  She couldn't let him step away, not when
she'd found the courage to give what she'd kept
locked away until now.  Damn her inner maiden, the
one who knelt at mass every Sunday and wished for
easy, uncomplicated love.

This was real enough.  It was nothing like she'd
expected, or thought she'd wanted.  It was dark and
dangerous, a step off a cliff into the unknown
below.  The old Emma would never have attempted
such a daring feat.  But seeing herself as the
object of his passion, watching him watch her with
fevered desire... *this* was what she wanted.

All it took was a kiss.  A simple connection of
their mouths to bring him back to where they'd
been.  Take me, she said with renewed fervor, her
lips coaxing him into moving.  She let her eyes
close as he moved them from the light into the
deep, insistent dark.

It seemed like hours, but was only a matter of
seconds until her feet touched the floor again. 
With a small moan of distress, she felt him pull
away, her eyes opening to the dim confines of the
bedroom.  The bed covers were very much in
disarray, as if he'd not allowed housekeeping in. 
They probably were drenched in his scent, a fine,
male perfume.  Her mouth went dry at the vision
that rose in her brain - one of them putting that
mussed bed to good use.

Sam didn't say a word.  He just stood there before
her, his hands going to the buttons of his shirt. 
A small grin hovered around his mouth, and his gaze
remained steady on her face.  He challenged her
with that look, silently prodding her to keep pace
with his undressing.

One eyebrow raised, she kept her own eyes locked
with his, her hands making quick work of her blouse
and bra.  Her breasts, now freed from the strict
binding enforced on her ample bosom, seemed to
swell and sway before his scrutiny.  She bent
slightly at the waist to dispose of her skirt, but
was interrupted by his hands.

"God, Emma," he muttered above her, his palms
cupping the flesh with reverence.

Brought up by his roaming hands, she purred and
swayed into him, feeling him soothe the lines cut
into her skin by the constricting undergarment. 
Her nipples puckered into uncomfortable little
pebbles.  No, not uncomfortable, she amended
silently.  More bold in their agressive stance,
almost begging for his touch there once again. 
They betrayed her command as easily as if she'd
voiced her surrender.  His thumbs brushed over the
tight buds and she gasped, wanting to cover
herself.

"That's enough of that," she admonished shakily,
squirming from his grasp to give him her back.  On
unsteady legs, she walked to the hissing radiator,
her arms coming up to cross her chest.  "You seem
to be unnaturally enamored of my..."  She couldn't
get the rest past her lips; she'd always thought
her body too florid, too curvy and heavy to be
attractive.

"You're beautiful," she heard behind her. 
"Everywhere, Emma."

She cast a doubtful glance over her shoulder.  "I
am?"

Sam swallowed hard.  His bare chest rose unsteadily
with his deep breath, and his smile was blinding in
its sincerity.  "You're the most beautiful woman
I've ever seen, and that's no lie."

She could have decried his statement and almost
did.  But one look at his face made her believe,
though she asked for a temporary reprieve.  The
afternoon's excitement was building to a crashing,
life-altering moment, and she needed to catch her
breath.  "May I finish... over here?"

She saw the 'no' flash in his eyes, as if he
couldn't bear another instant away from her.  But
he slowly nodded, his hands going to his belt.

Oh, dear, she thought.  She was about to lay eyes
on a naked man.  A very naked, very aroused man. 
Closing her eyes, she prayed for the strength to
follow through on her overtures in the sitting
room.  A chuckle tickled her chest as she waited
for lightning to strike... something told her the
Lord wouldn't be too sympathetic in this case.  If
her family could see her now, her father and
brothers... holy Mother of God, her priest!

"You're not keeping up."

A pair of warm, big hands settled on her shoulders
and she jumped.  She could feel him pick up on her
thoughts, and she shoved them down quickly,
reaching for the button of her skirt.

"Emma, we don't have to -"

"Yes, we do."  Her skirt fell as soon as she
reached the end of the zipper.  "I want to, Sam.  I
want to feel you... I want..."  Words of physical
desire and sex were foreign to her, and she wished
he'd just understand.

"I know what you want," he said softly, his hands
going to her hair.  The loose braid fell apart in
his fingers and her hair tumbled free.  A gentle
pull on his part, and she relaxed into his chest,
her head lolling.  "Let me give it to you."

His arms went around her from behind as his mouth
searched out her neck.  He stepped closer still,
his hardness pressing into the low curve of her
back.  She squirmed against it, wanting to turn. 
But he shushed her, his teeth nipping at the lobe
of her ear.

One of his hands found its way back to her breast. 
The familiar tug brought a fresh heat to her body,
a steam that rivaled the radiator's warmth.  Eyes
half mast, she watched the street below through the
gauzy curtains of the frosted window.

People walked below, huddled in their coats and
hats, their movements shimmering in the growing
mist of rain.  If she'd thought there was even a
slight chance she and Sam could be seen, she would
have moved away from the glass.  But the room had
turned dark in the waning afternoon light, and the
clouds had hurried in the dusk.  They were only
shadows high above the ordinary, gray bustle of
workers heading home.

Colors faded as his free hand slipped beneath her
panties.  It seemed as if he drew all light to her
with his touch; all sound from below and above to
the point just below her navel.  Her plump belly
twitched with anticipation.

"Easy."

The word settled her for a moment.  It allowed her
to listen to their breathing, to savor the feel of
Sam's arms around her, to take a deep draw of warm,
golden air into her lungs.  Then it all changed,
all closed in to a tense point of feeling... as his
fingers delved deeper into flesh that had never
felt a man's touch.

The rush of slick warmth drawn from her made him
groan.  He moved into her, his legs splaying to
either side of hers.  Dropping her chin in
fascination, she watched his hand move beneath the
cotton, felt one finger dip inside.  No, he
couldn't do that, could he?

But he did, with unerring accuracy.  The gentle
rubbing hit a spot that made her arch, her hand
grabbing his arm.  "No, don't -" she protested,
unsure of the tumult making her heart pound.

"Yes, let me," he answered in a low, gentle plea.

Her head seemed as weightless as a puppet's,
falling to one side with his urgent kisses.  The
press of his mouth on her jaw, the caress of his
hand on her breast, the slide of his fingers in and
out... all in perfect, seamless harmony... she
could no longer watch, giving up the fight to
blindness as she soared into the hazy red fire of
pleasure.

Higher and higher she climbed, the sounds coming
from her throat distant to her ears.  Sam spoke as
well, but Emma only heard broken pieces, fragments
of words laced with love and sex, beauty and
desire.  His voice, his scent, his touch... she
caught her breath, her nails digging into his arm
as the fury consumed her.

All was silent when she came back to herself, save
for the hissing of the radiator.  A fine sheen of
sweat covered her, and she gulped in air, feeling
Sam's hands rub her belly.

"You okay?"

Sagging against him, she nodded wordlessly.  The
gift he'd given her was nothing short of amazing,
and she wondered if she could possibly return the
same mind-blowing sensation of complete
fulfillment.  She didn't know such things existed
between men and women; all she knew was
procreation, not pleasure.  Love and kisses were
freely given among her family and friends, but no
one had ever explained the sheer joy of what had
just happened to her.  Not even Dana had hinted at
- God, did Dana do this as well?  No wwonder her
dependable, down-to-earth cousin walked around now
and then with a distant, knowing smile...

Emma suddenly felt the floor drop away, and she met
Sam's pleased eyes with a laugh.  Her legs dangled
over his arm, and she quickly locked her hands
around his neck for safety.  "And just what d'ya
think you're doin', ya big oaf?" she chided,
feeling all at once more glamorous and adored than
all the Lanas and Joans and Avas of the world
combined.

"Taking you to bed.  Any objections?"

Good gracious, the man was too handsome for his own
good, and for her sanity.  How could she ever deny
him anything?  Not that she wanted to at the
moment.  He could have asked her to lick his toes
and she'd gladly comply.  Emma looked down with
distraction... they *were* such nice, slender toes,
too.  Disappearing in an instant as he didn't wait
for her reply, walking to the bed with her.  When
he laid her down, she felt covered in his essence. 
She'd been right - the bed linens smelled of him. 
Wholly masculine and arousing.  She stretched,
curling her toes with pleasure.  The coquette lived
again, satisfied and eager for more.

With a short puff of air, she blew her hair from
her eyes as she peered up at his smiling face with
a mock curl of her lips in dismay.  "I suppose it's
too late to demand a bit of champagne?"

"Yep."  Sam worked quickly, stripping her of
panties and stockings.  Damn, but he was good at
this sort of stuff, she mused with consternation. 
"We'll have some with dinner."  His eyes, almost
black in the darkened room, swept back up from
their rapt inspection of her legs.  "You are
staying for dinner, aren't you?"

Her gaze drifted down as he crawled over her.  God,
he was going to put *that* in her?  She licked her
lips, all playfulness gone in an instant.  "Sam..."

"Look at me, Emma."  He slowly lowered his weight
until his body lightly draped over hers, his hands
parting her legs with calming insistence.

She obeyed, though her fists remained firmly
entrenched in the pillows beside her head.  His
solemn gaze was reassuring, his tone that of a man
soothing a prized thoroughbred.

"I won't hurt you," he said.  "You know that, don't
you?"

Swallowing, she nodded.  Sam's face loomed closer,
blocking out the meager light from the window.  She
felt a probing down low, a thickness demanding
entrance where his fingers had been.  Except this
was nothing like the rough, slender warmth of
everyday things like fingers.  This was a thing of
stretching invasiveness, a searing brand that
pinched until she felt a slight give of flesh.  She
couldn't hold back the hum of pain, her hands
flying up to keep his face steady.

"It's okay, it's okay."  His eyes stayed with hers,
demanding a communication she found hard pressed to
continue.  "Stay with me, Emma."

Then the ache was gone, replaced with a fullness
she felt touch her womb.  Sam let out a shuddering
sigh, his face relaxing as he dropped down for a
kiss.  The hard planes of his chest lowered as
well, the fine hair teasing her nipples as he
rested.  One hand slipped under her back, the other
stroking her hip as he gave her time to adjust.

"Feel good?" he said at last, between kisses
growing more ardent with every second.

"Mmm."  Emma almost drowsed beneath his warmth,
reveling in the feel of a man's - this man's - skin
and muscle.

He began to move, a slow slide in and out.  A
lingering tenderness faded quickly, the moisture
he'd brought to her earlier making his thrusting
easy.  She brought her legs up to cradle his hips
and felt him go deeper.  Sam groaned into the
pillow, making her smile.

Her hands touched him in a hundred new places, each
more tempting than the last.  The soft spot behind
his ear, the hollow where his arm met his shoulder,
the ripple of his spine, the bunched power of his
buttocks and thighs.  That was her favorite, she
quickly decided, hearing his breath hitch when her
fingernails raked the smooth skin.  That subtle
crease where hair-roughened leg met baby fine
roundness... oh, she promised herself a Christmas
kiss in that very spot.

All this and more she thought as he labored over
her.  He was big, bigger now in nakedness than he'd
ever been with the concealment of clothes.  His
arms were bulging with muscles as he propped up on
his hands.  She missed the solid feel of his chest
at once, then made do with the sight of his face.

It was lovely.  Tight and shiny with sweat, his
cheekbones carved with grimacing concentration, his
lower lip suffering a bit under the constant,
rhythmic bite of his teeth in tandem with his
rocking.  She loved to watch, as he moved above her
unknowing, his eyes shut against some unknown
thing.

So silent was she in her observation, she failed to
notice he'd slowed down.  His eyes opened, and he
gave her a grin.  "You can stop watching me now."

"I can't help it," she admitted, knowing this was
for him.  "I find you terribly fascinating.  The
way you sound, the way you look, the way you feel
inside me..."  She blushed, feeling silly for the
too-late sentiment of embarrassment.

"You do, do you?  Then how about this?" He circled
his hips, grinding against her with the next
thrust.  "Do you like that?"

Oh, God.  The feeling she'd had at the window came
back, curling up in her to steal all thoughts of
watching him.  She couldn't - not again.  Closing
her eyes, she wished it away even as she embraced
it.  It was sinful, it was delightful, it was
destined to bind her to him to the point she'd
never be free.

Which was what she wanted.

He was relentless, hitting that spot with wicked
purpose.  "C'mon, sweetheart."  He urged her on
with subtle movements and whispered words, things
she'd never heard except out of the mouths of her
brothers, and only when out of earshot of her
father.

The combination was lethal, and she spiraled out of
control, her inner muscles clenching as she cried
out.  Sam suddenly stiffened above her, and she
felt a rush of warmth bathe her inner being.  She
held him close as he collapsed upon her, finally
replete, finally still.

The world looked the same when she opened her eyes. 
But it was definitely a finer place.  A peace she'd
not known before now wrapped around her in the form
of Sam Mulder, and she stroked the damp hair at his
nape, her lips giving him one last gift.

"I love you."

He tensed, but didn't move.  She waited, wondering
if he'd allow himself to say the words in return. 
Compliments and quips came easy to him.  Not so the
true expression of heartfelt feeling.  She'd seen
it in his eyes, and it was enough for now.

"It's okay," she said, echoing his words spoken in
passion.  "It can wait."

"I'm not... I can't..." He stumbled, his words
almost lost in her hair.

"I know.  Later, all right?"

The tenseness left his body and she felt him smile,
his hand tilting her head up for a kiss.  "Guess
this means you're staying for dinner, huh?"

His happiness was palpable in the silent room, and
she basked in it, lifting her face to his kiss. 
"Do I get dessert, too?"

"Sweetheart, you get anything you want."

"Then I'll take you, thank you very much."

The satisfied, beautiful face above her sobered.  A
soft flush tinged his cheekbones and she marveled
at the sight, seeing his eyes skitter away.  She'd
never seen him so emotional.  "Be careful what you
wish for," he said in a hoarse, unsure voice. 
"Because I'm pretty hard to shake sometimes."

Her touch brought his eyelashes up.  Missing him
this past week had proven to her he was not the
type of man one could easily forget or dismiss.  
She gave him a clear, decisive look, her lips
parting in a serene smile.  "I know."


**********


"So much rain," Emma sighed.  "Usually by now we
have a snowfall or two to give us a white
Christmas.  So different this year."

Sam was content to surround her in the dark, to
concede to her wish for the light to remain off as
he held her.  The tray of unfinished dinner sat
beside the bed and the mist outside had blossomed
to a steady shower.  He looked out over the top of
her head as it lay on his arm, watching the
rivulets of rainwater stream down the window.  Her
body fit perfectly in the cradle of his chest and
legs, spooned into him beneath the covers.  Now and
then, she'd settle her backside closer, as if she
couldn't bear to have more than a hair's breadth
between them.

He understood.  The week had been hell without her,
and he still wanted to pinch himself about the
afternoon's events.  He was one helluva lucky man. 
To have her come to him, then stay... to give
herself to him with such innocent eagerness.  At
once seductress and seduced, she'd certainly
challenged him like no other.  If he'd had to guess
before, he'd have said she was a shy miss, one step
away from the rigid confines of the Catholic
schoolroom.  Then again, he'd felt the passion
within her when they'd kissed, had been the
recipient of many an angry look and sharp,
emotional word - that she turned out to be such a
natural lover wasn't surprising at all.  Emma was
born to fire and had within her the capability to
offer unconditional love.  The first step, once
taken, could not be taken back.

It was with this in mind he told her all.  She
deserved the truth, had come seeking it with the
setting aside of pride and anger.  He spoke softly,
keeping her with him - and unable to face him -
with an arm firmly wrapped around her waist.  He
told her of the faceless man, the one who wouldn't
leave him alone.  He braved the chance she'd
pronounce him crazy, holding his breath as he half-
laughed over the possibility.  But she said
nothing, just entwined her fingers with his in a
gesture of acceptance.  It was then he let it all
pour out, slowly but surely.  His fear, not just
for himself, but for those around him, bled into
his words, despite his attempt to tone down the
danger he faced.  The way he just knew it wasn't
over, and wouldn't be over until he'd come to some
sort of resolution with his ghost.

It pained him to tell her he had to remain apart
from her, at least until his brother had some
answers for him.  Emma stiffened when he said that,
but he remained adamant.  The hotel is where he
would stay.

And in the end, he wanted to tell her he loved her. 
It had been on his lips constantly in the hour he'd
made love with her, and had hovered just below the
surface in the hours since then.  Her commitment to
him was obvious, and he'd reveled in the simple
truth of her words.  But he was still a man without
a very important part of his past, one that could
destroy without warning.  He wouldn't give her the
words until he could be sure he was free to give
her all that came with them.  Marriage, children...
God, she could even now be pregnant.  The thought
filled him with joy but more so, dread.  What if
tomorrow he learned he was an evil man?  One who'd
done all sorts of criminal things and walked one
step ahead of the hangman's noose?

"Stop it."

He forced himself to relax behind her.  "Stop
what?"

"Stop thinking.  You *will* remember one day, Sam." 
Her certainty covered him like a warm blanket. 
"You will remember, and you'll discover what I've
known all along."

"What's that?"  He dropped a kiss to the delicate
shell of her ear.

"That you're a good man.  You've always been a good
man, and nothing could change that.  Not even what
you may have done in the last two years.  Inside,
you know it.  You were given a strong, brave soul,
Sam.  That's something that never dies."

He felt an unwanted press of tears in the back of
his throat and he clung to her, his head dropping
to the pillow.  He'd as much as told the same to
Dana the day before - deep down, his heart wouldn't
let him believe the worst.  But his heart had been
wrong before; it always thought his father would
love him for himself and not his athletic
accomplishments.  His foolish heart had cried for
his mother's sympathy and love.  He'd let his body
use women and never once had he opened his heart to
a loving hand.  And his soul?  He stopped believing
in salvation years ago.  Reliance on a steady man
at his side, in his own ability to defend his
country and his fellow soldiers - that was the
stuff of courage.  He realized now he had found the
same with the woman in his arms.  His soul had been
reborn the moment he'd met Emma.

His nose nuzzled her hair; he breathed in the scent
of their union in the silky strands and knew he
couldn't face another day not knowing if she'd
stand with him in case his soul proved to be as
wrong as his heart. "You'll be there when this is
over, won't you?"

It was the closest he could come to revealing the
raw need that surged through his veins.  She
sighed, accepting his gift as she always did, with
a reply designed to lift his spirits.

"And just where would I go?"  When she made to face
him this time, he let her.  What little makeup
she'd had when she arrived was long gone, and her
face in the darkness was pale.  But her eyes were
bright and happy, going a long way toward easing
his fears.  Somehow he'd made her that way.  It
amazed him he had the ability to please her so.

"To someone who deserves you more than I do."

"Oh, you mean someone who needs my nagging, bossy,
high-handed ways more than you do?  If ever anyone
needed me to straighten him out, Sam Mulder, it's
you."

She had a point.  Sam chuckled, dropping a kiss on
her pert nose.  "Do you have to go home now?"

She snuggled closer, one small foot making a space
between his calves.  Her thigh made inroads as
well, nudging a part of him that would never get
enough of her.  It responded in a heartbeat, rising
against her abdomen.

Her eyes darkened.  "I should try to be home by
ten, well before Da."

By his reckoning, they had a few hours.  Time he
intended to be well spent on things besides
watching the rain outside.  "Then why are we
wasting time talking?"  He rolled her to her back,
happy to hear her tinkling laughter.

"Dear Lord," she said breathlessly.  "I'll not get
a moment's peace again, will I, you randy beast."

"Well, that's what you get for coming after me."

"How many times do I have to tell you?  I did *not*
come after you, you conceited -"

Kissing Emma was the only way to shut her up.  Of
course, he knew her well enough by now to know she
wanted him to silence her.  For once, he allowed
himself to picture future arguments - and the love
that would follow.

With Emma beside him, he now had the future.  His
soul rejoiced.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twenty-Two


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


The abrupt glow of light from the sitting room
startled him.  He narrowed his eyes at the soft
intrusion, remembering that he'd killed the lights
after their dinner had arrived.  Someone moved
about in the next room, and his sudden fear
catapulted him from the bed.  He fumbled with his
trousers, glancing back at Emma, who slept on.

Jesus, not now, he thought.  Not with her mere feet
away and so vulnerable - with him so slowed by
idleness and the intoxication of lovemaking.  He
wasn't ready.

But as the moments passed with no sound of
encroachment, he took the first step.  Then several
more, each more panicked than the last, pausing in
the bedroom door to find the source of disquiet. 
His hand clenched around the door frame, his eyes
searching the room for intruders.

A lone man stood at the window, his back to Sam. 
The light he'd seen from the bedroom came from the
form, generated by some unknown source of power. 
At once, Sam knew the glowing was birthed from
within the man.  It chased away shadow, the
darkness he'd lived with for weeks now.  He looked
back at Emma with fright, his feet glued to the
floor as indecision gripped him.  Could he gather
her up and reach the door in time?  Or would she,
in her waking, offer enough resistance to entrap
them both in the power of the hand he knew would
reach out for him?

"She won't awaken."

His voice sounded the same to Sam's ears, though
somehow hollow and lacking emotion.  He'd heard it
often enough to recognize it.  A chill ran up his
spine, knowing the moment was at hand.

"Sit, Sam," it continued.  "We have a lot to talk
about."

Something about the way the man stood apart made
Sam breathe easier.  But anxiety at the whole
situation, the ease with which his ghost had
entered his room, made him hesitate to comply.

"Who are you?" he demanded in a hushed, biting
voice, fearing Emma's being caught in the middle of
this confrontation.

"I told you she wouldn't wake up.  Trust me."

Trust had never come easy to Sam, and it certainly
wouldn't now.  Not with this thing standing before
him glowing like a thousand candles.  It defied the
laws of nature, and that alone told him he was
dealing with something he couldn't pound to dust
with his fists.

One gloved hand lifted from its side, and Sam
flinched, tensed and ready to grab Emma and run. 
The lamp by the chair burst to life; Sam gasped,
his heart hammering in his chest as he gaped at the
trick.

"Is that better?"

Sam's head swung back to face his adversary, who
now appeared normal, though the light from the lamp
seemed drawn to him.  This was too weird.  "Who the
hell are you?" he said again, swallowing down his
fear.  He had to be strong.  He knew his will was
all that stood between him and oblivion.

"I've frightened you, and I apologize."  The rigid
back relaxed beneath the black drape of his rain-
dotted coat.  "I see now my earlier attempts to
speak to you were too brusque."

"Brusque?"  Sam stepped into the sitting room,
anger now moving his legs.  He stopped, his hands
tight with the need to hit.  "You've been trying to
kill me, you son-of-a-bitch."

"Kill you?"  The absence of malice in the statement
was more chilling to Sam than anything, as if the
specter spoke of nothing but truth.  "How can you
kill someone who's only half-alive?"

He turned at last, and Sam went weak with... no,
not recognition.  But the tweak of awareness when
he saw the face was definite and alarming, as if he
looked into a mirror and saw a kindred soul.  He'd
thought the man a shadow all this time, with only
voice and no face.  But the face was there, carved
in stark lines and bottomless eyes.

"I show you my true face," he said softly, taking
one step into the light from the lamp.  "In an
effort to make you believe."

Sam retreated on shaking legs to the sofa, feeling
himself sink in more ways than one.  The man was
ordinary in that he dressed well, his hat tilted to
one side with confidence.  His skin was black, his
beard a distinguished salt-and-pepper.  He looked
like he belonged in an office, with the fine fit of
his suit and the modulated tones of a banker.  But
he no more belonged in an office than Sam did, and
his bright gaze spoke of things far more world-
shaking than pushing pens and dirtying his hands
with money.

"Who are you?" This time, Sam's whispered plea for
understanding was yearning, almost begging.  The
man knew.  He knew everything.  Instead of running
in fear, Sam wanted the same knowledge.  He wanted
all he'd lost.

"Who do you want me to be?"

In a flash, he saw his father's face.  As in the
hospital corridor, it was the same.  So was his
mother's, and finally, the serene countenance of
the elderly nun.  All of them bleeding into each
other, but with a commonality not seen before.  The
eyes.  Dark and laced with a trace of compassion. 
Who was this man?

"You don't know my name, Sam."  The face became
bearded and austere once again.  "But you called me
'Sir'."

Sir.  It rang no bells or unlocked doors in his
brain.  But 'Sir' seemed to possess an eerie
ability to read Sam's mind, a fact he found hard to
swallow with any grace.  His face hardened as he
thought of several colorful curses, his frustration
taking precedence over his fear for the moment.

"Tell me who I am.  Tell me what I've done, damn
it!"

Sir took the chair with a fluid, almost floating
stride.  He sat ramrod straight, his gloved hands
lying upon the opulent tapestry as if he had all
the time in the world.

"What you've done is change everything.  None of
this was supposed to be."

"You're not making any sense."  None of this made
any sense; it hadn't from the start.  He was damned
tired of trying to figure it out.

"If you'd let yourself remember, you'd understand. 
But you won't.  And you won't until you stop
fighting me."

"And let you take me back?  I don't think so."

As soon as he'd voiced the reply, Sam realized what
he'd said was loaded with meaning.  An elusive
meaning that he felt just out of reach of his
grasping mind.  His mouth went dry, and he looked
at Sir, whose unflinching gaze softened.

"I can't take you back until you're ready, Sam. 
You know it."  He nodded, confirming what Fox had
told Sam yesterday.  "You have to take my hand. 
You left knowing I couldn't touch you.  I always
knew you were headstrong, but I never believed
you'd do this.  I am powerless against you."

Sam could see it pained the man to admit his
inability to act.  "Feels like hell, doesn't it?"
he said, taking a bit of pleasure in Sir's
discomfort.  "It's no more than you deserve for
following me around."

"I follow you to save you, Sam."

"Save me?  From what?"  He doubted his life would
be any different if he gave in to this man's
wishes.  On the contrary, he would be with the
people he loved without fear of having to leave. 
"I don't work for Chang, do I?"

"Please."  Sir waved a hand; a flash of lightning
seared the night sky and Sam cringed, wondering if
the man had lied when he'd said he was powerless. 
"You haven't a dishonest bone in your rather
selfish body... your now all too human body, I
might add."

A chill settled over Sam.  "What do you mean?"

"You saw it yourself, boy.  The knife was bloody,
yet you felt no pain.  No sign of puncture.  It
takes time, I understand.  But it will come - *has*
come, if my reasoning is correct."

"That was a trick, and you know it."  He grasped at
the thin logic, daring this man to refute what
simply had to be true.  "I don't know how you did
it, but you set Cannon up with a fake knife.  Kinda
going overboard with this, aren't you?"

"The knife was real.  Mr. Cannon's injuries are
real.  That was not engineered by me, but by you. 
I told you, your presence here -"

"Has changed everything.  Yeah, yeah."  Sam gave
the man an incredulous look.  "You're saying *I*
pushed him in front of that bus?"

"I'm saying you're the reason Mr. Cannon lies in a
coma.  One you could have brought to an end days
ago."

"Oh yeah?  Because I'm what - Superman now?"

Sir leaned back in the chair, eyeing Sam with
superiority that grated.  "There is no word for one
such as you, so I cannot explain.  What you've done
has been attempted before, but not under my care. 
But they always come back.  Always.  They think
they want this, but in the end, they find out the
hard way."

"Find out what?"

"That the earth moves on without them.  Bound as
they are to pay for past transgressions, they
cannot fathom the next plane of existence that
awaits them if they but spend time helping others. 
Impatience lingers even after the soul is freed
from blood and body."

Sam snorted at the man's matter-of-fact delivery,
unable to believe what he was hearing.  And he
thought *he'd* be locked up if he told anyone what
he'd seen?  This guy had 'loony' down pat.

"Don't tell me - heaven and hell are real, and I
was stuck in between with you because I liked to
raise hell a bit too much.  Except I ducked out the
back door when you weren't looking and now you're
in hot water for losing my ass.  That about it?"

A rumble of thunder accompanied the clench of Sir's
jaw.  He looked down his nose at Sam and said
softly, "I am *not* in hot water."

Sam's cocky smile died.  Time seemed to slow and he
felt every hair stand on end.  The rain hit the
window like pellets of ice and he found it
difficult to draw breath.  Sir did nothing but
stare unblinking, his eyes gleaming as his face
lost all trace of emotion.

"If you continue as you have," he said, every word
resounding in Sam's ears with the slow peal of a
church bell, "you will find that second chances
don't come free."

As that cryptic statement sank in, Sam's eyes
narrowed, anger edging his reply.  "I don't believe
you.  You think you can just come in here and
threaten me?"

"I've only stated the truth, Sam.  Think on all
I've told you.  You must make the first move."

Through a fog, he felt himself stand.  The man's
features took on a hazy, unfocused look and the
light in the room dimmed.  He couldn't speak, nor
could he move.  It was as if the world came to a
screeching halt and Sam wavered, his body slowly
adjusting to the lack of movement.  His eyes
closed, slamming the door on the meeting.

The sharp ring of the telephone broke the silence. 
He rolled over sluggishly, watching it for a few
seconds before he reached for it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sam.  How's it going?"

He almost cried at the sound of his brother's
voice.  Gripping the receiver as if he held Fox's
hand, he answered, "Smokey?" in a gravelly voice. 
Disoriented, he looked around the bedroom, trying
to pick out familiar things in the darkness.

"What's the matter?"

Sam spared his visitor a glance, expecting to see
the granite-like, black face of the one called
'Sir'.  Instead, he only saw the faintest outline
of pale skin above the sheet.  Emma.  "Shit," he
muttered, feeling the panic of one who'd woken from
a bad dream.

"Sam?  Sam, talk to me.  What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he assured Fox, clearing his throat of
fear.  It did no good to convey his agitation to
his brother; he sensed he was in no real danger as
long as he stayed away from those black-clad hands. 
"I'm just a bit claustrophobic."

Fox chuckled.  "Guess so.  No visitors today?"

He thought of Emma, sleeping so sweetly just a
inches away.  He thought of his ghost man, who'd
managed to upset his dream world in the last few
minutes.  He could tell Fox about neither, not yet. 
The first was too personal and the last he was
certain had been just another trick of his
overtaxed mind.  "Nah.  I'm beginning to think this
was all just a figment of my imagination."

"Sam -"

He rose slowly from the bed, trying not to disturb
Emma.  "Smokey, hang on while I catch the other
phone."

"Sure."

Almost tripping over his own shoes, he somehow
managed to make it to the sitting room, snapping on
the lamp.  Squinting against the brightness, he
grabbed the other phone.  "So, what's up?"

"Just checking on you.  Did I wake you?"

Sam stretched, feeling sore in a million places -
some of which he didn't mind at all.  He smiled,
hoping Fox couldn't hear his pleased tone.  "I
guess I fell asleep early."

"That's not like you."

"Tell me about it.  Not much to do in here but eat
and sleep."  Neither of which he'd done much of in
the past few days.  No wonder he'd had a nightmare. 
Noticing the noise in the background of the
connection, he asked, "Sounds like you're having a
good time - where are you?"

"Office Christmas party..."  Fox's words faded.

Sam's breath locked in his lungs as he saw the air
shimmer in the depths of the nearby chair.  The
fabric seemed to ripple as if moved by an unseen
force.  Fox's answer was lost in the roar of sudden
fear in his head.  He turned, almost dropping the
receiver in his haste to put some distance between
himself and the fantastic scene.  In an instant,
all was still, the chair's agitation bleeding away. 
Sam rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, blinking
to clear his head.  He felt like he'd had one too
many - but he hadn't had any at all!

"... but we won't stay long.  If you want, we can
stop by on the way home."

"Huh?"  Sam gaped at the empty room.  The guy
hadn't really been there... had he?  The bedroom? 
Sam grabbed the telephone, its cord almost tripping
him as he checked on Emma.  She was alone as well,
her breathing heavy and even.  What the hell had
happened?

"I said, I'm calling from my office Christmas
party.  It's in D.C. proper, but we're just making
an appearance.  We can look in on you on the way
home, if you feel like having company."

Sam jerked himself back to the conversation, softly
stepping back from the bedroom.  "No, that's okay." 
There was no trace of anyone having been there
besides himself and Emma.  Sam was beginning to
doubt his own sanity.  Even with the exhilaration
Emma's arrival had created, he knew he hadn't
gotten more than a few hours' sleep each night he'd
been holed up in the hotel.

A dream.  Had to have been a dream.  He stared down
at his trousers, wondering when he'd dressed.  He
hadn't sleepwalked since he was a child.  Then he
remembered donning them to fetch dinner from room
service and sighed.

"Sam, are you sure you're okay?"

His inattention had caused suspicion in Fox's mind;
he silently cursed his tired brain and made his
voice light.  "Right as rain."  Cradling the
receiver in the crook of his shoulder, he checked
the door to the suite.  Locked up tight.  He ran
quick fingers over the window latch.  Secure. 
Besides, there was no way anyone could scale that
wall below, or drop three stories after a
clandestine visit.  He was losing it, big time. 
"Speaking of, you and Dana take care tonight. 
Weather's nasty."

"At least it isn't snowing."

<Snowfall or two... so different this year.>

Emma's voice whispered in his brain, followed by a
more insistent tone.

<What you've done is change everything.  None of
this was supposed to be.>

Sam shook his head, chuckling at his own self-
importance.  If he'd had the power the man had
spoken of in the dream, he'd be batting .400 and
raising a passel of kids with Emma by this time
tomorrow.  Snap of the fingers.  Easy.

Talk about conceit!

"Look, Smokey - snow or not, be careful.  Dana's
too important to be careless with her."

"*I* wanted to stay home," Fox muttered.  "She's
the one who wanted to come to this damn thing.  I
think she has a thing for my boss."

"She has a thing for you, moron."  Rubbing a hand
on his belly, he recalled Dana's fierce
protectiveness of her husband's feelings.  That was
one sore spot well deserved.  "Believe me, I know."

On the other end, his brother laughed heartily. 
"At least you got it in a softer spot.  I had a
knot on my head for a week."

Sam heard the clamor rise behind Fox.  "You go on
and get back to Dana.  I'll be okay."  Well, until
Emma left.  Then it was back to staring at the
walls and wishing her there.

"I'll call tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay.  Good night, Smokey."  He padded back to the
bedroom, where he hung up the extension and crept
back into bed.

Emma rolled over with a sleepy sigh, giving him her
profile.  He could not stop his hand from moving.

Against the smooth paleness of her cheek, his
fingers seemed dark and clumsy, able to bruise with
the slightest pressure.  His touch, already feather
light, drew away at the crease of her brow in
sleep, and he held his breath, not wanting to
destroy the moment by waking her.  This would be
his only chance for a while to look at his leisure
and he didn't want to deprive his mind of the
memory.

She settled once again, turning her face into his
warmth.  Her body relaxed and an overwhelming sense
of protectiveness suffused his chest with the
fluttering only felt by those who loved deeply.

Yes, he loved Emma.  Had loved her for a long time,
it seemed.  She needed the words, he knew.  But he
denied them birth, even after the sweetest gift of
herself.  With the saying of it, Emma would expect
total commitment, something he wanted as well but
couldn't give just yet.  Not until he'd gotten past
the black hole that was his life of late could he
embrace this woman without reservation.  The dream
had only reinforced his determination to prevail. 
He wouldn't hurt her for anything; just the
lingering memory of her face as he'd left last week
was enough to make him vow never to see her like
that again.

She believed him to be good, no matter what he
eventually discovered about those two years.  But
what if, as Dana had implied, he was part of some
criminal group - the realization of which would
trigger the killing animal within?  He'd been too
selfish with stealing this night spent with Emma. 
He'd taken her virginity without thought to
tomorrow, or the day after.  Such an act could even
now have consequences that could ruin her in the
eyes of her family and her church.

God... she could be pregnant even now.

Sam already felt Mike's impending wrath sear his
body.  The man had obviously sent his daughter here
to confront Sam, though she'd tried her best to
distance herself.  It wasn't until Sam gave in to
the urge to touch that she'd crumbled beneath his
amorous advance.  Mike wouldn't have let her near
Sam if he'd known they'd end up in bed together.

He let himself fall back to his pillow with a sigh. 
Oh, he was a fiend.  A rogue, as Emma put name to
it.  He should have turned her away, sent her home
to the eventual future she'd have as the much
beloved wife of a man who'd be free to walk with
her in the light of day.  One who'd give her safety
and security, children and the pleasure of growing
old together.  As it stood now, Sam could offer
none of those things.  Only his love remained in
his empty hands.  Even that he kept hidden - in
fists that could hurt at the instant the switch
clicked on.

"I thought I told you to stop."  The whisper
tickled his arm.

A warm hand snaked about his waist.  Emma.  A
colder nose nuzzled his shoulder, and he shivered,
reacting to her touch.  "Stop what?" he muttered,
one last trace of control emerging beneath his
already rising desire.  Speaking of stopping... he
willed his body into submission.  Was this what it
was going to be like from now on?  He'd never
before had a problem tamping down an erection. 
Then again, this was Emma.  If anyone in the room
had power, it was her.

"Thinking."

"I wasn't," he lied.

"You were.  Let me guess... you're blaming yourself
for letting this happen.  Now that it's going on
nine and I'm about to leave, you figure you'll do
the right thing and tell me we shouldn't see each
other until you have the situation under control. 
That about it?"

His gave her a stern look he knew was useless. 
"Would you listen?"

"Since when have you known me to take orders, Sam
Mulder?"

He rolled toward her, pulling her close.  "True." 
His lips brushed hers; the smell of sex gently
wafted up between them and he sighed.  "This time,
though, you need to do what I say.  No arguments,
okay?"

"But -"

"I won't have you sneaking over here, and that's
final."

"It's my life you buffoon, and I'll do what I
please."

"And if I asked you to stay away?  For my sake?" 
He buried his face in her neck, clutching her to
him.  "Emma, this is hard enough without worrying
about you coming up here or taking the chance on
your family finding out -"

"I don't care."

"But *I* do," he insisted, facing her, his hands
cupping her cheeks.  In the dimness, he could make
out the distress in her gaze and knew his own to be
equally fierce.  "This was the best night of my
life, Emma.  If you think it's easy for me to deny
myself where you're concerned, you're crazier than
I am."

"You're not crazy."

"Maybe not.  One thing I do know - I have too much
respect for your father, and for *you*, to treat
our relationship with anything less than the
attention it deserves.  And right now, I can't do
that.  I have to come to you a whole man, Emma. 
Don't you see that?"

Her lashes lowered as she nodded.  Sam breathed a
sigh of relief, kissing her forehead.  "Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me yet," she choked out, a mixture
of muted fury and sadness tearing up her voice.  "I
intend for you to make this up to me at the first
opportunity."

Sam smiled, using his kisses to wipe away her slow,
hot tears.  "Name it.  Whatever you want, it's
yours."

He fully expected her to demand flowers, dinner,
and a ring on her finger.  But her soft reply made
him ache.  "All I want is you."

He could have said the same, and his embrace
tightened with the need.  But he wanted so much
more than her love.  He needed to be able to get
his old life back, to shower her with gifts and
prove to his family and hers he was able to be a
responsible person.  There had to be a way to do it
besides sitting in this room night and day.

"C'mon," he whispered, taking one last deep breath
of her nearness.  "Get dressed.  It's time for you
to be going."

Thankfully she didn't protest, other than a small
sigh.  "I'll miss you, Sam."

That he could give her.  It wasn't much, but he put
his whole heart and soul into the words.  "Not as
much as I'll miss you, sweetheart."


**********


She didn't linger for long, mostly because he
practically dressed her himself.  With the grim
smile of the tortured, he helped her with her
clothes and coat, smirking at her awful attempt to
stall by shoving one of her shoes under the bed. 
She was an open book to him, especially now.  Her
displeasure at leaving was all-too-evident, but she
left him with a challenging kiss designed to make
him realize what he'd be missing once she'd gone.

He didn't miss her... for about a minute.  One
whole minute of standing in the empty room while
his mind replayed the night's activities.  Too
quickly for his liking, he decided, the ache of her
absence returning like a stab through the heart
when his lips tingled recalling that first kiss
against the door.  It built with an avalanche of
longing, each remembered touch making him want to
howl with the need to have it again.

There had to be something he could do.  A way to
get the ball rolling, so to speak.  Now that he'd
had a taste of what he wanted forever, he couldn't
just sit in this hotel room.  Waiting for someone
else to find the answers for him.  He had a place
to start, even if chances were slim the idea that
had taken shape would pan out.

Better yet, he now had a reason to hurry... in the
form of the one woman he wanted more than life
itself.

He waited until he was certain Emma would be away
from the hotel, then he called for a cab.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twenty-Three


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Emma was pleasantly warm, even if the heater in her
car picked an inconvenient time to give up the
ghost.  A small smile played about her lips as she
maneuvered her car through her neighborhood.  She
felt alive, her skin tingling with a hundred new
sensations.

Who knew a man's skin was so soft?  Or that the
stubbled arch of his neck tasted like the most
sinful dessert imaginable?  Just remembering the
feel of other, more responsive places on Sam's body
made her flush as if the heater had suddenly kicked
on with all the warmth of a volcano.

She should be saying prayers, she thought.  Get a
head start on asking for forgiveness before she
even stepped through the church doors for morning
mass.  But somehow, she couldn't reconcile her more
devout self with the well-satisfied woman who found
no sin in giving and receiving love.  In such a
profound, life-changing way, no less.  She wouldn't
feel this way with just anyone, she knew.  If she'd
wanted to experience sex, she could have gotten the
deed done years ago.  Though she'd not shared more
than kisses with the men she'd dated, she
recognized lust when she saw it.  Any one of them
would have been eager to relieve her of her
virginity, her father and brothers be damned.

But she'd never felt that all encompassing desire
with anyone... until Sam.  Even now, the way she'd
thrown herself at his head surprised her.  It was
as if, once accepted as right, she'd embraced the
physical as the only way to show her love for him. 
She'd run the risk he'd take her then discard her
as he had other women; it was a gamble the old Emma
would never have taken.

The new Emma, however - the one who'd realized how
much she really loved the arrogant fool who'd left
her - she didn't hesitate.  Yes, he'd made her
leave.  No, he hadn't said he loved her.  But it
was there in every kiss and touch, in the way he
looked at her like his heart would break when she
walked out the door.  He'd done what he had to
protect her, he'd said.

She believed.  She loved.  She would wait.

Two weeks.  At the most.

As she turned into her drive, she grinned.  Okay,
so she hadn't told Sam that little condition of her
agreement with him to stay away.  But a girl
couldn't be blamed if she suddenly took it upon
herself to visit someone she missed terribly, now
could she?  There was no way she could do without
Sam for longer than that, and he'd just have to
live with it.  She didn't care if they ended up
halfway across the world hiding from his past. 
Waiting years for something that may never happen
was a waste of precious time, in her opinion.

If he didn't agree, then she'd just have to make
him relent.  Keep him in bed until he was too tired
to argue.  Show him that going it alone was no
longer an option.  Even now, she could be pregnant
with his child.  She wondered if he'd given that
any thought, and decided he had.  That hollow stare
at the bedroom ceiling had 'Mike Scully's gonna
beat the crap outta me' all over it.  Sam looked
impossibly handsome when he was fretting, a nice
tidbit of information she stored with a sigh.

He also had nothing to worry about from her Da,
other than a bit of blustering should worse come to
worst.  She'd known from the start her father had
orchestrated this meeting; putting her in the same
room with Sam had definitely set the smolder to
flame.  So she'd swallowed a bit of pride.  She'd
taken the chance he'd hurt her again.  But one look
at his desperate face and she'd known she couldn't
refuse him, or herself.

Just how she'd stay away for two weeks, she had no
idea.  Two days, maybe?  Two hours?  Oh, that would
set the family on its ear, she thought with a
smile.

The house was cold, and she hurried to turn up the
furnace.  Since her brothers were home again, she
knew her father wouldn't stay at the pub too late. 
Even if he'd practically pushed her into Sam's
arms, it wouldn't do to face him looking like she'd
just rolled out of Sam's arms.  She could still
smell her lover on her skin, and she sighed at the
eventual loss of that slim tie.  But a bath was
definitely in order, not only for cleanliness'
sake.  Sam had been gentle with her, but he was a
big brute and already her body was sore in places
only warm water could soothe.

Dear Lord, she'd have to learn to tame those
blushes.  If just the thought of the things Sam had
done to her had the power to -

The ringing of the telephone startled her, putting
an end to her wandering, lustful thoughts.  It was
late, and a call after nine o'clock at the Scully
household could only mean one thing.  The family
knew better than to disturb anyone, especially her
father, with anything frivolous after a certain
hour.

Breathless, she grabbed the phone in the hall. 
"Hello?"

"Where have you been, girl?  I've been callin' ye
for a good half hour!"

"Ummm..."  Emma faltered, the lie not coming easily
to her lips.  She'd never been good at covering up
anything, and her father was the best at digging
deep.  Instead of stumbling through a feeble
explanation for her absence, she changed the
subject.  "Da?  What's wrong?

A broad sigh drifted over the line as all fight
left her father.  "Emma, we need you to come to St.
Catherine's," he said, his voice lacking its usual
booming tone.  "The damn fool doctors won't tell us
a thing.  We keep askin', but no one will tell us
anything.  You've got to come right away. 
You've... you've...."

The hospital?  A tremor of dread snaked through
her, her heart pounding.  "Da, tell me what
happened."

"Ah, girl..."  Mike Scully, her invincible father,
the man who'd faced down all manner of trials and
tribulations in his life - including the loss of
his beloved wife - spoke as if sadness bled from
his very soul.  "There's been an accident."


**********


Sam stood outside the ward door, peering through at
the man called Cannon, who laid as he had for more
than a week now.  So still, so alone, his face pale
and sunken as he slowly drifted into death.  The
late hour meant no visitors, so Cannon and the few
others in similar, static shape were lying about
the room like corpses.  No one moved except for the
lone nurse making the round of beds.  She checked
an IV here, tucked a sheet there.  Popped her gum
as if she flipped burgers on a griddle at a truck
stop, she was so disinterested in her work.

That would work in his favor.  He slid away from
the door and into a utility closet, cracking the
door to watch her exit.  Which wasn't long in
coming, he noted with satisfaction.  She stopped at
her station opposite the ward and gave the hall a
furtive glance before taking the phone off the
hook.  In moments, she'd pulled a cigarette from
her purse and was on her way to the restroom.

Bingo.  Sam quickly but silently entered the ward,
thankful for the room's darkness.  A small light
illuminated each of the occupied beds, its halo
protective of the edges.  He knew he wouldn't be
easily spied if he stood apart from that circle. 
Close enough to touch, but far enough away to run
at the slightest hint of danger.

He was losing it, he told himself as he approached
the unconscious man.  This was utterly ridiculous. 
Listening to a dream, for God's sake!  Imagining
himself as some sort of superior being just like
the ghost man, capable of controlling light and
sound with a snap of his fingers... hell, even
thinking things like that were enough to land you
in a padded room.

Okay, so he'd always been a bit superstitious. 
When it came to baseball, naturally.  Always used
the same bat, never stepped on the chalk lines when
heading to the dugout.  A baseball player who
wasn't a bit antsy about certain rituals wasn't a
true player.  It wasn't just baseball, either.  The
men in the 11th all followed the same pattern when
it came to preparing for a jump.  Right strap goes
on first, then left, then any number of little
details ending with the helmet.  Of course, one
slip-up could find you flattened on the ground like
a pancake, your parachute making a nice neat pillow
for your dead body.

But this was different.  This had nothing to do
with hitting one out of the park or landing in the
perfect tuck and roll.  This required stepping up
to the plate without a bat.  Jumping out of the
airplane without a chute.  An act of sheer
lunacy... or of complete faith.

Sam shook his head at his foolishness.  He wasn't
some god who could turn the half-dead into the
living.  That would be proven when he just did what
he came to do, no matter how stupid and
embarrassing it looked.  Besides, no one was around
to see him, right?  Touch the guy and go back to
the hotel to get a good night's sleep at last.

Damn Cannon if he didn't look like a corpse,
though.  As pale as the sheets tucked in around
him, his breath coming in a little rattle from his
slack mouth.  Creepy.  The guy was obviously on his
last legs; Sam had seen similar scenes in the war,
but those were the urgent throes of the immediate
death.  Nothing like this lingering wasting of the
body.

He swallowed down his revulsion and lifted his
hand.  It hovered in the light above Cannon's face,
casting a shadow that eased the stark lines of
struggle.  His fingers were a shade or two darker
than the cheeks beneath them, healthy and human. 
Sam hesitated, curling his hand into a fist with a
bite of his lip.  A whirl of possibilities depended
on that touch, and he wavered with the dread of one
afraid of the outcome.

No.  He'd never been scared of anything in his
life, and he wasn't about to start now.  His hand
eased and he let it fall.

The tips of his fingers touched cold, dry flesh. 
His first thought was that the nurse should really
get an extra blanket for Cannon.  The sheet wasn't
keeping him warm enough and the guy was in no shape
to ask for comfort....

A jolt buckled his knees; he snapped a breath into
his lungs at the fire traveling down his arm.  He
tried to remove his hand, but it wouldn't respond
to his pull.

Oh God, he thought.  I've been tricked.  It wasn't
the ghost man who could steal with a touch - it was
Cannon all along.

Sam let out a moan of distress, doubling over as he
realized this was it.  No more life, no more
laughing with Mike and talking sports with Chauncy,
no more watching Fox and Dana make eyes at each
other... no more Emma.

He fell to his knees, feeling everything drain from
him in an instant.  The slow beat of his heart, the
sturdy security of muscle, the passionate flow of
blood... it all left him in a rush, pinpointed in
the fingers he couldn't move.

It could have been hours later, he didn't know. 
His cheek rubbed against the starched sheets and he
grimaced, pulling his arms down.  His knees
protested the hard floor beneath them with a silent
scream.  It was difficult, but Sam finally got to
his feet, shaking his head to clear it.

What the hell happened?

He was still here.  Relief surged through his weak
body and he chuckled.  What a dope.  He'd managed
to scare the shit out of himself with his own fear. 
Everything still worked - arms, legs, heart -
though that still leapt like a jackrabbit.  Good
thing no one saw his collapse, or he'd find himself
in the bed next to Cannon.

Sam raised his head to look at the man.  He gasped,
stepping back.

Cannon laid there, his brown eyes open.  Not quite
alert, with the unfocused gaze of the newly
wakened.  His face seemed to bloom with healthy
color and his breathing evened out to a deep
natural rhythm.

No, it couldn't be, Sam thought, staggering back
into the darkness beyond the light.

"It is," came the murmur from the other side of the
bed.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam willed away the
familiar voice.  If his legs weren't so rubbery,
he'd have run.  Far away from who he knew looked at
him with satisfaction.  "Go away," he whispered,
grabbing the bed behind him in an effort to remain
upright.  "Please go away."

It hadn't been a dream.  None of it.  All so very
real and so incredibly frightening; the thought
added to his weakness and he slumped, only managing
to stand by sheer force of will.

"Do you now believe?"

"No, no..."  But he did, and the belief was the
most painful realization of them all.

"You do."  Sir sighed, his black figure blending in
with the shadows.  "Look at him.  You did this to
him."

Sam's eyes burned when he opened them; he avoided
the man who spoke and instead trained his gaze
firmly on the pillowed head.  Cannon blinked, his
mouth working to speak.  But his disorientation
lingered and Sam wanted nothing more than to get
away from the amazing sight.  "I didn't do a damn
thing but touch him."

"You gave him back his life.  A final act of
crossing over that has now set you on a path I
cannot follow.  So selfish... but you always were,
Sam.  And that will be your downfall."

"Shut up," he grated out, eyeing Cannon.  Strength
slowed returned to his drained body, along with
cocky anger.  His answers would come now, courtesy
of Cannon.  "Now that he's awake, we'll find out
who the hell you really are."

"He can't tell you.  He never could.  I put him in
your way to make you believe.  I put him here so
you could heal him.  And you have, though for your
own purpose.  You couldn't just once do something
for someone without gain?"  The voice softened,
becoming slightly condemning in its wistfulness. 
"You did this only for yourself.  You used to have
such a good heart, Sam."

The disappointment in those words infuriated Sam. 
He was not a bad person; why did everyone seem to
always expect the worst of him?  The denial burst
from him, a memory so long buried and still not
quite real, but one he knew justified his innate
decency.  His eyes snapped up before he could think
twice, and he said through thinned lips, "I made
that tire go flat in Utah, didn't I?"

The ward, so silent already, seemed to narrow and
define itself on those few words.  Sam held his
breath with wide, unseeing eyes, Sir's face
dissolving into a flood of images.  Fox, pacing the
floor of their grandfather's cabin outside
Piedmont.  Dana, impatiently wiping the frosted
window of a car as she slowly guided it down a
snow-covered road.  A more masculine version of
Dana's face - someone named Charlie? - holding her
as she cried on a dance floor.  The sound of water
gently lapping against the hull of a freighter. 
Chinese men with guns.  Dark.  Cold.  A train. 
Happy... sadness.

Taking Sir's hand.

Emma.

The last made Sam blink.  There was no more. Her
beautiful, smiling face was lost... the only
unknown in a sea of instantaneous, bright
comprehension.

Suddenly, the real world came into sharp focus,
Sir's unmoving figure staring at him with sympathy.

"Now do you see?  Do you believe?"

The melancholy question tore through Sam, leaving
gaping holes he scrambled to fill.  No, it wasn't
true.  He was alive, damn it!  He breathed, he
walked, he loved.  It just couldn't be!

Distress filled those empty places... and he
finally found the will to run.

Out of the ward and into the hall, ignoring the
nurse's angry "Hey!" as he almost mowed her down to
get free.  His lungs struggled for air and sweat
clouded his vision as he reached the stairs. 
Stumbling, his body aching in a thousand places, he
welcomed the cooler air of the stairwell but didn't
stop to savor it.  He had to get out.

He flung open the door at the bottom to a white
blare of lights and the sound of shouting from the
end of the hall.  Wincing, he wiped at his face
with shaky hands and knew he'd reached the
Emergency Room end of the first floor.  He took a
deep breath and commanded his body to move in a
normal fashion.  One step, then another; he stuffed
his hands in his pockets and kept his eyes focused
on the red lights of the ambulance outside.  He
could make it.  Where he was going, he didn't know. 
But it was safer outside.

A flash of red hair caught him by surprise and he
melted against the wall.  What was she doing here? 
And so obviously shaken, so pale, so damned...
familiar.

Sam dodged the trio of nurses working behind the
desk, mumbling an "Excuse me" to the one who raced
before him to the swinging doors at his left, the
one Emma had come from.  He ducked into the
opposite hall, carefully getting as close as he
could to her voice without making his presence
known.  A blur of bodies moved about her in the
waiting room, and she called for quiet.

A second later, she began to speak.

"It's not good.  She's unconscious and her
doctor... he - he says she..."

Sam felt the tremor in her voice down to his bones. 
His collision upstairs with his past faded to a
slow simmer as Emma's anxiety took hold of him. 
She'd been called to the hospital on her day off -
for what?  Someone she knew?  It didn't matter; he
couldn't leave her, even if his discovery here
meant stirring her wrath.

An unfamiliar voice piped in.  "What?  He says
what?"

No, the voice wasn't all that unfamiliar.  He'd
just heard it rise up from the black hole in his
mind.

Sprite, it had said with easy affection.  Sprite?

Emma sniffed, a heartbreaking sound that made Sam
want to intrude on the gathering of family.  "She
wasn't injured in the accident.  But she's been
borderline toxemic for a while now and the sudden
stress tonight made her blood pressure skyrocket. 
No one could have known."

"Ah, darlin'."

Mike!  That did it; Mike wouldn't be here unless
the person they spoke of was... oh, God.  No.

Sam took the final step in a panic, standing in the
door of the waiting room with a grim face.  Emma,
sheltered in her father's arms, didn't hear his
arrival.  But the man pacing beside them did, and
his sharp eyes settled on Sam.  Eyes that could
have been Dana's, set in a masculine version of her
face.

"Mulder?" he asked in a thin voice, looking at Sam
as if he were a ghost.

Emma saw him then, raising a tear-stained face to
look over her father's shoulder.  Surprise widened
her eyes, then immediate grief made them water. 
"Sam."

He wasted no time taking her offered hand; Mike
gave her up with a crinkle of his sad eyes,
understanding at once what she needed as he nodded
at Sam.  She came to him with a muted sob and he
gathered her close, uncaring if the whole family
witnessed their embrace.  Or the kiss he placed to
her temple in reassurance.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, though
without any real curiosity.  She was much too upset
to put any weight behind the question, and he knew
to forgo any explanation for the moment.

"Doesn't matter," he said, hushing her quiet
trembling with a soothing hand on her back.  "What
is it?" he murmured to Mike above Emma's head.

Mike shuffled on his feet a bit, delaying his reply
as he gestured to the man at his right.  "Sam
Mulder, this is -"

"Charlie," Sam answered, seeing the man's
mischievous grin in a vivid flashback.  He saw a
woman, a pretty blond in a wedding dress.  This man
giving Dana a wink.  He saw it all.  "Yes, I know. 
Charlie Scully.  Dana's brother."

A strange sort of peace settled over Sam; he still
let disbelief deny him the acceptance of what he'd
seen and done, but recognizing a man he'd never
before met gave him an anchor in his unstable
world.  Dana's brother was an easy man to like, he
remembered.  Nothing like himself, with a strong
sincerity that danced in those blue eyes.

"You call her Sprite," he said with a calm smile,
watching Charlie's anxious face bloom with wonder.

Mike, standing apart, gave Sam a narrow stare. 
"How'd you know that?"

The tension in the room doubled.  Sam, knowing
there was no sane explanation for what he'd said,
backed off.  "I guess I heard it somewhere." 
Realizing he and Emma were in a close clinch, he
cleared his throat and disentangled himself, though
he kept hold of her hand.  "Now, someone want to
tell me what's going on?  Where's Fox?"

"Sedated," Emma replied, head down.  Her father
pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and she
took it, wiping at her tears.  "They were in an
automobile accident tonight."

Charlie jumped in with a growl.  "They were run off
the God damned road."

"What?"  The fierce anger on Charlie's face made
Sam's grip on Emma's hand tighten.  Her fingers
squirmed in his, and he loosened his hold with a
mumbled apology before addressing Charlie once
more.  "Who ran them off the road?"

"Mulder told me they were Chinese. But he wasn't
exactly in any shape -"

"Chinese?"  Dana's wild tale of the man named Chang
swirled in Sam's head.  "Chang?"

Now it was Charlie who looked at him with
suspicion.  "What do you know about Chang?"

"Dana told me all about it.  Was it him?  Was it
Chang?"

"We don't know.  Skinner - Mulder's boss - is on it
right now.  They're looking for the car."  Charlie
looked as if he wanted to say more, but didn't.  He
slumped into the couch at the far end of the room,
hanging his head.

"But you think it's him, don't you?"

"Saints preserve us," Mike mumbled, turning away to
pace.

His reaction made Sam nervous.  "He's back, isn't
he?"

"We don't know for sure -"

"Damn it, you have to do something!  Get someone in
here to protect them."  He pulled away from Emma's
restraining hold to advance on Charlie.  "Where's
Fox?  Why aren't you doing anything?"

"Mulder is incapable of doing anything right now,
Sam.  We've got a couple of guards outside his room
and in the parking lot."

"Why don't you believe Fox?  He wouldn't lie."

"Sam, Mulder had to be sedated," Emma said, her
voice breaking slightly.  "Dana was in bad shape
when they brought them in.  Mulder... he wouldn't
leave her, even though he needed treatment
himself."

"Where is he?  Where's Dana?"

"Mulder's been put in a room upstairs.  His arm's
broken and he's pretty banged up, but he's okay." 
Emma avoided Sam's insistent look.  "Dana's still
in the ER," she finished quietly.

"She's gonna be all right, isn't she?"  But he knew
before Emma answered that Dana wasn't as fortunate
as Fox.  "Tell me."

Mike moved to his daughter's side, wrapping a
supporting arm around her shoulders as she
struggled to reply.  "They think she's had a
stroke, lad.  Waitin' on the final test results
right now."  He lowered his gaze; it was the only
time Sam had ever seen the man struggle for words. 
"They don't think she'll make it through the night. 
Even now, they're considering surgery to save the
child."

"No," Sam breathed, unable to believe what he was
hearing.  "She was fine yesterday.  No one could
just..."

"It's not unheard of in pregnancy," Emma whispered,
tears taking control again of her wavering
composure.  "The trauma of the accident must have
brought it on.  A spike in blood pressure,
especially since she's had trouble before this
carrying to term... it's not that unusual."

And she'd made a trip to the hotel yesterday to set
him straight, which hadn't helped.  Sam met Mike's
gaze above Emma's head and saw the guilt he felt
mirrored there.  But it was nothing compared to the
tremendous weight of responsibility he knew he
shouldered.

Fox had told him Dana was fragile.  All of Sam's
shenanigans since he'd returned had surely added to
her stress level.  He was as much to blame as the
phantom Chinese who'd crashed their vehicle.

But unlike Mike, he could so something about it
all.  Even now, Cannon laid upstairs awake and
recovered.  If his hand could bring that about -
and he still wasn't sure it had - then what was the
harm in trying with Dana?

"I need to see her."

"Sam, you can't -"

He pulled away from Emma's reaching hand and
growled, "The hell I can't."

"And just what do you think *you* can do?"  Charlie
rasped from his seat.  He stood, helpless fury
coloring his cheeks.  "You stay away from my
sister."

So Charlie had heard about Sam.  It was evident in
his distrustful gaze and tight mouth.  His eyes
raked Sam up and down, as if he expected Sam to
cause trouble.

"I can..."  Sam bit his lip, wondering how he was
to explain what he meant to do.  Tensions were high
and everyone already looked at him with curious
eyes.  He knew his behavior could be attributed to
worry over the situation, but to demand to see his
sister-in-law with the incredulous intention of
healing her... he'd never get past the brute who
called her 'Sprite'.

"Charlie!"

An older couple rushed in, Sam automatically
stepping away to let them by.  They both made for
the angry man who faced him down.

"Mom."  Charlie softened, Sam forgotten for now. 
"Dad."  He embraced the woman, and Sam saw Emma and
Mike join the group.

This was his chance.  He slipped quietly out the
door, knowing he had only moments before Charlie
discovered him missing.

One chance to save Dana.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twenty-Four


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


He recognized the euphoria immediately.  Years
without faded in an instant and he felt almost
pleasantly numb, despite his anger at the orderlies
who held him down and the nurse who administered
the injection.  Accompanying the good feeling was a
familiar lethargy that closed his eyes.  The hands
left his body when he went limp, and their hushed
words drifted over him.

"No need to stay... should sleep for hours... smoke
break, anyone?  Pity about the wife..."

Mulder gritted his teeth at the last, hearing their
departure over the roar of fury in his brain.  They
didn't know.  Had no idea who they were dealing
with.  A man who'd survived months of opium
addiction could fight off a measly injection of
morphine.  The truth wasn't in their soft words and
sympathetic looks.  It was somewhere outside the
prison of feel-good drugs, in the smile of his wife
and the touch of her lips.  They sought to blind
him.  But he'd seen the Chinese in the car... Chang
was behind it all, he knew.

He'd have to be careful.  Focus, like he'd done in
Hong Kong.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was
the IV.  It gave easily to his pull as he swung his
legs over the side of the bed.


**********


The smell in the Emergency Room was frightening. 
So urgent in its medicinal scent, yet faintly like
bleach, as if what could be done had been done and
they'd given up to clean the mess.  The bright
lights almost blinded Sam and he squinted,
searching.  A faint hiss turned his head to the
left; beyond the brightness, he saw a bed peeking
out from behind a curtain.  Half concealed by the
drape, a small form rested there.

Dana.  He was across the room in a flash, ducking
behind the curtain.

What he saw made him wince.  She was bruised beyond
belief, from her small hands to her chalk-white
face.  A tube of some sort stuck out of her mouth,
held in place by white tape that already inflamed
the delicate skin of her throat.  Her chest rose
and fell much as Cannon's had... in and out, not
with the smooth glide of the healthy.

She was dying.  Sam knew it as sure as he had with
Cannon.  The life within that strong, loving woman
was quickly fading away.  Sam gulped, gathering all
the strength he had to summon what he'd given
Cannon.  It had to work, it just had to.

His hand touched her brow; he almost cried at the
warmth he felt.  So different from Cannon's cold
skin.  It was as if she slumbered in the arms of
angels.  He caressed the softness with his
fingertips, waiting.

But there was nothing.  No staggering blow, no jolt
of electricity - not even a tingle.

"No," he said, bringing up his other hand to frame
her face.  "C'mon, damn it."

His thumbs soothed her cheeks as he bent over her
to place a kiss at the light arch of her eyebrow. 
This was his sister-in-law, a woman who'd braved
the Japanese and somehow managed to love the stoic
man that was his brother.  She didn't flinch from
adversity, nor did she give up easily.  Her light
was too bright to ever dim, too strong to ever die. 
Sam lingered over her for long moments, willing his
strength to flow into her body.

Something had to happen!  It had worked before, why
didn't it now?  He tried again and again, willing
the cataclysm to arrive as he murmured pleas to the
silence around him.

"No, no, no..."  He fell to his knees, his efforts
dissolving in a rush of tears.

God, he couldn't do it.  Whatever had happened
upstairs was not going to be repeated.  Sir had
been right - his heart wasn't good enough anymore. 
If he'd been a better person, maybe.  Someone like
Dana, who knew her limitations and lived with them,
even if it meant leaving her coat unbuttoned in the
middle of winter.  A better man like Fox, who'd
taken verbal lashes from their father on Sam's
behalf, while he'd stood by and told himself
getting away with it was what mattered.  The
simple, uncomplicated Mike, who fed strangers and
kings alike with equal amounts of cabbage and
respect.

Emma, who'd given her precious heart to a
worthless, greedy man.  A man without a past, who
should have known better than to take her love when
his own heart was incapable of returning it.

All this crashed down upon him, leaving him
clinging to the bed like a child, his sobs deep and
soundless in the room.  He gasped for breath and
held in as much as he could, knowing someone would
come looking for him shortly.  The best course
would be to just leave and never look back.  Spare
himself the agony of watching Dana die.  Save
himself from having to console his brother.  Sam
wasn't the charitable type.  His selfishness knew
no bounds and he didn't think he could stand the
pain to come.

Just a second or two longer, he thought, unable to
make his legs work.  He was so tired, and Dana's
warmth comforted him.  Even in death, she gave.  He
gripped her hand, feeling it soothe his fears.


**********


Stupid fools.  If he wanted to spare a thought for
anyone besides Scully, he'd try to remember the
faces of the ensigns who were supposed to be
stationed outside his door.  He was certain they
weren't supposed to be chatting up the pretty young
nurse at the desk down the hall, enjoying
cigarettes and annoying, flighty giggles.

But Mulder had more important things to do than
throw censorious looks their way.  He pulled the
draped, ratty robe closer around his bum arm with
one hand and slipped out the door.  His bare feet
made no sound as he forced his legs to move in the
opposite direction.  The demons of a hell without
Scully steeled his spine and he walked unblinking
to the stairwell.  If memory served, the ER was
right beneath him.

Every step down the stairs brought him closer to
her.  His brain, though fuzzy, cooperated long
enough to make the trip short and silent.  He
refused to give the laughing images of Chang
purchase in that barren field, thinking only of how
to get to Scully; he had no time for now for
memories and vengeance.  That would come once he
saw the lies for himself.

She would be fine.  She had to be fine.  All the
talk of coma and death was nothing more than a
ruse.  Designed to wreak havoc with his tenuous
hold on sanity, to break him once and for all.  He
told himself this as he peeked out the door at the
bottom of the stairs.  Though not a praying man, he
said a silent plea for truth as he avoided the
crying people across the hall.  Why would the
hospital let them carry on like that?  There was
nothing to be so upset about.

He would tell them that as soon as he saw Scully
smile.  That lovely, full smile waiting just beyond
the ER doors.

Mulder felt a new warmth - one so different from
the glazing power of opium - tingle his fingers as
he touched the door to slip inside.


**********


Her fingers were slight and soft, but limp and
slightly swollen.  Sam brushed his thumb over the
indentation left by her wedding ring... and felt
her hand twitch.  Like a butterfly stretching its
wings, it slowly fluttered beneath his damp palm.

He raised his eyes to look upon the sight, not
trusting his hand to feel the truth of what it was
touching.  Mesmerized, he took a short breath, then
another, finally allowing his smile to break free
when Dana's hand stretched like a sleepy cat.

"I ask you again - do you believe?"

He let go of her hand as if it burned, falling back
on his ass as he swiped at his sticky eyes.  Above
him, the air glowed with an energy that crackled,
making his hair stand on end.

The one called Sir stood within the moving ball of
light, his dark hand resting upon Dana's brow.  A
large, strong hand that caressed the bright line of
hair, his thumb stroking away the sudden crease
above her nose.  "Sleep," he murmured, his face
indulgent.  Dana moaned, her protest lost in Sir's
hypnotic tone.  "Sleep, little one.  All is well."

Like a child under its mother's touch, she quieted. 
Drifting down into a relaxed state so different
from moments ago, she turned her head into Sir's
caress, a slight curl of her lips speaking of her
contentment.  When she remained still, he turned to
Sam.  The light distorted his mouth, but Sam heard
the words loud and clear.  "She is safe now.  Stop
your grieving and stand up."

Keeping his eyes on the figure, Sam warily got to
his feet.  He didn't know what to say, his tongue
clumsy in the face of such brilliance.  "The
others...they're coming..."

"In time."  His form faded in and out, a dimming
bulb fighting for the last ounce of current.  "And
I must go."

"But, how did you - what about -" There were so
many things Sam wanted to know, too much to
explain, and he sensed time was running short. 
"Tell me why I couldn't -" He waved a hand at Dana,
who slept now with peacefulness, her color that of
a spring rose.  So beautiful.  So normal.

"You've taken the final step, Sam.  I told you it
was coming soon.  You are not of my world any
longer.  I've failed to bring you back, so now you
must stay."

"But wait -" Damn it, this couldn't be the end. 
Running from this man for weeks only to be told so
long, see ya later?  None of this made sense; all
he'd been told by Sir was mixed up in his head and
he needed to know.  More awaited him than a stable
human existence; he'd come back for a reason.  One
that Sir had disapproved of, but that was all
irrelevant.  Sam's knowledge, his foresight,
depended on this man giving him more than a pat on
the head and a dismayed sigh.   "You can't just
leave me here now."

"It's where you wanted to be, isn't it?  You knew
the future wasn't set.  Yet in your arrogance, you
thought you could make it what you wanted.  Always
you, Sam.  Always you."

"No.  You have to tell me.  I know there's more." 
He leaned over the bed, reaching into the circle
that barely glowed now.  He saw his hand pass
through Sir's sleeve, felt the last dregs of energy
shiver up his arm.  For all that he'd avoided the
touch, he now wanted it more than anything.

But the man was gone.  Evaporated in a flash like a
dissipating fog touched by the sun, all trace of
him disappeared.  Sam stared stupidly at the empty
space for a few seconds, knowing he'd never see Sir
again.

He stumbled from the bedside, the eerie silence in
the ER broken by a muted gasp.  At first, he'd
thought the choked sound came from deep within his
own body, but the next instant proved him wrong.

"Sam?"

Turning from his stare at a healthy, sleeping Dana,
Sam paled at the sight of his brother, who slumped
against the far wall.  Fox cradled his bandaged
arm, a look of sheer amazement on his shadowed,
bruised face.  The two men stood in uncomfortable
silence for long moments, Sam squirming under Fox's
stare.

How much had he seen?  Of course, it was no use
asking the question aloud.  His brother's look said
it all.  Sam felt like a bug under a magnifying
glass.  A freaky, three-eyed housefly who had
nowhere to go in his brand new peanut butter jar. 
He'd thought himself the object of curiosity
before, with his inexplicable return.  But that was
nothing compared to the way his own brother
suddenly gawked at him.

His mind still reeling from all he'd seen and done,
Sam said the first thing that tripped off his
tongue.  "You're supposed to be drugged up."

Fox blinked for the first time, licking his lips. 
"I am."  His grin was lopsided and loopy, his wink
slow.

As Sam neared his brother, he noted the glassy eyes
and sluggish shuffle of his feet as he tried to
stay upright.  He'd seen men doped to the gills
with morphine before, but never his own brother. 
How could he stand up at all?  A flash of
conversation penetrated Sam's stupor; Dana had told
him back at the hotel of how Chang had tried to
enslave Fox with opium.

Dear God... had no one remembered?  Did no one care
how dangerous it was to give a former addict a hit
like that?

"They don't know it, but me and poppies go way
back," Fox whispered.  "Thought they were gonna
keep me down, but I fooled 'em."  He closed his
eyes and swallowed hard, swaying.

Sam was there in an instant to stop him from
falling to the floor.  However, Fox's weight was
too much after a second or two of strain, and Sam
let them both sag to the floor, Fox's chin poking
stubbornly at Sam's collarbone.  He winced, trying
for calm.  Striving to tamp down his anger at what
they'd done to this man who only ever wanted a
peaceful life.

"Yeah, you fooled 'em all right, Smokey," he
murmured, feeling a fresh rush of tears clog his
throat.  His strong, invincible brother reduced to
this.  His hand curled around the hot, clammy skin
of Fox's nape, slowly stroking the trembling
muscles there.  "Let me get you back to your room,
okay?"

Fox sucked in a sharp breath.  "She's gonna be
okay, isn't she Sam?" he breathed against Sam's
shoulder.  "No one will tell me.  But you will,
won't you?"

A clamor of voices from the hall alerted Sam to the
pursuit he'd known was coming.  "She's gonna be
fine, Smokey.  Just fine."

"I knew it."  Fox went totally limp in Sam's arms,
his words distant but certain.  "You'd never lie to
me, Sammy... never."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as Fox fell unconscious,
feeling more helplessly human than ever before.


**********


The last of her tears were happy ones.  She
couldn't begin to imagine how it had happened, but
God had smiled upon Dana at last.  Her father had
rushed off to spread the news at the pub, and she
stood with the others by Dana's bedside, unwilling
to leave just yet.  Dana was still groggy, but able
to answer the simplest of questions.  As well as
demand the answer to the most important one in her
mind.

"Mulder?" she murmured, fighting the pull of
exhaustion.

"He's fine, Sprite," Charlie said, leaning low to
give her cheek a kiss.  "Just a bit bruised, like
you.  He's upstairs in a room, resting."  He
flashed a look at his parents and Emma; silently,
they all agreed to keep Mulder's breakdown a secret
for now.  Dana had no need to know just how close
she'd been to never recovering.  Or how frantic
they'd been to find Mulder collapsed in Sam's arms.

Sam hadn't said much when they'd been discovered on
the floor of the Emergency Room, other than giving
Charlie a glare at the lapse of his so-called
'guards' who'd let Mulder slip out of his room. 
Emma had given Sam a questioning glance of her own;
he'd shrugged, saying he'd just stepped out of the
waiting room when he'd seen Fox slip into the ER. 
Thank goodness he'd noticed in time to prevent
Mulder from injuring himself further.

In their excitement, none of them had yet to tell
Dana's husband of her miraculous recovery.  Or Sam,
who'd insisted on accompanying Mulder back to his
room.  Emma backed away, telling the others with a
wave of her hand to stay put.  "I'll tell him."

With a spring in her step, she smiled all the way
to the elevator.  It was a miracle, no doubt about
it.  Of course, they hadn't had total confirmation
of the stroke before Dana's sudden awakening, so
her condition may not have been so serious.  But
Emma knew it had been - she'd seen enough of the
dying to recognize its pall on the human skin.

Dana's doctor was mystified by her awakening.  Even
more so than Emma, because he'd been certain the
coma was permanent unto death.  The test results
were pending, but Emma didn't really care what they
said.  Faith in God had been one of Fiona Scully's
adamant beliefs, something she'd passed down to her
daughter.  Emma shared that staunch stand, as did
her father.  They'd not needed to see to believe.

Mulder had been secluded in one of the few private
rooms in the hospital, at Emma's insistence.  On
Charlie's belief in Mulder's recounting of the
accident, armed Naval guards now stood as if rooted
to the floor outside his door, for what little good
they'd been earlier.  They were flushed still from
Charlie's dressing down not long ago, their faces
implacable as they eyed Emma's approach.

"Emma?  How's things downstairs?"

She stopped at the desk, giving Hilda, the
nighttime floor nurse, a smile.  This woman was
partly to blame for Mulder's escape, but she looked
so guilty Emma hadn't the heart to add to her
misery with an unnecessary comment.  "Wonderful.  I
was just coming to give Mulder the news.  Can I go
in?"

The woman smiled sadly and said, "Ask the brutes
there.  I'm not in a position to tell you yes or
no, even if you are family."

She moved to stand before them, her face composed
as she asked, "May I go in?"  She dared them to
deny her entrance with her cold, accusing stare.

The biggest of the two looked down his nose at
Emma, his eyes wide with surprise.  "Mrs. Mulder? 
We were told you were still in the Emergency Room."

Emma smiled inwardly at the mistake; those with
just a passing acquaintance of either of them often
stumbled over the resemblance.

"I'm Emma Scully.  Dana's cousin.  I'm a nurse here
at the hospital; you can ask Hilda.  She knows me."

He relented, though he didn't smile, reaching for
the doorknob with a tight face.  "Don't stay long. 
Bad enough we have one extra in there.  We don't
need two."

Emma almost nipped at the guard's heels for his
superior attitude, especially since it was their
fault Mulder slipped out in the first place.  But
in his gaze was the look of the duly chastised, and
she found it more pressing to check on Mulder and
Sam than put in her two cents on their laziness. 
However, she spared them both a scathing glance as
she lifted her chin and went through the open door.

The privacy curtain hid Mulder's bed from view. 
She paused, listening for the click of the door
behind her.  As soon as she heard it, she
whispered, "Sam?"

No answer.  Peeking around the curtain, she saw
Mulder asleep in his bed, the room lit only by
lamplight slanting across his face, the shadows
behind it deep and hidden.  Raising a hand against
the light, she allowed her eyes to adjust.  A pair
of long legs spread out in the circle of light
alerted her to Sam's location.

He sat behind the lamp in a low, slung back chair,
his hands limp over the armrests, his chin resting
on his chest.  Asleep, just like his brother.  He
looked more worse for wear than Fox did, with dark
smudges under his eyes and his cheeks a bit hollow
under his evening beard.  Emma turned the lamp away
to the wall, directing the harsh light away from
Mulder and Sam.  She pulled up a chair next to him
and gently touched his cheek.  "Sam?"

She flinched when he jumped and sat up, his eyes
wide with confusion, hastening to tell him, "It's
okay, it's me.  Emma."

"Emma?"

He looked so lost and alone.  She took his hand,
giving it a reassuring squeeze.  "Sam, Dana's gonna
be fine.  I - I don't know how it happened, but
she's awake and... it's like a -"

"Miracle," he supplied in a dead tone, closing his
eyes as he leaned back in the chair.  "The baby's
okay too, isn't he?"

The absolute retreat in his face and form gave her
pause; it wasn't like Sam to so closely guard his
emotions.  Anger, passion, and most especially joy
came easily to him.  This dispassionate response to
the good news was most unusual.  "The baby's fine." 
Emma didn't hold back her confusion.  "Sam, what's
wrong?"

His eyelashes slid open, the vacant stare within
taking her breath.  "Wrong?  Nothing's wrong.  You
came up here to tell Fox, didn't you?"

"I did."

"He's sleeping."

"I know.  How he got up out of that bed after that
shot is beyond me," she quipped, trying to make Sam
smile or chuckle or even tilt his head.

"No one would tell him what was going on.  He was
out of his mind with worry for Dana."  Somber eyes
looked up.  "Love makes men do things they
shouldn't..."  One hand touched her cheek, his gaze
unflinching, his voice eerily calm.  "It even makes
men out of angels."

She smiled, rubbing her face against his palm.  "I
think you mean 'angels out of men', don't you?"

His hand fell away, as did his gaze.  An awkward
silence skittered between them, one Emma refused to
let linger.  He was obviously exhausted, as was
she.  Words jumbled and tumbled together in a weary
mind.  The less said, the better.

Her hand squeezed his.  "The sedative shouldn't
last much longer; if you want to wait with me to
give Fox the good news, you can."

"I'm not going anywhere," he answered softly,
absently rolling his thumb over her knuckles.

Emma scooted to the edge of her chair, placing
herself in his line of sight.  They were all pretty
much running on empty, but Sam's turn into what had
all the earmarks of melancholy distressed her. 
"Sam, look at me."  He did, taking a moment to
focus.  The effort cost him a crack in his stoic
facade, however, as the corner of his mouth
quirked.  He was moments away from crying; it
explained his glassy look, and she knew stress
sneaked up on even the most courageous.  "It's
okay.  They're going to be fine, all of them."

"I know," he whispered, crumbling into her embrace. 
Her arms went around him as his knees hit the
floor.  His hot face burrowed into her neck.  "I
knew it all.  Before you did."

She soothed his shaking with a slow caress of his
silky hair.  His clothes were rumpled and sweat-
stained, as if he'd run a miles-long foot race.  It
occurred to her then he'd just shown up out of the
blue earlier in the evening; as far as she knew, no
one had thought to call him with news of the
accident.  He was supposed to be in hiding, safe in
the hotel.  Yet he spoke as if privy to inside
information.  "Why'd you come to the hospital, Sam? 
Did Da call you?"

He sniffled as he shook his head.

"Then how'd you know?  How did you know we needed
you?"

Sam stiffened, pulling away.  A high flush bloomed
under his suddenly bright eyes.  The look he gave
her was almost otherworldly and she shivered,
dropping her gaze to her lap.  She shouldn't have
asked such a question; it didn't matter where he'd
heard it, he'd come.  But Sam wrapped his hands
around her face, forcing her to meet his unblinking
stare.

"I've always known when you needed me, Emma.  I
will always know.  Always."

She let out a shaky chuckle.  "Now you're scaring
me," she said, more serious than not.  He was
talking in an uncharacteristic tone, so grave and
weighed down with new responsibility.  "Smile, Sam. 
Everything's going to be okay."

He blinked at last, his face relaxing into a more
familiar grin.  "It is, isn't it?"

Emma took the beginnings of his smile with her lips
in a quick kiss.  "It is.  I promise you.  We're
going to have a good Christmas."  The holiday was
mere days away, and she looked forward to spending
it with Sam.  "Da hangs lots of mistletoe in the
pub, you know."

"He does?"  Sam touched his forehead to hers, his
breath warm on her lips.  "Just how many men will I
have to beat off you?"

"Oh, a dozen or more, surely.  Think you can handle
it, tough guy?"

"Believe it or not Emma," he answered, lowering his
chin for a more leisurely kiss she knew was coming,
"I've done more for you than I've done for any
woman.  More than I ever thought possible."

He'd given her confidence and love, passion and
happiness like no other.  He wasn't a man prone to
such easy giving, which made him twice as beloved
in her eyes.  She was lucky, indeed.

"I believe you have," she answered softly, eager to
accept his kiss.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twenty-Five


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


It was near dawn, and Emma had left to see Dana
settled into a room.  Fox had woken briefly in the
wee hours of the morning, making his concern known
with a nightmarish shout that had startled both
Emma and Sam from a light doze.  It hadn't taken
Sam but a moment to calm him, telling him quickly
that Dana and the baby were fine.  The excitement
caught up quickly with his brother, who'd slipped
into a fitful sleep almost immediately, murmuring
his gratitude to Sam for being there.

"Don't let..." he'd whispered, closing his eyes. 
He'd grabbed at Sam with a shaky hand.  "No more
drugs. You stay.  Watch Scully."

"Charlie's with her," Sam had choked out, the way
Fox trembled making him shake with anger of his
own.  "I'm not leaving you."

And he hadn't, facing down the nurse who showed up
later with another syringe.  Sam had let his scowl
speak for him, standing over the bed with a fisted
stance that dared her to come any closer.  She'd
scurried away, mumbling under her breath about
getting the doctor.  But no one came after that and
Sam was thankful; he didn't know if he could have
restrained himself from physical violence in the
face of such stupidity.

Mike had come and gone without much to say; Sam
knew the night had taken a toll on them all, as
they walked around in a state of near exhaustion. 
Charlie was with Dana, awaiting the arrival of
Fox's commanding officer.  The overall situation
still hadn't become any clearer, and doctor's
orders forbid anyone from upsetting Dana with
questions.  Until Fox woke up, no one knew what the
next course of action would be.  For now it was
enough to remain vigilant and aware.  Sam had no
trouble doing either.  Closing his eyes meant
seeing things he would rather not.

For once, Sam didn't share Fox's trust in his
ability to keep danger at arm's length.  Normally
he was a confident, capable man.  Willing to brave
anything.  His athletic ability had always made him
feel superior to the normal man.  Human, but
somehow invincible.  Now, a niggling frailty nipped
at his skin.  It didn't sit easy with him and never
would.  He'd had the whole night to believe he was
now free of his demons.  Too bad he felt one or two
still breathing down his neck.

He couldn't sleep; his nap before Emma's departure
earlier had been filled with disturbing dreams. 
Visions of all these familiar faces crowded in his
mind.  Laughter, tears, dancing, working...
anything and everything, though it was mostly
scraps of scenes missing the threads to tie them
together.  However much he now understood, there
was so much more that escaped him.  It frustrated
him to no end, especially as he watched his
battered brother sleep.

Sir had intimated Sam returned for a reason.  Had
it been to heal Dana?  Had he known this awful
thing would happen and come back to prevent it?  If
so, he'd failed miserably.  He still couldn't
believe he'd had within him the power to create
miracles.  He looked at his too-big hands,
spreading his fingers wide.  No, he was no angel. 
He'd done things with those hands, hurt people and
used women with those hands.  They were filthy with
unseen dirt.  Hands like that couldn't ever do any
good.

"They're still attached."

Sam looked up at the husky whisper, into Fox's
sleepy, yet amused eyes.  They were bloodshot but
alert, looking at him with unwavering awareness of
Sam's plight.  He grinned sheepishly, fisting his
hands.  "Good thing, huh?  Just imagine how hard it
would be to hold a baseball bat if I didn't have
hands."  

"Or how difficult to catch a drugged-out me."  Fox
licked his lips, his smile fading as his eyes
shifted.  His head lolled on the pillow as he tried
to steady his world.  "Scully?" he asked, his one-
word question packed with emotion as he finally
closed his eyes.

Sam hastened to reassure his brother, relieved he
was lucid.  He'd had a vague thought during the
night that Fox would awaken as a howling lunatic. 
"They're putting her in the room next door as we
speak."

Fox nodded, waiting a few moments.  Sam could see
the tapdance the morphine had done on his brother's
brain.  A pale stretch of skin circled his mouth as
he strove for command of his body.  His free hand
clenched and released several times before he
looked at Sam again.  This time, his gaze was more
focused, though dark with a probing uncertainty. 
"Sam, something happened last night -"

But Sam didn't want to talk about last night; it
was too raw and still confusing.  "Let me tell the
nurse you're awake."  On stiff legs, he rose from
his chair, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. 
The strength of the grip surprised Sam.  It also
spoke of sheer force of will; Sam was pleased at
Fox's mastery over the lingering pull of the drug.

"Sam, tell me what happened."

His pleasure faded quickly, as he realized Fox
wasn't letting go.  Curiosity had taken hold, its
powerful grip strenghtening the clasp of his
brother's fingers.

"What happened?  You were run off the road,
remember?"  His attempted diversion was useless and
he knew it, watching Fox slowly shake his head.

"I know that already.  And in a minute, I want you
to get Charlie in here, okay?"  He glanced down at
Sam's chair.  "Sit.  I wanna know what I saw in the
ER last night."

Sam pulled free of his brother's hold and sat with
a sigh, though he perched like a bird ready for
flight.  "I dunno," he murmured, looking at his
hands.  "You tell me."  He hoped Fox would discount
the weirdness in the ER as an hallucination brought
on by the morphine.

"I saw a light.  You were there, with Scully. 
Right in the middle of it.  I was doped up, but I
know what I saw."  His eyes narrowed, as if a
sudden thought interrupted his musings.  "You
aren't supposed to be here."

Sam's eyes snapped up.  "What do you mean?"  Had
Fox heard more than he should?  Did he know of
Sir's warnings?  God, he so wanted to tell someone;
who better than his own brother, who vowed to
always believe him no matter what.

"The hotel.  You weren't supposed to leave the
hotel."

"I don't think I have to worry about that anymore,"
Sam said, relieved that at least one aspect of his
life seemed to be straight.  He might be on a
collision course with some unknown fate, but he was
certain Sir would no longer bother him.  It was
time to share part of his experience with Fox,
crazy as it sounded.  "I had a visitor last night. 
In the ER," he added.  "The man who was following
me around.  Well, if you can call him a man. 
Sounds silly, doesn't it?"

Fox looked at him with sympathy and no small amount
of steadfast encouragement.  "You can tell me
anything, Sam.  I won't judge you, or think you're
crazy."

"That still remains to be seen."  Sam swallowed,
continuing, "You were right about the light,
Smokey.  He stood there in the middle of it, and he
touched Dana.  She woke up after that.  Told you it
was crazy."

Fox blinked, his returning color ebbed momentarily
by surprise.  "You mean... he healed her?"

"I don't know."  Sam still couldn't bring himself
to believe it happened.  "All I know is, one minute
she was dying and the next, she wasn't.  He told me
she would be okay."

"He spoke to you?"  Fox's words came faster, though
they still suffered with sluggishness.  "An actual
conversation?  What did he say?"

"A conversation?  Yeah, if you can call it that. 
In riddles, is more like it.  Lots of talk about
how I wasn't supposed to be here and he'd tried to
get me back but it was too late.  Whatever he
wanted from me, he no longer wants.  I tried to
touch him, to prove what you said - that he needed
me to make the first move.  But it was like he just
faded away into nothing."

He fell silent, feeling Fox's probing stare sweep
over his downcast face.  He felt a fool for even
burdening his brother with this wild tale,
especially at a time like this.  Fox had enough to
worry about without Sam's troubles contributing to
his anxiety.  "Look, Smokey - I was mighty tired
last night -"

"I believe you," Fox interrupted softly.  Sam
looked up into a calm, sure face.  "I believe
you've been somewhere no one has ever been these
past years.  Sounds like you pulled a fast one and
made it home."  His hand picked at the sheets, as
if he tread carefully.  "I've heard things about
such experiences.  I could try to find out if you
want.  Your call."

Fox looked like he already knew where Sam had been,
and with whom.  He'd drawn conclusions from Sam's
story, and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to hear them.

"I think I know all I need to know for now,
Smokey," he replied, though he had a nagging
feeling that wasn't true.  But he'd had quite
enough of Sir's manipulations for a while.  Maybe
later, when things had settled down again and Fox's
problems were resolved.  "All I know is I'm now
free to do what I want.  And right now, all I want
is to help you and Dana."

"You realize one day you'll have to deal with this,
don't you?"

"Yeah, but not today.  Okay?"

Fox held out his hand and Sam took it.  "Deal.  Let
me know when you're ready and I'll be here, Sam."

"Hey there," a feminine voice cut in.  "There's
someone right next door who'd love to see you,
Mulder.  If you're up to it, I can find a
wheelchair."

Emma stood in the doorway with a beaming smile. 
Sam felt Fox's smile all the way down to the fierce
grip of his hand.  He had no need to hear Fox say
anything; besides, at the moment his brother had
trouble getting past his excitement, as his words
seemed to catch in his throat.  Sam gave his hand a
pull.

"Just hold on to me, Smokey," he said, his own
smile wide.  "I'll get you there in one piece."

It took less than a second for Fox to spring up
from the bed, despite his battered body.


**********


Sam drifted from the room in embarrassed silence,
lowering his chin.  The reunion of his brother and
Dana was too personal, their murmurs tender and
heartfelt, their embrace that of relief and love. 
Sympathetic, envious tears gathered in his eyes,
something he brushed away with a shaky hand as he
closed the door.  He didn't know if he could ever
have what they had.  It seemed too good to be true,
even as he watched the woman he loved approach with
a smile.  He tried to imagine his worry should he
ever have to comfort a bruised Emma - and found it
too painful to contemplate.

"I'm going to the cafeteria for coffee.  Want
some?"  Emma broke into his thoughts with the soft
query.

A few moments with Emma seemed like heaven, and he
returned her tentative smile.  "Yeah.  I'll come
with you."  With a hand at her back, he steered her
in the direction of the elevator, then paused at
the lonely figure propping up the wall outside
Dana's door.  He eyed Charlie warily, remembering
his near confrontation with the man last night. 
Sam didn't hold Charlie's angry words against him -
after all, he himself had said quite a few in the
heat of the moment.  "Would you like to join us?"

"Thanks, but I'm waiting for someone."  

Charlie's hooded gaze spoke of things more
important than any remaining animosity.  The
calculation there chilled Sam, and he was thankful
it wasn't directed at him.  Charlie was a tense
bundle of anger and energy just waiting to let go
on the real villain of the day - Chang.  Sam
sympathized, wishing he had the resources at his
command Dana's brother had; he too wanted nothing
more than to put the squeeze on the phantom that
haunted Fox and Dana.  Maybe if he had that goal in
sight, he could regain his confident footing.  He
was terrible at sitting idle while others took care
of business.

With a nod, he moved Emma toward the elevator.  The
door opened at the press of the down arrow, and
they were brought up short by the sole occupant.  A
big, imposing man who looked down his nose at
everyone, his bald head shining in the glare of
overhead light.  After a tired moment of confusion,
Sam realized this could be no other but the boss. 
Even in street clothes, he exuded authority through
every steely look and thin-lipped clench of his
jaw.

Charlie stepped to the forefront, saying, "Sam,
this is Mulder's CO, Rear Admiral Skinner."

"Admiral Skinner," he said, extending a hand.  "Sam
Mulder, Fox's brother."

"Mr. Mulder."  Skinner gave his hand a brief shake,
then nodded at Emma.  "Miss Scully.  Nice to see
you again."

"I haven't seen you since Dana and Mulder's first
anniversary party, Admiral," she commented.  "I
trust you've been well?"

"As well as can be.  Wish we didn't have to meet
again under such circumstances."  He looked at the
closed door down the hall.  "How are things this
morning?" 

"Just fine," Emma answered, her smile joyous. 
"They're together in Dana's room.  Are you here to
visit?"

Sam noted the way the two men looked almost bland
and without expression, and knew Skinner had news. 
But Emma, in her fatigue and happiness, was
oblivious to their tense stances and grim looks.

"I'll go in a bit later," Skinner replied.  Sam
noticed the definite softening of his manner as he
addressed Emma.  "Anywhere we can get a cup of
coffee, Miss Scully?"

"We were just going down for some, weren't we Sam? 
I'd be more than happy to bring some back for you
and Charlie."

"Thank you."  It was more a tiny cracking of his
cheeks than a smile.  He looked at Charlie and
added, "Let's find a more private place to wait,
shall we?"  He was already moving away from the
group.

Charlie followed like a jackrabbit, calling out,
"Waiting room is two doors down, sir.  On the
corner."

Sam watched Skinner give the two guards an ominous
look as he casually strolled past them; they
snapped to a ramrod straightness that satisfied
Sam.  Now there was a man who could wither with one
glance.

"Sam?"  Emma gave his arm a slight pull.

He watched the two men disappear into the waiting
room and knew the conversation within was something
he wanted to hear.  He also knew they'd probably
kick his ass right out of the room.  But whatever
they had planned concerned the only family Sam had
left in the world, and he was not about to trust a
government that had already been lax in protecting
that family.  National security be damned.  He was
going in there.

"You go on, sweetheart.  I'll catch up in a
minute."

Her face clouded.  "Sam, don't you go poking your
nose in there."

"I'm not," he lied smoothly, his smile innocent. 
"I just want to check on Fox, see if they need
anything while we're downstairs.  You go on.  I'll
be right behind you."

She narrowed her eyes, but turned to summon the
elevator, her voice tired.  "Okay.  But don't you
disappear on me again.  Or get in trouble."

He touched her forehead with his lips in a brief
caress.  "I told you last night - I'm not going
anywhere.  One of these days, you'll get so tired
of me hanging around you'll throw me out the door
yourself."

Emma leaned into him; not too far, he noticed with
an inner chuckle.  Though exhausted, she still kept
a discreet distance in the public hallway.  "If
that day ever comes, Sam Mulder, I won't bother. 
I'll just get my brothers to do it for me."  With a
warm smile tinged with silent warning, she got into
the elevator.

Sam waited until the doors closed, his smile fading
immediately.  Avoiding the guards in the hallway,
he took a roundabout path to the waiting room,
passing it by to duck into the adjacent corridor.
Just as he figured, there was another door to the
waiting room there, and he slowly cracked it open,
training an ear to the soft conversation within.

"What?  Are you kidding me?"

"Command will only go so far on this, Charlie. 
Until we have more concrete evidence, they're
holding up on the full-scale search of the docks."

"But the car was abandoned there!  And Mulder
swears they were Chinese."

"Did he see faces?"

"I don't know.  I haven't had a chance to question
him at length."

"Don't bother.  Mulder was given a hefty dose of
morphine last night, Charlie.  With his history of
addiction, the brass would never believe anything
he said.  They'd chalk it up to wishful thinking,
an hallucination."

"But he wasn't given the morphine until after they
took him upstairs!"

Sam gritted his teeth, not liking at all the way
things were going down.  It was just like the
military to drag its feet.  Whether it was a pair
of new boots or the summoning of a dragnet, it
still took multiple copies and seven signatures. 
Skinner was a Rear Admiral, but even he had to
answer to many more above him.

"Lately, Mulder's been making noise about things he
shouldn't, Charlie.  Poking his nose where he has
no business."

"Are you saying this is payback?"

Payback?  What the hell had Fox gotten into?  It
didn't matter, as far as Sam was concerned.  They
should take care of their own.

"I'm saying we have to practically have Chang in
our back pocket to get them to believe us right
now.  He's been declared officially dead, you
know."

"They didn't find a body."

"A four hundred foot freighter exploded into
smithereens, Charlie.  They picked up dime sized
pieces of metal a block away.  Everything,
*everything* was obliterated.  You'll never make
them believe anyone could survive that."

"Wait... Dana told me she saw something - a tattoo
of a bird.  A phoenix, specifically.  On the hand
of the guy in the passenger seat.  Sound familiar?"

"Mei Feng.  The name of the vessel Chang used last
time.  Look, Charlie, I agree that something's just
not right about all this.  And I'd lay money on it
Chang has a hand in it.  But the higher-ups just
aren't buying it right now.  At least not until we
have more proof.  The guards will remain at my
discretion until Mulder and Scully are released
from the hospital.  I'll even put a couple of men
on the house; but only for a few days at the most
before anyone catches on.  Other than that, there's
nothing more we can do."

"Nothing official, you mean."

As silence drifted in the room, Sam's estimation of
Charlie soared.  Now *that* was more like it.

"I could get busted to ship's cook for even
listening to this talk, you know."  Though
Skinner's voice held warning, it also held
interest.

In that moment, the stoic man took an exalted seat
right beside Charlie in Sam's mind.

"Cook?  I'll be lucky if I get stuck cleaning
toilets the rest of my life.  And I'm no good at
mopping up piss, sir."

"So..."

"So."  Another silence; one of them shifted, his
shoes scraping the linoleum.  "How are you at
peeling potatoes, sir?"

"Back in '22, I was told I made the meanest hooch
on the base.  Volstead Act, my ass."

Sam couldn't see the smiles, but he heard them. 
For the hundredth time since his return, he counted
his brother a lucky man.

"Well.  *Unofficially*, I'd say we have a lot of
potatoes to peel."

"And a rat to dig out of the sewer."  Skinner
cleared his throat, wiping away all traces of
humor.  "Charlie, I'll do what I can to help, but
you know I can't make a big production out of it."

"Neither can I.  But we have to think of
something," Charlie said.  "We can't just sit
around.  It could be weeks before Chang makes
another move.  The wait won't be good for Dana."

"I agree."  Skinner paused; Sam could feel his mind
working.  "Something has to be done to flush out
Chang."

"A decoy?"

"Possibly.  But we'd have to make it look damned
good.  Chang's not a fool; even the slightest slip-
up and he'd go so deep we'd never find him."

A decoy?  Sam's mind raced at the suggestion. 
Really, it was perfect.  Make it so irresistible to
Chang he'd make a bold, quick move.  And Sam knew
just the person for the job.

"Get me a potato peeler, fellas," he said, swinging
the door open.  "I'm your man."

Twin looks of surprise quickly hardened into anger. 
Skinner found his voice first, drawing his eyebrows
together in a scowl.  "You've got two seconds to
explain, mister."

Sam donned his most charming smile.  "Hate to
remind you, Admiral... but I'm no longer in the
service."

"Sam, this is a matter of national security." 
Charlie spoke in a more civil manner, eyeing
Skinner with trepidation.  

"National security?  Seems to me you two are about
to go rogue.  And I want to be in on it."

"You're treading on dangerous ground, Mr. Mulder,"
Skinner said.  "I could have you arrested for
interfering with a federal investigation."

"And risk getting yourselves implicated?  Not to
mention the chance you'd take on Chang skipping the
country when you tip your hand," he answered,
moving into the room.  "You're discussing my
family's safety.  I want to know what's going on. 
And I want to help."

"We can handle it without your help, thank you very
much," Skinner growled in dismissal, turning back
to Charlie to say, "Let me know -"

"Like you've handled it so far?" Sam butted in with
a flash of anger, insinuating himself into their
plans as well as their cozy sphere as he walked
forward.  "My brother and his wife are lucky to be
alive, no thanks to you, *Admiral*," he sneered. 
"Looks to me like someone dropped the ball on
this."

"I accept full responsibility," Skinner replied,
bristling.  "Just as I promise Chang won't get near
them again, even if I have to watch over them
myself.  Now, if you don't get out of my face, I'll
have you removed.  Is that clear?"

"You and what army?  Those two idiots outside?  Fox
managed to slip past them doped to the gills - what
makes you think they can handle me?"

"Listen, buddy -"

Charlie stepped between them with a stern, "Sir, we
don't have time for this."

Skinner backed off, though he eyed Sam with
disdain.  "You're right.  I believe you have more
access to the right people, Charlie.  I expect to
hear from you before the end of the day."  With
another scathing look at Sam, he added, "If you
breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll see you
doing time in Leavenworth.  Understand?"  He
brushed past Sam with intimidation, leaving the
room.

"Access to the right people?" Sam asked a wilting
Charlie, totally ignoring Skinner's threat.  "What
did he mean?"

Charlie rubbed at his neck with one hand, hanging
his head.  "Sam, I really don't think you want to
get involved in this.  He's not kidding.  He could
have you arrested."

"He's setting up someone to pose as Fox, isn't he?"
Sam pressed.  "Charlie, I can do that."

"What?  You can't be serious."

"Look, when you first saw me last night, you
thought I was Fox, didn't you?"

Charlie flushed, taking a step back from Sam's
fierce stare.  "That's not the point, Sam.  Mulder
would have my ass if I let you in on this.  Not to
mention yours."

"They'll be here and safe, won't they?  He doesn't
have to know, Charlie.  You know I could pass for
Fox any day of the week.  Hell, even the uniform
would fit me!  And I know more about my own brother
and his habits more than anyone."

"Skinner won't go for it."

"Who says he has to know either?  He told you to
find someone, Charlie.  By the time he realizes
it's me - *if* he even finds out - it'll be too
late.  I'll already be in."

"You're not qualified, Sam.  Sorry."  Charlie made
for the door, but Sam stopped him with a hand on
his arm.

"It's not like you can requisition a decoy from the
supply room, Charlie.  All I have to do is look
like Fox, and you know it.  Skinner said it himself
- one little mistake and Chang waits anotther year
to resurface.  Do you really think Fox is going to
sit still for that long?"  Charlie stood in
silence, and Sam pounced on his moment of
hesitation.  "I'm the only one who can pull this
off, Charlie.  You've got to let me try."

Fatigue lined Charlie's face and for a moment, Sam
almost backed down.  The man obviously loved his
sister just as Sam did Fox, and neither of them
wanted the sinister presence of Chang to hang over
their families any longer than necessary.  Which
made Sam's plan more insistent, in his mind.  He
would do whatever had to be done to free them all
of the danger that lurked beyond the hospital
walls.  He counted on Charlie to do the same, and
he didn't hesitate to point it out.

"If it were your brother, you'd do it."

"It's my job," Charlie said, shrugging off the
detaining hand.

"That's bullshit.  You'd do it for Dana in a
heartbeat, job or not."  Again, Charlie paused and
Sam put in a final word.  "I won't get in the way,
Charlie.  Just sit there and look pretty, like a
good little duck."

Charlie finally sighed, and Sam knew he'd won even
before the next word came out of his mouth.  "All
right."  He raised a warning finger.  "Nothing
fancy, though.  Skinner can assign a couple of men
to watch the house, but that's as far as he can go. 
The first sign of Chang, you let them handle it. 
You get yourself in the middle when it goes down
and Mulder will have to get in line behind me to
kick your ass.  Got it?"

"Got it."  Exhilaration soared within him for an
instant, then quickly faded.  "One thing, Charlie."

"Just one?  Haven't you made my life miserable
enough?"

Sam ignored his growl, lowering his voice.  "Don't
tell Emma."

"Tell Emma?" Charlie was incredulous.  "Sam, if you
do this, I can't tell *anyone*.  That's the way it
works.  Me, you, Skinner - we might as well be
invisible for all the help we'll get."  He rolled
his eyes.  "You do understand the only thing
standing between you and Chang are a few men?  Men
who will have to hide, which means they won't
exactly stick to you like glue."

"I understand."  Sam had faith in his ability to
prevail.  He'd never backed down from a fight and
his confidence knew no bounds.  "Just let me know
what I have to do."

Charlie waved a dismissing hand.  "Just stay put
for a few hours while I line things up."

"What's to line up?"  Sam was itching to go; he'd
not felt so ready since the last time he'd jumped
from an airplane.

"For one thing, we have to convince Mulder to cool
his heels for a while."

"No problem.  He can hardly move."

"But he'll want to know what we're doing about all
this."

"Put him off for a few days.  Keep telling him
you're searching the docks.  That should be enough
to satisfy him."

"And you say you know your brother better than
anyone?"

Sam waved off Charlie's scoffing.  "Just do it. 
Dana's in no condition to be going anywhere and he
won't want to leave her, anyway.  We have to get
moving on this Charlie.  The sooner the better."

"Not so fast, Sam.  We have to find someone to play
Dana.  You think Chang would believe Mulder walking
out of here without his wife?"

When hell froze over, Sam thought.  "You've got a
point."

"I'll have to work on that one," Charlie muttered. 
Sam let him have his derision without a word, too
satisfied to bite back.  "Maybe just someone to
ride to the house with you.  We can sneak her out
after a while.  Hell, I'll do it myself if I have
to."

"You?"  Sam laughed, eyeing Charlie's tall form. 
"Hate to break it to you, pal... but you'd never
squeeze into the dress."

"In an ambulance, moron.  Put me on a gurney, cover
me up, and no one will know.  Actually, that's not
a bad idea.  I could stay in the house with you."

Sam gave Charlie's wedding ring a pointed look. 
"And have your wife wondering where you are over
the holidays?"

"You're right."  Charlie scrubbed a hand over his
face.  "I'll think of something.  Don't worry."

"You're my hero, darling Dana," Sam replied with a
silly grin.

"Idiot."  Charlie straightened, his face stern. 
"I'll be in touch.  Try not to look too happy, Sam. 
This won't be easy."

Sam watched Charlie exit through the opposite door,
a broad smile taking shape on his face.  At last,
he had purpose.

"Easy?  God damned duck soup," he murmured with
satisfaction, following Charlie into the hallway.


**********


Duck soup, huh?

Emma fumed, her slight guilt at eavesdropping
vanishing in an instant.  She clutched the tray of
coffee cups with shaking, angry hands, glad she'd
been waved away from the waiting room by the guards
in the hall.  Little did they know there was
another door around the corner.  Little did Charlie
know there were stairs on this side of the floor.

Little did Sam know she wasn't about to let him go
it alone.

She set the tray on the floor and practically flew
down the stairs.  By the time she made it to the
outer door on the first floor, she was face to face
with Charlie.

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyeing her with
suspicion.  She crossed her arms and gave him a
brilliant smile, lifting her chin.

"Charlie," she purred.  "My favorite cousin."

"Oh Christ," he said, backing away slowly.  "Not
you too."

"Don't swear.  And confess, while you're at it."

Charlie paled at the determined gleam in her eye. 
"I don't know what you think you've heard, Emma,
but -"

"Oh, I haven't heard such good stuff since I
listened to you and Darcy Riordan slurp all over
each other in Da's storeroom the night before you
got shipped out.  What did she call you back then?"

"I was drunk and Darcy Riordan attacked me."  Anger
made his cheeks harden.  "No wonder you hooked up
with that jock upstairs.  Get lost, Emma.  And take
your big ears with you."

Emma advanced, grabbing the lapel of his coat to
prevent his retreat.  Nose to nose, she said
softly, "Don't you dare tell me to get lost, or
you'll find yourself eating Christmas dinner in the
doghouse."

"Oh yeah?  How you figure that?  You've got nothing
on me, Pumpkinhead."  He moved past her, sporting a
haughty look reminiscent of their days as children,
when he never failed to torment her.

The pet name - one only Charlie used - infuriated
her to this day.  But it only reinforced her
determination to get what she wanted from her old
nemesis.  The days were gone when he could pull on
her braids and get away with it.

"Of course, I guess with Ellen being so far away at
college and you not *really* being engaged yet...
but then again, you *did* have an understanding of
sorts, and she never did like the way Darcy sniffed
around you all the time.  Still doesn't, to this
day."

"Emma," he growled, clenching his teeth.  "I'm
leaving now."

"I know what you're up to with Sam."

Charlie stopped in mid-stride, turning to look at
her with narrowed eyes.  "You don't know a damned
thing."

"Oh, don't give me that," she said, advancing. 
"Now, do you want to argue out here in the open -
where I can guarantee bigger ears than mine - or
would you rather take this to the lounge?"

"You're interfering with government business,
Emma."

She grabbed his arm, pulling him in the direction
of the doctor's lounge.

"You made it my business ten minutes ago, Charlie. 
Get moving, Fizzle Lips."

He flushed all the way up to his hairline, giving
her a haughty, defensive look.  "She called me
'Sizzle Lips', not 'Fizzle Lips'."

She smiled, sensing victory.

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twenty-Six


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


He couldn't stop holding on to Scully.  She'd
raised an eyebrow at his comment on how beautiful
she was, and he'd laughed, saying they could
compare bruises once they got home.  There was no
talk yet of the accident, or of her miraculous
recovery.  He didn't expect any on the latter,
simply because he'd pulled Emma aside earlier this
morning and asked her not to say anything just yet. 
Scully's doctor had agreed, deeming her peace of
mind tantamount at the moment.  Though he'd been
adamant in prescribing total bed rest for the
duration, something Scully had bristled at.  But
she'd not protested verbally, knowing she'd escaped
with a warning this time.  There weren't that many
weeks left to go, anyway.  And it looked like they
were going to be spending them under guard, so what
more could she say?

"I'm glad you're in here with me now."

Okay, out of all the things she could say, that
little sentence ranked right up there at the top. 
Especially delivered in that husky murmur designed
for stealth in light of their visitors.

"So am I," Mulder replied as he leaned in, equally
as covert in his tone.  It didn't do much good, as
he heard a small huff from beyond the end of the
bed.

"Uh, Fox?"

Mulder looked up with a grin at Sam, who shifted on
his feet.  "Yeah?"

"Just wanted to tell you before I go that I'm gonna
be out of town the next few days."

"Oh really?"  From the opposite side of the bed,
Emma stood with crossed arms, her face as bland as
a bowl of oatmeal.  Mulder winced, feeling the
undercurrents in the room.  He glanced at Scully,
who confirmed the tension with a knowing lift of
her brow.

"Yes, really," Sam answered, shoving his hands in
his pockets.  "I'm leaving on the nine o'clock
train.  Which reminds me, I've got to get going if
I wanna have time to pick up my bag at the hotel."

"Have a good trip."

It was fascinating to watch, Mulder thought.  The
subtle play between his brother and Scully's cousin
brought back memories of his own courtship with his
wife.  It was nice for a change to be observing and
not participating.  He brought Scully's hand to his
lips and leaned back in his chair with a sidelong
glance at his beloved.  She wore the same pleased
grin.  The scene before them sure beat the tapioca
pudding they'd had for supper.

"Aren't you curious where I'm going?"  Sam was
nervous, Mulder could tell.  But it wasn't a
fearful nervous - just a typical 'facing the Scully
woman' nervous.

"Not especially.  I'm going to be out and about
myself."

"Oh yeah?  Doing what?"  Now Sam was more than
nervous.  He was jealous.  Mulder heard Scully
suppress a snicker and he squeezed her hand,
wanting to hear the rest.

"Just visiting Aunt Olive.  You remember her, don't
you Dana?"  Cool blue eyes glanced at Scully, who
didn't have a chance to reply before Emma turned
back to Sam.  "Poor thing is all alone for the
holidays this year.  So I arranged for a few days
off - I understand there's a lovely man just moved
in next door.  One of Baltimore's premier
attorneys.  Aunt Olive is quite the matchmaker."

A slow tide of red crept up Sam's cheeks.  "And
your father knows you're going?" he ground out
through clenched teeth.

"Of course.  I told him I'd try to be back for
midnight mass Wednesday, but you know how that
goes."

"No, how does it go?"

Sensing a volcanic eruption on the horizon, Mulder
cleared his throat.  "So, Sam - where exactly are
you going?"

His brother spared him a quick glance.  "To New
York to see my manager."  Hands on hips, he turned
back to Emma.  "Guess I'll have to spend Christmas
up there, won't I?"

"Well, if you make it back in time, Da always makes
extra at the pub.  It's closed except to family
that day.  We could make an exception in your case,
I suppose."

"Gee, thanks."

As if the previous minute had never taken place,
Emma breezed up to the bed, giving Scully a peck on
the cheek.  "You two do what the doctors say, okay? 
I'll see you at Christmas.  Gotta run."

"Emma -"

"Catch you later, Sam.  Have fun."  She was out the
door before anyone could blink.

Sam looked as if he wanted to run after her.  He
took a step toward the door before pulling up
short, indecision making him bite his lip.  After a
broad sigh, he turned back.

"Well, gotta make that train, Smokey.  I'll call
now and then to check up on things, okay?"

"Sure..." Mulder began, then found himself talking
to no one, as Sam made a beeline through the open
door, closing it behind him with an almost slam.

"What was that all about?" Scully breathed, taking
his attention from the door.

"Beats me.  I thought those two were..."

"So did I," she said, as confused as he was.  A
sudden thought made her jaw drop.  "You don't think
they're planning to meet, do you?  For...."

"For what?"

Scully pinched his hand.  "For... you know.  Like
we did once upon a time.  Belmont Hotel?  Me
supposedly staying with Ellen..."

"Oh, yeah."  Mulder's smile faded.  "Of course, we
all know what interrupted that little tryst."

"Chang."  Scully nudged him with reassurance.  "I
don't think we have to worry about that in their
case, Mulder.  He's after us, not them."

"True."  Not wanting to mar the good mood with talk
of Chang - especially since Charlie assured them
earlier in the day they were in hot pursuit of the
man - Mulder eased up from his chair and said,
"Scoot over."

"What?"

"Scoot over, Scully.  I feel like lying next to my
wife."  He flicked off the lamp beside the bed and
gingerly wrapped his body around hers.

In the dark, he felt her chuckle.  "It's too early
yet to sleep, Mulder."

"Who said anything about sleeping?"

She tasted like tapioca.  Funny, but he'd always
hated it as a kid.  Now he couldn't get enough.


**********


As expected, he caught up with her before she made
the elevator.

"What was that all about?" he whispered, taking
firm hold of her elbow.

Emma schooled her face into a polite mask.  "I
could ask the same of you.  New York?  Since when?"

"Since this afternoon.  My manager left a message
at the hotel; he wants me there tomorrow morning. 
I told you last week I wanted to get back into
baseball, Emma."

He was very smooth, she had to give him that.  If
she hadn't overhead his conversation with Charlie
that morning, she'd fall for his line in a thrice. 
Charlie had tried his best to bluff his way through
it as well, but she was too smart for them both. 
She knew very well what they'd spoken of when
Charlie visited earlier in the afternoon.  Some CIA
man, she mused.  Anyone could see he'd taken Sam
aside to give him the particulars of their
'operation'.  Their unofficial operation,
undertaken without approval from anyone in the
know.  Of course, she'd immediately taken Charlie
aside to confirm her part - on pain of swift
reprisal should he dare to refuse her again.

"So you did," she said softly, listening to the hum
of the approaching elevator.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aunt Olive?" he prompted.

"I'm not allowed to visit an elderly woman whose
only child has to work this Christmas?"

"You could have told me."

"You could have told *me* you were leaving, Sam." 
She tamped down her anger for a better, more
private moment.  One she was certain would arrive
shortly, if things went as planned.  Softening her
voice she said with a smile, "Don't worry.  I'll be
back Christmas Eve.  Will you?  Da's expecting you
at the pub Christmas Day."

Sam's eyes skittered away for a second.  "Sure. 
Unless something comes up.  You know how that
goes."

She gave him back his words of before, with less
bite but no less meaning.  "No I don't.  How *does*
it go, Sam?"

The cad.  The foolish, overconfident slimeball. 
How dare he put his neck out like this?

He finally looked at her again, searching her face
with curiosity.  She let a brief wave of animosity
bleed through and was gratified to see him waver,
his fingers clutching her arm as if he never wanted
to let her go.  "Emma..."

Thankfully, the ding of the elevator interrupted
whatever he was going to say.  She gently pulled
her arm from his grasp and pasted a carefree smile
on her face.  "I'd kiss you goodbye," she murmured,
"if we were alone.  Too bad there's no mistletoe
around, then we'd be set.  Guess we'll have to save
it for later, won't we?"

"Emma, wait -"

But she was already in the elevator.  He watched it
close on her smile, wishing he could tell her the
truth.  Then again, it was best she didn't know. 

God, he was going to miss her.


**********


"Frohike's got his people working night and day,
going through recent arrivals up and down the
Severn.  He's even got his security service
searching the docks.  With as little noise as
possible, naturally.  We should have something in a
day or so."

"Frohike?  Melvin Frohike, the little man with the
gnome face?"

"Hey - that little man with the gnome face is worth
millions, and don't you forget it."  Charlie gave
him a glare.  "You could do worse than to take him
up on his offer of a job, Sam."

"Maybe I would.  If I hadn't gotten a call from my
manager today."  Sam shrugged on the dress blue
suit coat, fingering the gold stripes with a soft
whistle.  The fancy threads were a bit tight in the
shoulders, but they would do.  He buttoned it,
squirming against the itchy wool of Fox's uniform. 
He'd forgotten how heavy military attire was; maybe
it was just the weight of the captain's insignia on
his lapel.  Authority never sat comfortably with
him, especially with such obvious demand.  He was
certainly no longer footloose and fancy free, and
he damn well better start acting like it.  This was
his chance to prove to the world he'd changed.  He
wasn't going to screw it up.  No way.

"Oh, nice cover, by the way.  Very convenient."

"Yeah, especially since it's true."  Shocked the
hell out of him to find the message at the hotel
when he'd returned to check out.  Maybe his life
was finally turning around.

"Really?"  Charlie looked impressed.

"Really.  I told him I'd be up there after the
first of the year.  He thinks he can at least get
me a solid spot on a Yankees farm team, with the
possibility to move up to the majors in less than a
year."

Holding out a hand, Charlie smiled, looking him up
and down.  "Congratulations."

Sam gave him a sheepish grin, accepting the
handshake.  "With any luck, I can keep Emma in
style."

Charlie's smile faded and he turned, peeking out
the men's restroom door.  "Looks quiet out there. 
I'd prefer more activity, to tell the truth."  He
looked over his shoulder at Sam.  "We're all set
then?"

Sam pulled his officer's hat low over his eyes.  As
a precaution, he hadn't shaved, and the resulting
stubble gave his face a good shadow covering.  He
looked in the mirror, and was struck by just how
much he favored his brother.  The plan was looking
more and more workable; so far, no big glitches. 
Dana and Fox were resting peacefully on the third
floor, their beds now in a common room.  The guards
were still there, but now clothed in civvie gear
and told to keep a low profile.  

On instructions from Charlie and Skinner, the
doctors had insisted Fox and Dana stay in the
hospital for a while.  Fox had surprised them all
by agreeing, but Sam knew that wouldn't last.  A
few days in confinement, and his brother would be
itching to leave. 

He'd hated to have to tell them a lie about his
whereabouts the next few days, and thankfully it
would eventually become truth.  What galled him
more was Emma's nonchalance about the whole thing. 
He envisioned her pleasant surprise when he stood
before her with a baseball contract in one hand and
an engagement ring in the other.  That would knock
her down a peg or two.

Aunt Olive, indeed.  She was no more going to visit
an elderly relative than he was.  What was she up
to?  When they married, she'd have to learn who was
boss.

"Sam?"

He snapped to attention, reaching for the overcoat. 
He pushed one arm through, then the other, the
final adjustments taking only moments.  "How do I
look?"

Charlie eyed him from head to toe.  "You'll do. 
The darkness outside should help."  His offhand
remark was anything but critical; Sam could see his
own resemblance to Fox reflected in Charlie's
pleased eyes.

"I'm all set.  Just tell me where to go."

"My guess is Chang has someone watching the
hospital.  Soon as they see you leave, they'll
follow.  Might take a couple of days before they
feel comfortable enough to make a move.  You sure
you know how to use that gun?"

It felt bulky, strapped as it was to his belt, but
somehow reassuring.  "Top of my unit in
marksmanship, Charlie.  I told you that already."

"Well, let's hope you're not put to the test. 
Besides, I think we'll catch up to Chang before
then.  I feel it in my gut."

Sam chuckled, his worries about Emma forgotten as
he approached the door where he'd walk out as his
brother.  "All I feel in my gut is butterflies."

"You don't have to do this, Sam.  In fact, I'd feel
better if we just got a man down here from
Headquarters." 

"Thought you said you were terrible at mopping up
piss?"

"I can live with it if I have to."  He held on to
the doorknob with hesitance, but Sam took the
initiative, knocking his hand away.

"Forget it.  I'm ready."  He boldly presented
himself to the world before Charlie's attack of
conscience put an end to it all.

Charlie walked beside Sam, constantly surveying the
halls to the exit.  "We just have to get you both
to the car outside the ER.  Then it's on to the
house." 

Charlie paused a few feet from the outer door,
lowering his voice as he nodded at a woman waiting
just inside and off to the right.  She sat primly
in a wheelchair, her face obscured by a veiled hat
and several strategically placed bandages.  "Your
'wife'."

"So, who'd you get?"

"No one you know.  No one anyone knows or will
miss, which serves our purpose."  An amused gleam
took light in Charlie's eyes, and he lowered his
voice to a whisper.  "Very discreet escort
service."

Astonishment laced Sam's voice.  "A pro skirt?"

"She isn't curious and will do just fine for a few
hours, until we can sneak her out of the house."

"How did you explain the pregnancy?  And the
wheelchair?"

"I didn't.  Punkin doesn't ask questions in her
line of work."

Almost incredulous, he turned to really look at the
woman.  She was padded to look pregnant and her
face was carefully hidden beneath the veiled hat. 
She had red hair, though, and was of a similar
build to Dana.  "Punkin?  You got a whore named
Punkin to play Dana?"

Charlie snorted, clearing his throat.  "Uh... yeah. 
Helluva name, isn't it?  She thinks you're nuts,
actually."  He wound a finger around the side of
his head, his eyes twinkling.  "Old war injury. 
Shell shock, to be exact."

"Lovely," Sam muttered, seeing this was one aspect
of the operation Charlie enjoyed way too much.  "I
don't have time to fight off this woman, Charlie."

"She won't talk, Sam - that's the most important
thing.  I don't care if you two sit and stare at
each other for two hours.  She won't attack you. 
Unless you ask, of course."

Sam rolled his eyes, words of protest gathering on
his tongue.  But Charlie stepped between him and
the door, blocking the woman from view.  "Listen
up, because time is short.  We want Chang to think
you're both okay, but confined to the house.  You
remember what I told you this afternoon?"

"Stay away from the windows.  Don't go out unless
it's an emergency.  Your men will work in shifts
parked in the street.  As soon as you have Chang in
custody, you'll be in touch.  Or when he comes for
me, whichever comes first."

"Right.  If you need anything, just radio the men
outside or call the police.  We can't put more than
two, sorry.  Too many and Chang will know
something's up.  As it stands now, we're spreading
the word it was just a drunk driver."  Charlie
sneered.  "Of course, not having your own
department back up your suspicions helps."

"You'll get what you need, Charlie.  I'll see to
it."

"Just don't be stupid.  A cool head is worth more
than two fists."

"You sound just like Mike," Sam chuckled.

"He's smarter than me and you, that's for sure. 
You'd be wise to remember a few of his sayings when
you feel like going off half-cocked."

<Be diligent, lad.>

Mike's words echoed in his head, reinforcing his
determination to end this once and for all.

"That's our car?" Sam nodded at an idling vehicle
parked at the curb.

"It's all yours.  You'll be followed home,
naturally.  The darkness should give you enough
cover to be convincing.  Just don't linger.  Go
straight to the house."

"Will do.  You just find that bastard, Charlie."

"Won't be long.  Good luck, Sam."  Charlie took his
hand.  "Don't fuck this up."

"Another Mike saying?"

"That one's all mine.  Remember it."  They were now
within earshot of the woman, and Charlie smiled
down at her.  "How's it going, toots?  You treat my
boy good, you hear?  Do whatever he wants, baby."

The woman in the chair seemed to bristle at the
comment, though she said nothing.  Sam felt a blush
stain his cheeks; though she was a prostitute, he
had no right to embarrass her that way.

Charlie, damn him, looked like he was having too
much fun at her expense.  He leaned down to address
her as a starched nurse walked toward them, tucking
a twenty dollar bill down the modest neckline of
her dress.  "A little something extra, doll.  He
has a thing for spanking."

The woman reacted to Charlie's smarmy attitude and
smart mouth, becoming board stiff in the chair. 
Sam sent him a dark look of warning, wondering how
the hell this man could joke about any of this. 
But he was oblivious, standing there with an impish
grin, his hands spread as if he didn't know what
he'd done.

"What?"

<Spanking?> Sam mouthed, his eyes wide as he looked
at Charlie over her head.

"Trust me," Charlie answered, waving them away.

Sam ignored him, touching the woman's arm with a
gentle, "Ready?"

Now upon them, the nurse took hold of the
wheelchair and answered briskly, "Every patient is
ready to leave the hospital, Captain.  Isn't that
right, Mrs. Mulder?"

A slow nod was her only answer.  Sam wasn't put off
by the non-response, figuring it was best the woman
didn't speak if she didn't sound enough like Dana. 
He had no problem with speaking; besides looking
like Fox, people had often mistaken them over the
telephone, their voices were so similar.

"Let's go, then."  With a nod at the still smiling
Charlie, he opened the outer door to let the ladies
through.

The cold night air hit his face with a slap,
putting him on immediate alert.  He kept his chin
down, but remained very aware of the comings and
goings in the busy parking lot.  He'd been very
good at picking up outside curve balls, and this
was no different.  In fact, it was much easier. 
The passersby didn't move at ninety miles an hour.

Duck soup.

"Mrs. Mulder should sit in the back for the ride
home, Captain.  And no more automobile rides for
the duration."

"Of course," Sam replied, opening up the back
passenger door.  Like a good husband, he reached
for his wife to help her in the vehicle.  "Here we
go, sweetheart."  Oh, he was good at spousal
concern and affection.  He'd have to remember all
this when he married Emma.

"Thank you, sweetie," she barely whispered,
complying without hesitation, which was good.  The
more familiar they were with each other in public,
the more convincing they'd be to the right - or in
this case, wrong - people.

She was a bit on the light side, even in light of
the enormous pillow she'd strapped to her body.  He
could feel its bindings around her back and he took
it easy, not wanting to pinch her skin as he
cradled her close.  A sudden whiff of womanly scent
made him curl his fingers into the straps.  She
hissed a bit and he relented, though he couldn't
help but wonder why the reaction on his part.  Then
it occurred to him.

Geez.  He really had it bad when he started
thinking of Emma when he got close to another
woman.  Of course, sex was this woman's profession. 
She was clean and smelled nice, something that
surprised him.  Though illegal, paying for
companionship in the nation's capital had always
been a thriving business.  From what he remembered,
there were some pretty high-class escort services
in DC.  Places to buy a woman of education and
class; she wasn't an ordinary streetwalker, that
much was obvious.

Her curves were slender yet plump beneath her coat
and he nearly groaned with sudden longing, feeling
her fingers curl into the hair at his nape.  She
leaned into him with a sigh, one that brushed his
chin with warm invitation.

No such luck Charlie had explained she was merely
to keep him company for a few hours.  Sam vowed to
set her straight the instant they were safely
inside the house.  With a few stern words, he would
make it clear any advance on her part would be most
unwelcome.  He didn't care if she thought him an
impotent lunatic with a fetish for simply looking
at pregnant women;  her job was to fulfill any
fantasy, whether or not it involved sex.

Her nails gently scraped his neck with reluctance
when she let him go to settle into the seat.  

Damn it.  This he didn't need.  He let the shiver
along his skin fade and thought of the one woman
who shined like a guiding star in his mind.

He should have told Emma where he was going.  He'd
had enough of lying, especially to her.  Knowing
she was miles away now on the road to Baltimore
made him ache.  Finally, he had the mock Dana in
the car, though it was with some effort he
disentangled himself from her hold.  With a nod to
the nurse, he slid behind the wheel.

"Comfortable?" he asked over his shoulder.

A soft 'hmm' was his only answer.  Even that made
him groan, as it sounded so much like a purr he'd
heard only last night in Emma's arms.

He practically raced to the Mulder house, keeping
his mouth shut and one eye on the following
vehicle.  The faster they got home, the sooner he
could rid himself of his unnatural attraction to a
total stranger by shuffling her quickly off in a
back alley cab.

Fat chance.  Unless she had a beak of a nose and
rotted teeth, she was bound to remind him of Emma. 
He'd just have to avoid her at all costs.  It was
only because she'd made the first move that he'd
reacted, plain and simple.

Steeling his spine, he pulled into the drive.  He
could do this.  It was the perfect test of his
fidelity to one woman.  If he couldn't last a few
hours, then it was no use thinking he'd make it a
lifetime without straying from Emma.

Would every woman affect him like this from now on? 
No - he'd already been hit on by all manner of
beautiful women at the pub, but they left him all
cold.  Just one glance at Emma and his temperature
skyrocketed.  It was now her or no one, and he knew
it.

As he quickly ushered them inside and locked the
door, he didn't even take the time to turn on the
light before he said, "Listen, Punkin... we've got
to set a few things straight -"

And suddenly found himself attacked.

Her arms were around his neck and her lips hungrily
latched on to his neck.  His body, stunned into
immobility, bended under the advance and he slammed
into the door behind him, his palms reaching out to
steady himself.

It was with some effort he managed to break free. 
"Wait just a damned minute," he said between her
pressing kisses.

"You're a cutie," she rasped against his mouth. 
The netting of her veil tickled his cheeks and he
moaned, trying hard not to give in.  "Charlie said
I'd like the job, and I do.  So kiss me, Loverboy."

"No!"  Sam finally got her away from him and put
some distance between himself and her by shoving
her at arms length.  "Miss, I think there's been a
mistake."

"But why let good mistletoe go to waste?"  His
companion pointed to a spot above their heads with
a grin barely visible in the dimness.

"Would you stop?  I'm not... there's someone..."

"I've heard all about you, you know."  She sounded
like a cross between a tigress and a kitten - all
soft and whispery, yet seductive.  "You have a
thing for the ladies."  One hand snaked up his
lapel.  "Now I can see why."

Charlie had told her who he was?  That idiot!  "I'm
practically engaged, for Christ's sake!"

"Practically?  Either way it doesn't matter,
sugar."

"It matters to me."

A slim hand pressed low between their bodies.  "Not
bad," she mused, giving him a slow stroke. "Is that
a gun in your pocket or are you happy to see me?"

To his utter humiliation, he felt himself begin to
harden and knew things had just gone too far.

"Okay, that's it."  Sam shook her off and found the
telephone in the hall.  Charlie should have looked
more closely into the woman he'd picked for the
job, and he was about to get an earful.  "You're
outta here, lady.  'Mrs. Mulder' has suddenly had a
relapse and must be sent back to the hospital."

"But what about Chang?"

First, she knew who he was.  Now she knew about
Chang?

He stilled, reaching for the gun.  In an instant,
he had her in his sights, saying, "Get your hands
up, doll."

Fright made her step back, her hands fluttering up. 
Crystal clear now, her voice lost all huskiness as
her shout rang out.  "Sam, no!"

Sam dropped the gun with a shudder of disbelief. 
No.  She wouldn't.  She couldn't.  She didn't!

He slapped at the light switch before turning to
face her sheepish smile.  The hat was gone, and the
bandages came off one at a time, revealing a face
he figured he'd not see again in a few days.  One
that was supposed to be headed to Baltimore.

A shaky smile burst forth from her before he could
snap from his stupor.

"Guess that really was a gun in your pocket."

"Yeah," he growled, plunging them in darkness again
as he clamped a hand around her wrist to pull her
away from the door.  "Just like it seems I have a
thing for spanking after all, Emma."

An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Twenty-Seven


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Spanking?

"You wouldn't," she gasped as she stumbled against
his hold, her chest meeting the solid bulk of his.

"Wouldn't I?" His face in the semi-darkness was
forbidding, his clasp unbreakable.  "Seems to me
somebody should have taken a switch to you long
ago."

Emma gulped, her voice unwillingly feeble as she
looked up into his narrow-eyed fury.  "Da would
never lay a finger on me."

"Something tells me he might want to when he finds
out about this."  One hand reached around the door
frame to feel for the living room; he never
loosened his hold on her, as if he expected her to
barricade herself in the bedroom the second he let
her go.

A passing car illuminated the room briefly.  In the
washed-out white of eerie, momentary lighting he
looked more daunting than ever, scanning her form
with sheer fury.  The light faded just as quickly
as it had come, Sam finally letting her go as he
gave the gun in his hand a startled look.  He
walked to the living room, carefully laying it down
on the coffee table.  Hands resting on the mantel,
he took a deep breath, then another.

Emma breathed easier herself, the dangerous weapon
at last out of his hand.

"Sam -"

"Just don't say a word, Emma.  Give me a minute."

Emma knew better than to argue; he was fighting
hard for control of his anger.  She wouldn't wait
forever, though.  This high-handed attitude of his
was insulting.  Yes, she'd put herself in Dana's
place.  Yes, she knew he wouldn't like it.  But
neither did she like the fact he'd done basically
the same without consulting her.

The road went both ways.  It was time he realized
that and acted accordingly.

His overcoat and hat came off, flung to the couch
with fisted hands.  Back still to her, he said
softly, "Maybe I ought to spank you.  God knows you
need it."

"You lay one hand on me Sam Mulder, and I'll -"

"You'll what?" He faced her, his voice shaking with
rage.  "Scream for your father?  Your brothers?  In
case you hadn't noticed, Emma, we're all alone. 
Alone and very vulnerable."

"But you have the radio, don't you?" she offered in
a hopeful voice.

"God damn it, aren't you listening to me?"

She carefully took a step forward with a tenuous
calm.  "There's no need to..." Her admonishment of
his swearing died a swift, cowardly death at the
stormy glare he bestowed upon her.  Straightening
her coat, she lifted her chin and finished, "...get
all huffy.  Charlie needed someone to be Dana, and
I volunteered."

"Volunteered?"  Disbelief made him sneer.  "That's
bullshit.  Charlie wouldn't have let you near Chang
unless you twisted his arm some way."

Her silence gave her away, as did the telltale
flush of her cheeks.

Sam closed in on her, narrowing his gaze.  "What
did you do to him, Emma?"

"Do?  Nothing.  He humiliated me, in case you
hadn't noticed.  He told you I was a - a woman of
easy virtue!" she sputtered, still miffed at the
fun he'd had at her expense.  Revenge would be
sweet, but for now it rankled as she pictured
Charlie driving home in gales of laughter.

"You didn't have any trouble acting the part, now
did you?"

Blanching, she took a step back.  "I can't believe
you said that."

He had the grace to look ashamed.  "I'm sorry." 
His apology lasted but an instant, as his face
hardened once again.  His feet couldn't stay still,
as he threatened to wear a hole in the rug.  "Damn
it, Emma!  Why'd you do this?"

Did he not see that she worried about him?  That
her whole world depended on knowing he was safe? 
Unless he cared so little for himself, and in turn,
her, that he threw caution to the wind at will.

"Why did *you* do this, Sam?" she countered,
searching his stony face for any sign of
understanding.  "When you knew I wouldn't be happy
about it, you did it anyway."

"I did it because I was the logical choice, Emma."

"Charlie could have gotten anyone to throw on a
uniform and hat.  He has people trained for this
sort of stuff.  I don't understand why it had to be
you."

"It doesn't matter.  It *is* me, and that's final."

Agitation cloaked him as he moved before her; he
never was all that easy to read, and it seemed
she'd hit a sore spot with her questioning.  She'd
never seen Sam truly angry, and she amended her
earlier thoughts - anger wasn't motivating this
response now.

"It matters to me, Sam."

"What matters more is why you followed me, Emma." 
He stopped before her, looking her up and down with
anxious concern.  "This was stupid.  Really
stupid."

Crossing her arms defensively, she stared right
back.  "No more than what you did, in my opinion."

The impasse lasted for several long seconds, her
defiance matching his in breadth and strength.  She
wasn't backing down; the whole point of the
exercise was to make him think before he acted.  If
they had any chance at a future together, he had to
learn to quit acting the rogue.

Sam was the first to break the standoff, as he
pulled her into the living room, his free hand
reaching into his pocket. "This is useless," he
muttered, leaving her behind as he fumbled in his
pocket.  A shadow in his palm alerted her to his
plan before he even began speaking into it.

The radio!  No, she couldn't let him call the men
outside.  "Sam, you can't call them so soon.  What
if Chang's men are watching?"

"Like I said, Mrs. Mulder has suffered a relapse
and must return to the hospital immediately," he
growled, cursing under his breath at the lack of
light.  He fumbled with a switch on the side, his
face relaxing a bit with satisfaction as he found
the power button.  Emma took one last bold chance
at stalling him, raising her voice.

"Would you have them think Dana's returned to such
a vulnerable place?  And that Fox is staying here?"

Fox would never leave his wife alone anywhere after
the events of the past few days, and Sam knew it
just as she did.  His call would be too precipitous
and risky.  The radio was supposed to be used only
in emergencies.  Any superfluous outside contact
with Charlie's men presented the opportunity for
discovery.

"Would Fox leave her alone for even a moment,
especially in her condition?  Think, Sam."  She
pressed on, moving closer.  "If I go now, anyone
watching will never believe it."

Emma saw the moment her words sank in.  Sam
practically threw the radio onto the couch with a
vehement, hissing "shit" and reached for the lamp.


**********


It was a fairly decent night, the first in several
days it hadn't rained or been miserably cold.  But
the stillness allowed the lingering damp to seep
under his coat, and he hated it.  Ellen wanted snow
for Christmas; he just agreed with a smile, even
though he wasn't a winter person.  Those war years
spent in Hawaii had thinned his blood and taken the
Chesapeake grit right out of his bones.  He
suppressed a shiver as he set the brake and threw
open the door.  Almost balmy compare to recent
days, but not warm enough for Charlie Scully, who
wished for a tropical sun.

A Washington assignment.  Right up the ladder of
government success.  Close to family and friends. 
Keep telling yourself that, Charles Andrew, he
mused with a grimace.

The leftover runoff squished into his shoes as he
stepped right into a puddle.  He cursed, slamming
his car door shut to run to the sedan parked ahead. 
As he slipped into the passenger seat, he didn't
bother with a traditional greeting.
  
"Turn the heat on," he muttered to the man keeping
watch.  The smell of strong brew reached his nose. 
"And give me some of that coffee."

"I didn't hear a 'please', Charlie."  Smooth as
silk, the voice hidden behind the upturned collar
of the coat added, "What would the missus say?"

Charlie bit back a retort, forcing himself to
answer politely.  "Please."

"That's better."  A gloved hand passed the thermos;
Charlie shivered anew under the quick, steely
glance.  Those eyes were almost lost under the brim
of a black hat, but they still captured every ounce
of movement in the immediate surroundings, gleaming
like twin circles of mercury.  Liquid and yet cold,
eerie in their near unholy concentration on the
street.  It was as if they walked an imaginary
perimeter around Mulder's house, slowly shifting
back and forth. "Don't stay long, understand?"

"I know.  I just wanted to check in before I went
home.  You should have let me find you a partner -"

"Don't need one."

"But this could get lengthy.  Chang's not one to
rush into things."

"I've pulled seventy-two hours straight before, in
much worse circumstances, Charlie.  Drop it."  A
subtle shift in tone made a shiver skip across
Charlie's skin.  "Besides, something tells me Chang
won't wait quite as long as you think."

"How do you know?"  He hated to be unprepared for
anything.  Intelligence and experience had shown
him Chang was a very patient adversary.  But
instinct counted for a helluva lot in their line of
work, and he couldn't discount gut feelings.

"Because he's tried once already.  Even if you've
come up with a plausible cover story for the
accident, Chang knows *you* know differently,
Charlie.  He can't take the chance you don't.  In
his world, he has to plan for every eventuality. 
Which means he knows Dana saw the man in the car. 
He has to strike again before you catch up with
him.  My gut says he won't wait too long, believe
me."

The man beside him was seasoned and hard bitten. 
Older than Charlie by not so many years, he was
much more ancient in experience.  This was a man
Charlie had followed into service - if Skinner
thought Mulder an ideal operative, then this man
was an undercover god.  His own family had no idea
what he did for the government.  On the chance he
might be nearby, Charlie had pooled his resources
and called him in.  It was a stroke of luck to have
him so close and available.  It hadn't taken but a
brief explanation to have him volunteer.  Charlie
couldn't have asked for a better addition to the
operation, or for a more interested party to their
family troubles.

Hell, Dan was kin, even though he didn't recognize
the bond.  Not for lack of trying on the Scullys'
part; the deliberate distance was one-sided,
something Charlie and his relatives accepted but
hoped one day would change.  None of that mattered,
however.  Dan understood what they all did - they
stood by their own.  Especially in times of need.

And if Dan said Chang wouldn't wait, Charlie
believed him.  He forced his nerves to settle down,
trying to emulate the master.

"Notice anything unusual?" he asked, rolling the
thermos between his cold hands.  He noticed the
attached cup hadn't been used; it probably wouldn't
be.  Dan needed no stimulant to keep him alert.

"Not much," came the short reply.  Then, "Other
than the same car has circled the block three times
already."  His nod was barely imperceptible.

Charlie followed the hint with his gaze, swallowing
hard.  A dark blue Ford crept past them to turn the
corner and he caught his breath.  How had he missed
that?  Then - what the hell had he been thinking? 
Despite his own confidence in his abilities, and
especially those of the man sitting beside him,
he'd just proven how unobservant he could be when
it mattered most.

He swore as he felt the sting of spilled coffee. 
Brushing off his pants, he set the overflowing cup
on the dash.  "Anybody we know?"

The only sign of rising anxiety from the man behind
the wheel was a slow slide of his hand toward the
gun on the seat.  His face betrayed nothing.  But
his eyes darted to the rearview mirror as the
Ford's lights came up behind them once again.

"Can't tell.  Heavy coat, dark hat.  Definitely
male, though."  A blast of cold air hit the
interior as the driver's door swung open.  "Stay
here."

"Wait!"  Though he wasn't an old hand at danger
like this man was, Charlie couldn't let him
confront the guy alone.  By the time he'd juggled
the thermos to the floor and gotten his own door
open, the Ford was idling beside them.  He picked
his head up, his muscles locking with temporary
fear.

A snap of light from the Mulder house caught his
eye; had Sam noticed the commotion outside?  Would
they come running?  The thought had him moving from
his frozen crouch between the door and the
passenger seat.  All hell was about to break loose.

"Shit," Charlie muttered, his fingers clenching
over the gun in his belt.  He hoped Sam had the
good sense to stay inside.


**********


For long, tense minutes, Sam prowled the house as
Emma sat in a defiant ball on Mulder's overstuffed
chair.  Her feet barely touched the floor and she
gripped the arms in an effort to keep from sinking
into its depths.  It was bad enough Sam felt she
didn't belong here; the way the chair dwarfed her
slight form would surely reinforce his perception
of her as immature and incompetent.

But when one was ordered by a furious Sam to 'sit
and don't move a hair', it was wise to cooperate. 
For the moment.  She was only biding her time,
summoning her own inner resources for the argument
to come.  Over and over she told herself that, as
she listened to Sam stomp around.

She wasn't frightened; the fluttering in her
stomach was simply an attack of nerves.  Sam would
try his best to intimidate her, but he'd never hurt
her.  Once he listened to reason, he'd see her
actions were for the best.  No sense in tempting
discovery by bringing in too many unknowns on
Charlie's operation.  Even her stubborn cousin
hadn't taken all that long to convince - with or
without her bit of blackmail.  Charlie had the good
sense to realize she was the perfect replacement
for Dana.  What could a few hours posing and
posturing as Chang's target hurt?  Putting Sam in
as Mulder was no different, in her opinion.  He was
kin, he was vulnerable, he was no more trained in
espionage than she was - she'd bet her bottom
dollar Mulder would hit the ceiling if he knew Sam
had exposed himself this way to Chang's vengeance.

Nope, no difference.  She sat up straighter, her
ears picking up Sam's descent down the stairs.

She curled her fingers together to stop their
slight tremor, then reached up to unpin the overly
large hat.  But the veil proved troublesome,
snagging on the pins.  Emma let out a peeved breath
and kept fighting the thing.

"Leave it on."  Sam's grinding words sailed by her
head; she glared at him as he flopped into a chair
across the room, his own hat flying to the coffee
table.  He pinched his face right back at her, his
next statement no less unbending.  "You're not
moving from that chair until Charlie comes to get
you."

Her lips pursed over the bubbling tirade.  Sam was
spoiling for a fight and she wouldn't give him the
satisfaction.  "What if I need the bathroom?"

"Hold it."

"What if the house falls down around my ears?"

"Too bad."

Tired of being treated like a child, she snapped,
"What if Chang marches through that door?"

He shifted and she gasped at the sight of gunmetal
gray.  The weapon fit his hand like it was born to
be there; he cradled it in his lap with a grim
smile.  "Don't get in the way."  Tilting his head
to one side, his smile became almost deadly in its
coldness.  "Oh, wait a minute - you've already done
that, haven't you?"

"Sam -"

"Just what am I supposed to do if Chang *does* pay
us a visit, huh Emma?"  She'd opened the flood
gates to his anger, and there was no stopping it. 
"Did you think of that?  How will I get the upper
hand if I have to think about your safety?"

Coloring, she let her hands fall from her hat as
she gave in to the depths of the chair.  "If it
wasn't me, it would have been some other woman. 
You can't deny you would have protected her, too."

"That would be different.  We're talking about you,
not a stranger."  He looked away, obviously
uncomfortable with her tack.  "Enough.  You're
leaving, and that's final."

But she wasn't about to let him off so easy.  "What
about the man following *you*, Sam?  You trade one
stalker for another, is that it?"

"He's no longer an issue."

"Just like that," she snorted, disbelieving.

"Just like that," he answered quietly, his face
averted yet somber.

He wasn't lying, that was certain.  Something had
happened - something he hadn't felt the need to
share.  She was becoming very weary of the way he
withheld information.

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"No."

Sudden sadness filled her chest; if he couldn't be
open with her about things like this, how could she
expect him to be the man she needed in her life?
Would he ever admit he loved her?  She knew it was
so, but it would be awfully nice to hear the words. 
Then again, the power given with the declaration
would be the ultimate sacrifice.  In Sam's mind, he
would be held accountable.  To her, to their
relationship.  Something he'd never done with
anyone, not even his own brother, much as he loved
Mulder.

She didn't know if she could live that way.  Her
family was the epitome of giving and sharing, and
Sam's reluctance to do either was a major stumbling
block.  She'd thought to force him to see she was
an important part of his life with this intrusion
into the operation; now she wasn't sure about
anything.

Most especially where they'd go from here.

With a curse, Sam stood.  Emma, startled from her
introspection, raised her head.  "What?"

"A car... I can hear it idling on the street out
front."  He moved to one side of the window, using
a finger to slowly crack the curtains.  "Damn."

Emma stood, fear gripping her hands into a fierce
clasp over the pillow she still carried.  "What?"
she said again, this time with breathless urgency.

Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. 
She was no agent like Charlie, nor had she been
trained to use guns like Sam.  Her bravado in the
face of danger as she'd bribed Charlie was dead and
gone, replaced by a dragging cowardice.

The way Sam quickly killed the lamp didn't help,
not did his grim, shadowy look.

"Upstairs, Emma."  He pulled her from the chair. 
"Now!"


**********


A kid.  A God damned kid.  Cruising the street in
search of his equally idiotic girlfriend, who was
supposed to sneak out of her house to meet him. 
After a terse "Go home," and a subtle flip of Dan's
ID, Charlie watched the Ford peel rubber as it sped
away.

The two men tried their best to walk nonchalantly
back to the car.  Once inside, Charlie slumped into
his seat.  What they'd had to do was risky.  Simply
sitting on the street in plain view was asking for
attention.  They had to come up with a better plan
before they attracted the wrong kind of notice.

"I don't like this, Charlie."

He'd known that was coming.  "Neither do I.  We
have to find a way to keep out of sight."

"Agreed.  The less we stay off the street, the
better."  A knowing glance accompanied the deadly
serious warning.  "Too much activity will scare off
Chang.  You realize that, don't you?"

"Or make him too damned reckless.  Either way, we
lose."

He didn't have to explain; the last thing they
needed was civvie casualties.  Somehow they had to
let Chang get close enough without letting him get
too close.  Chang wouldn't hesitate to blow away
anyone who got in the way, including Mulder's
neighbors.

"Nothing's going to stop him this time."  His
partner's face was grim yet determined.  "Except
us.  He won't get past me, Charlie.  I have even
more reason than most on this one."

He didn't have to mention Emma's name.  Charlie
thanked the heavens for the dark interior of the
car, as he felt his face grow warm.  "I couldn't
stop her, you know.  Even if I'd hog-tied her,
she'd have found a way to follow."

It was the first sign of emotion from his
companion, as the vigilant gaze faltered in a
blink.  The stern chin lowered just a fraction as
his lips pursed.  "I know.  Doesn't mean I have to
like it."

"So what do we do?"

Dan's eyes narrowed on a spot in the black
distance.  "Is that a 'for sale' sign over there?"

Charlie noticed the faint, weathered lettering on a
puny sign a couple of doors down.  Dread at what he
knew was coming lowered his voice, "We can't just
break in -"

"*I* can do what I damn well please, Charlie.  It's
a perfect spot for surveillance."

"But what if someone sees and calls the police?"

"They won't, believe me.  Get out."

"What?"

"Time for you to go, Charlie."

"What about you?"

"I'll ditch the car and settle in as the Mulder's
new neighbor."  A flash of white teeth in a dark
face came and went in an instant, as he nodded at
Charlie's radio.  "Tell 'em not to worry.  I'll be
watching."

Charlie reached into his pocket for his car keys. 
"I don't like leaving you here alone, Dan."

A grim smile, more cold than ever, flashed in the
dark car.  "Killing is better done alone.  You know
that, Charlie."

A shudder passed through Charlie at the casual talk
of killing.  But he knew it would come to that with
Chang; there was no other option.  The crime boss
wouldn't go quietly into a jail cell.

He spoke Sam's name into the radio, trying his best
to ignore the prickle of dread burgeoning within. 
This was just a small glitch in the plan.  No need
to worry.  Every plan warranted modification, even
once set in motion.

Despite the warmth of the car, Charlie was again
very cold.


**********


Sam picked up the radio, frustration edging his
voice.  "What the hell was that?"  Having gotten
Emma safe upstairs, he'd rushed back down for a
deadly confrontation, only to hear Charlie barking
a summons from the depths of the couch.

"Just a kid cruising.  False alarm.  Listen Sam, we
can't stay out on the street much longer.  We
scared off the kid, but he gave us a few curious
looks.  This isn't the kind of neighborhood where
someone can just loiter without notice."

Which was good, if it meant the nosy neighbors
could lend a hand with suspicious activity.  On the
other hand, that kind of curiosity pretty much
prohibited them from keeping watch.

"So now what?" he asked, already weary of the cat-
and-mouse game.  Emma's presence hadn't helped in
the least.

"Change in plans.  We're gonna ditch the car."

"What?"

"Empty house across the street.  A bit too far away
for my tastes, but it'll have to do.  We've already
attracted too much attention just sitting here."

Sam parted the curtains with a slow sweep of his
finger.  Charlie was right; already he could see a
few curious looks through windows here and there. 
Before long, a police cruiser would show up.  It
was inevitable.

"I'm leaving," Charlie continued.  "You need
anything, just pick up the radio and tell Dan."

"Dan?"  Sam swallowed, feeling uneasiness creep up
his throat.  "That's it?  One guy?  Charlie, you
told me -"

"Best I could do, Sam.  Believe me, when I say he's
the best, he's the best."

Sam felt a spurt of dismay at the change in plans. 
One guy against Chang's men?  Better yet - one guy
moving further away.  Charlie leaving this guy
alone, no less.  Still, there was one kink in the
works he'd love to have removed with Charlie's
departure.  "Emma's here, Charlie.  But you know
that already, don't you?"  He heard the revving of
an engine, the slamming of a car door, and
Charlie's grumbling over swift footsteps.

"Can't take her out, Sam.  Chancing a visit after
this kid's interruption would be too risky.  Maybe
tomorrow night.  Just sit tight; we'll think of
something tomorrow."

"How the hell can I sit tight with Emma underfoot? 
For that matter, how am I supposed to make *her*
sit still?"

"Easy.  Tie her up.  You have my permission."

"Oh, thanks," Sam remarked dryly, wanting to get
his hands on Charlie for bowing to Emma's certain
blackmail.  What a coward.

"Tell her she has to stay locked in the bedroom. 
Dan's orders."

"Who the hell is this Dan, anyway?"

"Quite possibly the only person besides her father
she might listen to."

Sam snorted, wondering if such a thing was
possible.  "Then put him on.  I'd like to listen to
him work his magic."

Charlie ignored the request with a sigh.  "Look,
Sam... she's gone tomorrow night at the latest.  I
promise, okay?"

From his vantage point at the window, Sam saw a
trail of exhaust burst to life down the block. 
"Charlie, I'm gonna kick your ass when this is
over."

"You'll have to get in line, Sam," came the
chuckled reply.  "Behind my wife, Uncle Mike, Dana,
Aidan, Joseph, Tommy -"

"As long as they save a piece of you for me, I'll
be satisfied.  And if I have any energy left after
paddling your accomplice."

"Good night, Sam.  Give Emma a good lick for me,
would you?"

Sam sighed, letting Charlie sign off. He knew damn
well he wouldn't lay a finger on Emma, despite all
the teasing - and his own desire to take a switch
to her.  He still wanted her away from there - that
hadn't changed.  But having a man on the job who
could maybe handle her made him feel a whole lot
better. She might - *might* - cooperate if she had
to answer to a higher authority.  She certainly had
no qualms about defying Sam's wishes.

Maybe it was one of the nuns from her grade school. 
Better yet, her priest.  Would she dare talk back
to a man of the cloth?  No way.  If there was one
person alive who could rein her in, it was someone
holding the threat of excommunication over her
head.

Then again, he wasn't sure of anything where Emma
was concerned.  This latest stunt was proof of
that.

Walking up the stairs, he felt a grin blossom on
his face, despite his residual anger.  A bit of fun
in an otherwise tense situation waited for him up
those stairs.  He couldn't wait to drop the name of
the man Charlie said could control his troublesome
little interloper.

He didn't find her where he expected she'd be. 
When he'd told her to go upstairs, she hadn't
hesitated.  Though he was still pretty angry with
her, he admired her quick compliance.  He crept
about the bedrooms, fully expecting a lamp to come
crashing down on his head as she put up a feisty
defense against an unknown menace.  So it was with
a soft voice he called out, "Emma?" over and over.

He looked warily behind every door, padded on heavy
feet in warning as he surveyed each dim room.  He
didn't want to turn on the lights, so he made his
way by the slim line of a flashlight beam, his gun
safely tucked away in his coat pocket.  After a few
moments with no answer, he allowed panic to grab
hold, stepping out into the hall.

"Emma!"  He demanded she reply with his harsh tone,
though he kept it fairly quiet in light of his
growing fear.

A soft sniffle reached his ears; he didn't waste a
moment in going for the bathroom door.  What he saw
when he flung it open and flipped on the light
killed all anger in an instant.

"I made a mess," she grumbled, crouched on the
floor with a towel in her hand.

After all the anger of the past hour, the sudden
burst of laughter felt damned good.



End Chapter Twenty-Seven
(unfinished)