Gabriel
Chapter Thirteen


The Rocky Mountains
September 23, 2001
4:25 p.m.


On the afternoon of the third day, he was too
exhausted to keep his eyes open any longer. 
Three days... three fucking days without seeing
her.  The first day after she'd flown from him,
he really hadn't expected her to brave his
presence, though he wanted her to come to the
cabin so very badly.  Keeping vigil by the fire,
he'd listened to the creak of the rocker count
the seconds that went by at a snail's pace.

She didn't come.

That night, when the rumble of his stomach
forced him to seek food, he pulled his stiff
bones from the ancient rocker and made a
sandwich.  He ate only half, though he savored a
cup of her decaffeinated tea, imagining he
pulled the taste from her lips.  Sleep was
fitful, filled with stark memories of every time
he'd ever lost her.

Pfaster, Duane Barry, Gerry Shnauz... striking,
black and white reels of the pain and
frustration he'd had to live through.  In real
life, she'd come back, every time.  In the
dreams, she stayed gone.  Endless loops of his
searches dogged his slumbering brain until the
last, when she walked from the bunker.  In that
one, the end was more horrific.  He woke in the
wee hours of the morning, gasping for breath,
the image of her lifeless body in his arms
making his cheeks wet with tears.

The next day, she should have come.  She knew he
was waiting, didn't she?  At least a dozen times
he'd been tempted to leave the security of the
cabin and storm the Ranch, declaring to one and
all just who he was and where the hell was his
woman.  Caveman, of course.  And utterly
ridiculous, not to mention unsafe.  He didn't
give a shit about himself; but poking the
sleeping giant with a stick was bound to make
problems for her.

He'd been too bold, yes.  Insinuating himself
into her friendly sphere only to awaken the
desire that hadn't been erased with her memory. 
He'd tried, really.  Tried to keep himself from
her, but in the end, it became impossible.  Her
face, her voice, the scent of her skin - it had
drawn him over the edge.

Today, he was wracked with worry.  Though his
arm was sore, he refused to wear the sling out
of sheer obstinance.  His slurred thoughts made
him doze off and on and the dreams were getting
more frightening with every turn.  Only the pain
in his arm kept him from sleeping more than a
few minutes and he was thankful for it - he
didn't want to dream.  He wanted her back.

Lying on the bench beneath the alcove window, he
made a vow.  He wouldn't touch her again, if
only she'd come walking up that path.  Hard on
the heels of that thought came another -
tomorrow, he was taking that path, danger be
damned.  He had to see for himself that she was
okay.

Let her come, let her come.  The litany rolled
over his weary mind with the monotony of a
passing train, lulling him into an uneasy sleep.


**********


5:55 p.m.


Cracking his eyes, he felt the side of his face
tingle as if a beam of warmth thawed the cold
skin of his cheek.  Shifting slowly on the
bench, his neck screamed from being crammed up
against the alcove wall behind him and he
grimaced, bringing up his hand to rub at the
tense muscles.

"You don't need the sling anymore.  That's
good."  The sigh that accompanied the
congratulatory sentiment was its perfect
opposite, laced with a hint of sadness.  "And
you can hardly see the bruising on your neck
anymore."

Julia.  For a second he felt like crying over
the miracle of her presence.  But the trailing
tones of her voice spoke of just how unsure she
was with this visit and he knew any sudden show
of emotion would likely scare her away. 
However, there was nothing he could do about the
joy in his gaze as it lighted on her seated form
in the rocker.  A sketch pad laid open in her
lap and the fingers that gripped the pen were
white with tension.  Her eyelids lowered, her
interest shifting to a speck on the floor.

"The light isn't good in here in the evenings,
but you looked so peaceful sleeping there I
couldn't resist."  She spared a quick glance his
way, then resumed her fascination with the dusty
floorboards.

Peaceful?  God, if she only knew just how stormy
his insides were.  How badly he wanted to fall
to his knees at her feet and beg her to never
leave him again.  His body began to do just
that, sitting up from its reclined position.

"No, don't move," she whispered.

Was she going to fly?  He stilled with bated
breath, mentally calculating their respective
distances from the door.  His damn legs were
weak from sleep, but he'd crawl if necessary to
prevent her escape.

Lifting and turning the sketch pad, she held it
up like a stop sign, halfway hiding behind it. 
"See?  I'm almost finished."

It was him... a flat, black outline of
unconscious longing, his head turned from her to
face the window, his hand lying palm up upon the
bench in supplication.  She'd drawn every nuance
of his form.  From the denim shirt that laid
open, revealing the wicked scar... to the day-
old stubble that adorned his hollow cheeks... to
the bare foot that remained on the floor even
while he slept, ready to lift up his body should
she walk through the door.

That she could do this was amazing to him. 
She'd never shown an aptitude for art before; at
least, not one that she ever revealed to him. 
He pictured a young Dana, sitting with colored
pencils in her mother's backyard, wanting so
badly to create a portrait of the bluebird in
the rose bush - but letting it go at her
father's urging to hit the books.  Never again
to be expressed while there were other, more
important things to do, to learn.  Until it was
set free the moment all else was lost.

The ability obviously made her happy; he hoped
it stayed once she regained the rest that was
Scully.  He would insist that this piece of Dana
remain, even if it was for his eyes alone.

He relaxed, though his head didn't budge, his
eyes refusing to look away from her. 
Unblinking, he watched her as she took up the
sketch again.  She knew he was staring but never
wavered in concentration, her lower lip caught
between her teeth.

If possible, she was more beautiful to his
starved gaze than ever before.  The braid was
gone, but the ribbon still flowed over her
exposed neck, holding back her hair in a binding
that let just as much break free as it held in. 
In the late afternoon sunlight, the strands that
framed her cheeks made a halo around her face. 
The dress today was as simple as the others, a
loose, boat-necked pullover of cream-colored
cotton; very wrinkled, as if she'd been fisting
the material with indecision all day.

He imagined her pacing the Ranch these past
three days, her bare feet wearing a hole in the
floor.  Speaking of - yes, the shoes were gone. 
Relief made him loose his gaze and he blinked,
swallowing down his smile.

Bare feet meant she would stay for a while.

Her voice broke into his short-lived triumph,
just a tiny bit louder than the scratch of the
pen on the paper.

"Those pictures, Gabriel."  She paused in speech
but not in drawing.  "Why are they in the
messages?  Why..."  The effort to draw became
too much for her and she stopped, lifting her
attention from her work to search his face. 
"The Colonel - he always asks you if it's her. 
Why?"

He should have known she'd go digging.  The
latent artist in her may have been tamped down
all these years, but that urge to seek out
answers would never go away, not even with his
father's best efforts.  He sighed, wondering
just how much he could tell her.  He was so
tired of lying.

Looking away for the first time since he'd woken
to her face, he watched the shadows creep into
the forest.  "I'm... looking for someone."

Her gasp was almost inaudible.  "Like me?"

His head snapped back.  Was she asking if he was
looking for her?  No.  Her face betrayed no sign
that she expected him to say yes.  She looked
upon him as a soul torn apart from his other
half - 'the one', as she'd named it.

"Yes," he murmured, "just like you."  Though his
lips spoke of generalities, his throat clogged
with the truth.  She *was* his one... would
always be.

Her half-smile was wistful.  "Whoever she was,
she must have been beautiful.  Light of hair and
fair of face, to use the Colonel's words."

Sometimes, the Colonel could be a poet.  Gabriel
wished he had that power, especially with the
object of his love sitting so close.  "She was -
*is* - the most beautiful person," he said,
watching as Julia looked up again.  "Inside and
out."

"What happened to her?"

Lowering his chin, he realized he'd stepped into
a quandary.  All thoughts of telling a tale of
'bartering for a woman' had flown from his mind,
gone as he laid there drunken with the sight of
her.  Quickly, he fumbled for an explanation.

"She - she just disappeared one day."  He raised
a hand to his brow and rubbed at the pain of
remembrance that pounded in his head.

"During the invasion?"

It would be easier to say yes, but he kept on,
the purity of the truth cleansing his tongue as
it flowed forth.  "No.  After.  I think she was
taken.  Kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?  Who would do that?"

He chuckled, a mirthless bite through his teeth. 
"I have an idea.  Best for you not to know,
Julia."

Thankfully, she abandoned the direction their
conversation had taken, instead returning to an
earlier point.  "The photographs?  Why so many? 
Don't you know what she looks like?"

"She may have changed."  He looked up, noting
her confusion.  "Believe me, it's possible."

She fell silent at that, dropping her head to
take up her work once again.  The only sound in
the room for long moments was the scratch of the
pen against the paper.  Gabriel finally gave up
his constant watching of her, satisfied she was
comfortable enough to stay.

As he watched the long rays of broken sunlight
stream from behind the cabin to slice across the
weeds outside the window, he wondered where they
would go now.  Should he pursue the meager
beginnings of their renewed relationship and
risk scaring her away again?  Or should he just
hog-tie her when Frohike arrived and spirit her
away from the Ranch?  Not the best idea, for a
number of reasons.  Least of which was - she'd
probably kick his ass.  Julia might not have
anything but the barest hint of Scully in that
mind, but what was there was ferocious and
tenacious.

"Matthew is not doing well."  Her sad statement
broke the silence.

His head whipped around.  "What's wrong with
him?"  The boy was just another face in the
small sea of people left since the invasion;
Gabriel had formed no real attachment to him,
but her worry was palpable and he sought to
comfort her as best he could.

"His fever is not going down this time.  The
doctor sent for Matthew's Grandpa yesterday -
told him to come home.  But it's going to take a
day or two, from what I hear."

So Grandpa was away, was he?  "Where is he? 
Matthew's grandfather, I mean."

"I don't know where he goes, but he stays gone
for weeks at a time.  Business, Matthew tells
me.  What kind of business, I don't know."  She
sighed, her brow creasing.  "I wish he'd hurry
home.  In his delirium, Matthew asks for his
Grandpa."

Gabriel softened his face, his voice soothing
and calm.  "He'll be okay, Julia."

Her eyes were bright with a sheen of tears.  "I
hope so.  He's my only friend."

Gabriel said nothing at that, just averted his
gaze at her subtle implication.  She was so
scared of losing the boy.  Not just because she
obviously cared for him, but because she didn't
want to be left at the Ranch alone.  He knew the
last few days had been difficult for her and not
only from dealing with Matthew's illness.  Her
whole manner spoke of the way she'd closed in on
herself with her thoughts.

The way her eyes could only meet his for a few
moments.  The deliberate distance between the
rocker and the bench, when before she'd taken
every opportunity to touch him, to be near him. 
Her slow, soft sentences, as if any rise in
volume would upset the tentative truce of the
last few minutes.

There was something on her mind, he could sense
it.  She was debating how to approach the
subject, hiding behind the sketch as she
gathered the facts.  He'd given her some clues,
he knew.  The ribbon, the exposure to the
Colonel and the photographs on the newsgroup;
the tale of her disappearance, though thinly
veiled with references so vague as to apply to
anyone.

"Your voice is stronger."  The words were just
as sad as her comment on Matthew.

He looked her way, caressing her face with a
sober, heartfelt look.  "No one to talk to."

The hint taken, she flushed from her chest to
her cheeks, slowly offering, "I'm sorry,
Gabriel.  Matthew needed me."  Hesitating for a
moment, she brushed her lower lip with her
tongue.  It looked chapped, as if she'd spent
the last three days giving it grief.  "And I
needed time."

She stated the obvious; he could have let her
off the hook and looked away.  Instead, he
nodded, his soft regard apologetic in return. 
He wanted to soothe her chapped lips with his.
"I know.  I'm sorry, too."

Her feet came up to settle on the bottom rung of
the rocker and she leaned slightly forward as if
to make herself a smaller target.  He wondered
at the reason for her sudden withdrawal,
especially in light of her comments on his
recuperation.  Then it dawned on him where this
was going, confirmed by her question the instant
before he opened his mouth to stumble forth.

"You'll be leaving soon, won't you?"

The muted sorrow on her face made him want to
deny the fact.  As far as she knew, he was
leaving her behind.  Now wasn't the time to
venture into the subject of her leaving with
him, not when she'd just summoned enough courage
to face him again.  Really, he wasn't too keen
on asking her yet.  'Grandpa' was coming home; 
he looked forward to doing a bit of sneaking
around the outskirts of the Ranch, now that he
felt better.  The more information he gathered
before escape, the better for them both.

She was still a bit skittish, mostly because of
worry for the baby, he knew.  Truthfully, he was
just as concerned for her baby's health; if she
wasn't in his father's grasp, he'd leave her
exactly where she was.

Sighing, he whispered, "Yes.  As soon as my
friends arrive."  He didn't tell her that his
wait was liable to stretch out to a week;
Frohike was good, but not *that* good.  Making
their way from one side of the country to the
other was bound to take the Gunmen some time.

"I see.  That was a rather silly question,
wasn't it?"  She rose from the rocker, the pad
held close to her body.

Gabriel shifted his other leg to the floor,
ready to go after her.  But she surprised him,
only circling the rocker to stand before the
fire.

"And if I asked you to stay?"  She faced him,
resolute in voice and form, her blue eyes
unflinching at her disclosure.

Skittish?  Whatever the hell had given him
*that* idea?  He stood, holding his arm close to
his abdomen, the stiff limb not cooperating when
he tried to lower it.  At least it helped hold
in the butterflies that threatened to break
through his skin, the ones that had taken up
residence in his stomach at the realization that
she was serious.  The time spent away from him
the past three days had made her think, just as
it had him.

She didn't know why, but she knew enough to
wonder at the possibilities.  But like always,
they approached the same goal from opposite ends
of the spectrum.  He wished he could tell her
she was coming with him, but even if she said
yes, it wasn't like she could walk into the
Ranch and say, "Toodles.  Thanks for your
hospitality."  Telling her she'd have to
covertly leave meant having to answer questions
about the necessity of such a plan.

Maybe just sneaking in and snatching her was the
way to go, after all.  It wasn't like she cared
for him in *that* way, after all.  She may have
suspected who he was to her, but she wasn't sure
enough to just throw caution to the wind.  God,
there was too much to consider, especially with
her standing before him looking as if her world
would end if he said no.

It pained him to have to say it, be he did, his
good hand fisting at his side.  "I can't."  And
neither could she, though she didn't know that
yet.  God, he ached with the need to tell her. 
Instead, he clamped his jaw over the forbidden,
begging her with his narrowed, regretful gaze to
understand, to sense the unspoken future.

Rolling her eyes, she half-turned, her
frustration apparent in the hoarse, "You're a
wanted man, I know.  The company will come
looking for you."

She'd gotten it all wrong.  Well, it was half
right, but it wasn't like he gave a rat's ass
about the company and their goons.  He only
cared about her.  "Julia -"

"No, Gabriel.  I understand.  It was foolish to
hope that a total stranger would come to think
of me that way in just a few days."

But he *did* think of her that way - had always
thought of her that way.  Couldn't she see it
written all over his face?  Better yet... if she
hoped he felt something for her that meant that
she felt something in return...

He reeled with the revelations of the last
minute.  No way could he be that lucky.  Maybe
she was just very lonely, or the pregnancy had
made her want more in the way of security and
love.  Hormones.  Had to be hormones.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, anger
getting the better of her.  "I'm not hormonal,
or whining like a spoiled child.  I felt
something about you from the moment I laid eyes
on you.  Your reaction when you saw me... you
can't tell me you'd never seen me before."

"I told you - the photographs -"

"Oh, just stop it, okay?"  Frustration slumped
her shoulders and she huffed,  "You're not being
honest with me, Gabriel.  I know it and you know
it."

"Me?"  All right, so he'd basically lied from
the beginning and still would, no matter what. 
But he hadn't lied in the tender way he looked
at her, the greedy, yet gentle way he touched
her, or the longing that graced his every word.

"Yes, you."  Storming to stand in front of him,
she held out the sketch, urging him to take it. 
He did, the paper hot in his hand. "You,
Gabriel.  You're the one."

Swallowing hard, he looked down at the drawing
and felt the blood drain from his face.

He looked just as he had moments ago, lying on
the bench, his face averted as he slept.  The
portrait was very good, very detailed.  Right
down to the scar on his face and chest... right
down to the final touch she'd added in the last
few minutes.  The one that nestled in the hollow
of his throat with telling hope.

The cross.

It was such a familiar, beloved sight that he
felt his throat constrict with its loss once
again.  Though he wished that first day it was
still there, wanted it to serve as proof of who
he was, he knew it was fate that it had
disappeared.  She would surely have known it was
him if he'd had the necklace.  And now, she
seemed determined to encircle his neck with the
imaginary badge of commitment.

In other circumstances, he would weep with joy. 
If he were a more selfish man, he would pounce
on her assumption and ride the wave of ecstasy
that would result.  She'd give herself to him
without reservation; all he had to do was nod
his head.

But he couldn't.  Frightened of her response to
the truth, he simply handed the sketch back to
her, his words threaded with grief.  "Julia, I
wish I could tell you what you want to hear." 
That, in itself, was the truth.

Grabbing the sketch with a dubious frown, she
turned away from him.  "You could if you wanted
to."  She shifted, looking up with sad
confusion.  "What I don't understand is why.  Is
it because of my seizures?  Are you afraid to
tell me because of them?"

Say yes and he'd be confirming her suspicions. 
Say no and watch her blooming hope die,
something she knew he didn't want.  Another
trap, carefully laid by a mind just as sharp as
ever, despite the memory loss.  Pausing, he
searched for the right words, bringing his hand
up to caress her shoulder.  She started at the
touch, but didn't move away, dropping the next
bombshell with soft clarity.

"I can remember some things, you know."

It was his turn to stiffen.  His throat moved
with the effort to keep his voice calm.  "What
do you mean?"  He thought she couldn't remember
anything.

"In the last three days, I've had a lot of time
to think.  All I have to do is stay calm; to let
the memories come to me."  She moved away,
laying the sketch on the rocker as if it were a
fragile piece of glass.  "I'm not speaking of
names or faces.  I'm talking about little
things."

"No seizures?"  Could it be possible to pursue a
different, less treacherous path?

"No.  But these pieces of me are small, almost
fleeting.  I figure they're not of any real
danger to me... if I pretend they can't hurt
me."  Turning, she faced him, her hands clasped
above her belly.  "Feelings.  Smells.  Sounds...
sometimes even words that come and go before I
can recognize the voice."

He stepped forward just a bit, anxious to hear
what exactly she knew.  "Like what?"

She moved forward as well, though she kept a
safe distance.  It looked like she was more
afraid he'd take flight than the other way
around.  "'You're my one in five billion.'"

It was all he could do to hold himself upright,
to not show how the simple sentence had
staggered him.  As he struggled to find a
response that would not give too much away, she
continued, edging closer, her gaze steady and
bright.

"The 'one'.  I figure if I used to be 'his one',
then he must have been mine, right?"

<Are you the one?>

Her first words to him so many nights ago rolled
around in his brain, threatening to make it
explode with excitement.  That's where she'd
gotten that cryptic question from - straight
from one of the few places that remained intact
in her memory.  Gabriel knew he was staring at
her now, could feel his hunger for her grow in
his eyes and in the hand that itched to touch
her.  A trembling hand, the fingers clenching at
his thigh - it wanted to reach out and cradle
her head.  To dig deep into her skull and pull
out more of those tidbits - little puzzle pieces
that, when joined, became all of what they were
to one another.

He licked his parched lips.  "What else?" he
croaked, swaying a bit.

Her next step brought her into the last rays of
sunlight that peeked through the kitchen window. 
The cabin was muted with shadows now, but she
shone like a beacon, drawing him in.  Her eyes
were sure and her face proud, yet soft and
tender, luring him in with a silent promise that
none of this was hurting her.

"Sometimes, when I clear my mind of all else and
not force it... I hear other things, other
words."  Her voice lowered to a murmur.  "'It's
me'... 'You think I'm crazy'.  A voice telling
me that when you hit a baseball, 'the rest of
the world just fades away'."  She smiled.  "I
wonder if that's really true."

Of course it is, he wanted to cry out.  Instead,
his grin joined hers, shaky with anticipation at
the precipice ahead.  "What?  No 'I love you'? 
I mean, if this guy was your 'one in five
billion', surely you'd remember that, wouldn't
you?"  The air in his lungs was trapped as he
waited for her answer.

"Oh, it's there.  But something tells me I
didn't believe it - at the time, anyway."

And she believed it now.  Her whole mien spoke
of belief - in what she knew to be true, but not
said.  Taking another step toward that belief,
she stood so close he could feel her warmth
through the gap in his shirt.

"I know you can't say it... won't let yourself
say it," she said, looking at him with softly
pleading eyes.  "But can I at least pretend that
you have?  For a little while?"

Oh, this was definitely dangerous.  She was
offering her hand as they stood together at the
cliff, enticing him to take that first step with
her into the freefall below.  Suddenly, it was a
choice of monumental proportions, one guaranteed
to exhilarate - but with a chance of devastating
failure.  Should he risk it?

"I'm not asking you to be him, Gabriel."  The
words left unsaid - I already know you are -
remained in the ether, tucked away until she was
ready to embrace the fact without fear of
reprisal.  "I'm asking you to let me pretend. 
Nothing can hurt me if I pretend."

The past nights, spent alone and anguished, had
been the worst he'd ever had to endure.  Knowing
she was so near, yet so unattainable.  This
opportunity, cloaked in the veil of pretense,
gnawed at his whole body.  His heart wanted it. 
His mind catalogued the careful maneuvering he'd
have to do.  And his hand made the decision for
them both, coming up to touch her face.

He licked his lips and swallowed, his voice
shaking with the need to give them both their
heart's desire.  "You have to promise me
something."

Her cheek sank into the caress as her eyes lost
their urgency and her voice lost all trace of
strength.  "Anything."

God, he was crazy to be doing this.  He began to
shake from the inside out, his madness
manifesting itself in the thready command, "You
feel even the slightest twinge, you tell me,
Julia."

"I promise," she whispered, her gaze misting
over as her hands came up.  He didn't move as
she feathered her fingers over his shirt.  With
a hitch of breath, she lowered her eyelashes,
hushed joy coloring her voice.  "Can I touch
you?"

He couldn't move, couldn't back away from her
encroachment.  The feel of her fingers through
the denim burned him more than the touch of her
hands through his hair not long ago.  This time,
she wasn't touching him as an injured man in
need of help.  She touched him now as if he were
a long lost lover, re-acquainting herself with
his body.  "Yes," he sighed, feeling himself
drown in her proximity as his eyes lost the
battle to remain open.

Feeling... pure sensation engulfed him as her
hands bridged the gap of his shirt, brushing
over the frayed edges to meet on his bare skin. 
He sucked in a deep breath, the scent of her
hair filling his head.

The hand at her cheek shifted and his fingers
wound through her hair with shaky remembrance,
only stopping at the circle of the ribbon.  The
arm that ached still now screamed with a new
pain - this one borne of the need to bring her
closer.  He did, sneaking it out from between
them, ignoring the muscles that cramped with
protest.  As his arm settled around her back,
its pain quieted, content in its familiar,
beloved position just above her hips.

With a soft, hitching breath, she turned her
head, settling her cheek against his pounding
heart.  The brush of her words tickled the fine
hair that covered his skin, making gooseflesh
rise on his arms.

"I can pretend that this means nothing to me,
Gabriel.  That we're just two friends seeking
comfort from one another.  Can you do the same?" 
Her hands trailed down his chest, spreading the
shirt wide as they sought out his waist.

The overwhelming need to pull her closer won out
over his trepidation and his feet joined in the
betrayal of his mind, sliding and shifting to
make room for hers between them.  Her body
seemed to melt into his, her arms sneaking under
his shirt to wind around his back as he pulled
her flush against him with a sigh.

"That sounds like a pretend 'yes' to me," she
murmured, snuggling under his chin as he felt
her smile tug her cheek above his heart.

Lowering his chin, he felt his way to her
temple, his hand tilting her head for access as
he said in return, "That was a pretend 'Hell,
yes!'" Too emotionally overloaded to chuckle, he
pressed his lips to the fine hair that framed
her brow.

The humor in his reply wasn't lost on her,
however, as her belly shook with soft laughter. 
He gasped at the feel of the baby moving within
her, nestled between them.  His reaction was
immediate, as he felt himself begin to harden
and expand against that living pillow.  God, he
was a perverted bastard.  This was not supposed
to go this far; her trust in him was still new
and he didn't want to scare her away.

"No," she whispered, her arms tightening around
his back as he tried to let her go.  "This is
just pretend, remember?"

Squeezing his eyelids together even harder, he
pressed his hand into the small of her back,
making sure there could be no mistake about
where this was going.  In a hoarse attempt at
sanity he said, "Julia, there is nothing pretend
about this," rubbing his erection against her
belly.

His eyes opened when he felt her head move away. 
She looked up at him, her cheeks damp with
happiness.  Sobering, her gaze dropped to his
lips, then back up, the burn of desire firmly
planted in those sky blue eyes.  "Then we'll
just have to let some things be real."

Speech was impossible for him.  Seeing the
familiar determination in her beloved gaze, he
could only nod, the words of love trapped just
below the surface, but there for her to witness
just the same, his face warm and open.

She stood on her toes, her lips brushing the
corner of his mouth.  "I missed you, Gabriel." 
Mirroring the caress, she dotted the other
corner with a kiss before settling back on her
heels, her face pink with heat.  "I'm sorry I
stayed away so long.  Can you forgive me?"

Gabriel let his gaze roam over her beautiful
face, his mouth itching to return the favor. 
Finally, his throat relaxed enough to let him
croak, "That depends."  His hand wiped away the
drying tears on her cheeks.

"On what?"

"Is that a pretend 'missed you', or a real one?"

Her throat worked as she swallowed, and suddenly
her voice was a shadow of its former self as she
smiled.  "Oh, that was definitely a real one."

"Then I forgive you."

After a moment of silence, Julia asked, "That's
it?", her face clouding over.

"What else do you want?"  He knew damn well what
she wanted, but decided to let her wade forth.

"A kiss would be nice."

Now that their intimacy seemed to be posing no
danger to her, he threw the remnants of his fear
to the wind, giving her a brilliant, but cocky
smile.  "A pretend kiss, or a real one?"

"Shut up, Gabriel," she muttered, on tiptoe
again as she pressed her mouth to his.



End Chapter Thirteen