Gabriel
Chapter Sixteen


The Rocky Mountains
September 23, 2001
9:15 p.m.


When he finally moved from the window, it was a
half hour later.  He kept expecting her to walk
from the forest like some kind of sprite,
laughing and assuring him the last minutes of
their tryst had been a dream.  But he knew
better.  Didn't mean he ignored the hope; he
just squashed the pain with the fantasy until he
was ready to deal with it.

Deal with it.  That was impossible, at least at
the moment.  What he wanted to do was run up
that trail and take her by force.  God damn it,
he'd found her.  And fuck anyone who tried to
take her away from him again.

But the years of haring off on impulse had
finally taught him that he couldn't beat his old
man with rash action.  He'd fallen into one trap
after another, ending with the abduction in
Washington; the only reason he'd made it out of
that one was because of her resourcefulness and
unwillingness to give up on him.  And he'd
almost done it again, with the way he'd stumbled
upon the bounty hunter.  If it hadn't been for
her once again, he'd be dead.

This time, he was going to step carefully.  He
loved her too much to falter.  He turned from
the window and sat in the rocker, his mind
whirling with questions.

Her husband?  What did the old man have up his
sleeve now?  Maybe he'd sensed her drifting
away, moving into Gabriel's sphere.  It was
possible that Matthew had, in his delirium,
spoken of a stranger at the cabin.

No.  If Matthew had somehow spilled the beans,
the cabin would be surrounded by armed men, and
Gabriel would find himself hauled up that
mountain for a nice reunion with his father. 
That much was certain.

It was more likely that Julia had tipped them
off, though not intentionally, and certainly not
fully.  She was the independent sort, even
without a life of her own.  Strong-willed and
defiant, she'd probably approached the old man
when some of her memories began to surface,
asking about the circumstances of her rescue
from the streets of Denver.

He shook off the whys; the first order of
business was to make sure she was okay.  It was
time to do a bit of snooping around the Ranch. 
No way was he letting her out of his sight
again, at least until he'd had a chance to talk
to her, to tell her she was *not* anyone's wife.

Rising from the rocker, he still didn't know
exactly where he was going, or what he was going
to do.  All he knew was that renewed anger
fueled his blood, dispelling the numbness with
swift, sure determination.

There wasn't much to work with in the cabin.  He
dressed as warmly as he could, donning the
clothes she'd brought before wrapping himself in 
one of the blankets from the bed, a dull gray
woolen thing that had seen better days.  He let
the fire go out totally as he searched the
kitchen for a weapon.  He dared not turn on the
light, just made do with a candle, listening for
the approach of anyone in the night outside.

At last, he found a rusty steak knife, knowing
its edge was pitifully worn, but not caring.  It
was enough to give him some protection, as long
as he could get close enough to use it.  Just
*how* he was going to do that, he didn't know.  

He paced for another fifteen minutes, half
expecting the guards to show up.  Julia hadn't
said anything, he knew, though it occurred to
him that the maid was a snitch possibility.  He
didn't know how she'd overlooked the subtle
scent of sex in the cabin.  Unless she'd been
too pissed at having to trek through the woods
to get Julia to notice anything but her own
anger.  He hoped this was the case; after a
while with no visitors, he figured he was safe
for the time being, though he still didn't trust
turning on the light.

As he watched the moon set, he knew it was time
to leave.


**********


10:10 p.m.


Shivering in the night air, he crouched in the
brush at the edge of the tree line, gazing up at
the huge two-story house dubbed, 'The Ranch'. 
The trail had been easy to follow, but darkness
and unseen gopher holes had slowed him down,
especially since he had to move as quietly as
possible to avoid alerting the guards he knew
roamed these woods.

Even now, he saw sentries criss-cross the yard,
their guns ready.  He counted only two on this
side of the house, which he assumed was the back
of the place.  There were a few doors that
leaded to a sprawling patio, complete with
wicker furniture piled up in one corner as if
tucked away for the winter.

Several lights shown in the windows, both
upstairs and on the first floor.  A pair of
glass doors at the far left of the structure
revealed a massive room, one where he could see
a fireplace and dark country furniture arrayed
in a cozy array around the roaring fire.  This
room, a den of sorts, was well-lit, and he held
his breath at the sight of shadows just to the
right of the doors.  Someone was in there.

The skin on his face tingled; his suspicions
were confirmed when Julia passed before the
window.  Her hair was pulled away from her face
in a severe braid, the yellow ribbon wound
through it like a talisman.  She wasn't dressed
the same; this time, a black, long-sleeved
dressed covered her from neck to mid-calf.  She
paced with shoes that reminded him of his third
grade teacher - all laced up, even her ankles
covered by thick black socks.  He couldn't help
but grin at the way she'd protected herself. 
She wasn't giving an inch, not in body language,
anyway.

Neither in the spoken word, he could see.  He
was too far away to hear what she was saying,
but whatever it was, it was not without a bite. 
Her hands joined in the argument, clenched at
her sides as she faced her unseen opponent.

His father, he knew.  A waft of cigarette smoke
drifted over her and she grimaced, stepping
back, then turning to face the window.

"Not tonight."  He read her lips as she stared
out in the darkness beyond the window.  "I'm
tired."

Her eyes narrowed a bit, and he knew then she
was searching for him.  She wasn't buying into
the husband story, not yet, anyway.  She
expected him to come after her.

Damn it, he wanted to give her what she wanted,
to storm up that hill and take her.  But it was
too dangerous at the moment; the Ranch was alive
with activity.  He saw two more men walk around
the edge of the house to stand on the dark patio
and cursed under his breath.  A regular party,
he thought with a grimace.

His attention darted back to the den.  Julia
turned from the window and nodded at whoever she
was conversing with before walking away.  He
heard the faint slam of a door, then watched as
the light in the den was turned off.  A shadowy
figure walked to the fireplace, the glow of the
cigarette the only trail of light.  His back to
Gabriel, the man sat in the wing-backed chair,
his hand holding the cigarette over the arm
without concern as to ruining the rug below.

He had gray hair and a familiar, hated stance. 
Gabriel felt the usual tug of loathing at his
gut and wished he had a rifle.  This farce would
end if he only had one good shot.

A light came on in one of the upstairs rooms and
he jerked, moving to his right to see better
through the brush.  He gulped in relief at the
sight of her; apparently, her request to be left
alone for the night had worked.  She moved about
the room, killing the overhead light and turning
on a bedside lamp before standing at the window.

She looked down, caught sight of the guards,
then backed away just a bit, her hands coming
up.

<Gabriel.>

He smiled, feeling giddy at the communication. 
She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there.

<I remembered something else.>

How to use sign language? he chuckled inwardly,
though the immense relief at her deliberate use
of it to talk to him contributed to his grin
more than her awakening memory.

<And no, not how to use sign language.> She
smiled and he wanted to laugh out loud. 
Something was definitely clicking between them,
in a most welcome way.  It had nothing to do
with the physical, though their bodies weren't
ashamed to admit the attraction.  No, this was
the fine tune of their quick minds, remembering
how to snap in response to intelligence and the
comfort of knowing one person as well as you
knew yourself.

Then she turned quickly, as if someone was at
the door.  She said something to whoever stood
on the other side, then moved to answer it. 
After a few moments where he had trouble
stifling his panic, she came back to the window.

<Matthew's asking for me.> She chewed on her
lip, then nodded.  <Cabin.  Two a.m.  I'll be
there.>

But what had she remembered?  He cursed under
his breath and started to back away, then paused
when her hands moved once more.

<I remember - I think I told you once before -
you make me a whole person.> She paused, then
added, <If I didn't, then consider it said now.>

With a worried, yet hopeful smile, she touched
her hand to her mouth, then moved the kiss to
the glass, pressing her fingers in a lingering,
light caress that he could almost feel against
his lips.  Then she pulled the curtains closed; 
a few minutes later, the lights went out.

Oh, Scully, he thought, his chest tight with
emotion.  Though you never spoke it, I heard it
loud and clear.

Wanting to wait for her to sneak out, but
knowing it wouldn't be wise, he began to slowly
crawl through the brush.  He'd almost made it to
the dense cover of trees when a voice made him
stop cold.

"She doesn't seem to be too happy about you."

The soft, modulated tones of a man's voice made
Gabriel freeze; recognition skirted the edges of
his mind, but the exact name to put to the sound
eluded him.  The two men who stood on the patio
had moved to its edge, allowing Gabriel to
listen in on their muted conversation.

"But she'll get over it," the familiar voice
continued, soft and pleased.  Gabriel's mind
catalogued the slight accent, putting a more
gritty edge to the words as a mental exercise in
investigation.

Fuck.  He knew that voice.  Cover it with a
hard-ass, Mississippi twang and it was obvious.
A chill ran over him and he swallowed, shifting
to one knee before his legs gave out in swift,
fear-laced anger.

The other one said something under his breath,
something Gabriel didn't catch.  He was too
surprised at his discovery, his ears trained on
the one thing he did recognize.

They were both dressed in black, hunched in dark
overcoats against the cold night, their breaths
steamy as they spoke.  One of them reached into
his pocket as he stepped away to give the wind
his back.  "Yeah, you're a man any woman would
want, right?" he chuckled derisively, the flare
of his lighter illuminating his face.

Jesse.  Smiling and lighting up a cigar as if he
had the world in his back pocket.  Gone was the
good old boy slang and tattered work clothes. 
His teeth gleamed white as he rolled the cigar
around in his teeth.

Gabriel felt like throwing up.  Was that what
Jesse had been doing with the company?  Assigned
to stop him should he get too close to Julia? 
Or worse, lead him straight to the bounty
hunter; like a fool, he'd fallen for every lie,
every easy smile and friendly gesture.

"Smoke?"  Jesse walked back to his companion and
Gabriel tensed, watching the other man decline
with a shake of his head.

Damn.  The face was in shadow and Gabriel
squinted against the harsh glow of the outside
patio lights, trying his best to find out who
was with Jesse.  But all he could see was a head
covered with a dark knit cap, and a full beard
above the black-garbed figure.  The man stood
rigid, his hands deep in his coat pockets.

"Shit," Jesse growled, reaching for his lighter
once again.  "Damn cheap cigars."  He put the
tip of the lighter to it once again, puffing for
all he was worth.

Gabriel felt the breath leave his lungs; the
other man turned away from the smoke, but not
before Gabriel saw something that rocked him
back on his heels.

The cross.  Gleaming on the black turtleneck, it
mocked its wearer.  Gabriel wished it would burn
a hole through the sweater, right down to the
skin of the imposter who wore it.  It was only a
fleeting glimpse, as the man turned fully to
disappear around the edge of the house once
again, Jesse scrambling to follow.

God damn Jesse.  He flashed back to the accident
with the bounty hunter; he hadn't lost total
consciousness, he was sure of that fact.  But
with the stress and pounding his body had taken,
it would have been easy for the cross to have
fallen off onto the grass.  Jesse must have
picked it up.

If Jesse had been leading him to his father all
along, then it must have been quite a blow to
the old man's plans to lose Gabriel when he was
so close.  Of course, the cross made
identification of Julia's *husband* that much
easier - made it impossible for her to deny.

Gabriel wanted to scream.  He wanted to run to
them both and tear them limb from limb with his
bare hands.  A low growl rumbled from his chest
and he started to rise.

"Don't move."

The butt of a gun at his temple made him still. 
This was wonderful.  Just his luck.  His whole
world falling apart before his eyes.

"You're gonna have to shoot me, 'cause I'm
moving," he hissed.

The gun fell away with a surprised chuff of
recognition.  "For Christ's sake, Mulder, keep
still."

Gabriel snorted, hanging his head with a grin. 
Already?  Couldn't be.

"Frohike?"


**********


September 24, 2001
1:15 a.m.


"So, she has no idea who you are?"  Frohike
fingered the drawings, bringing the latest
closer to take a better look.  It was the one of
Gabriel she'd drawn the afternoon before; he
held it up, remarking, "From this, I'd say she
has a pretty good idea *what* you are to her."

Gabriel shook his head, leaning forward in the
rocker to get some warmth from the small fire
they'd started in the fireplace.  "She suspects,
but she knows the seizures are brought on if she
lets herself go too far."  He brought his hand
up to rub at his brow, the bittersweet memories
of their 'pretense' giving him aching pause.

Frohike sat back in the kitchen chair, the dim
light casting his camouflage garb with an eerie
orange glow.  "Sounds like you're up shit creek,
Mulder."

"Gabriel."

"Huh?"

"That's one thing that's gonna have to go,
*Colonel* - the name's not Mulder, it's Gabriel. 
Can't take the chance."

The Colonel nodded, falling silent as he sipped
the bitter coffee.  Gabriel lapsed into silence
as well; in the past two hours, he'd told his
friend about his stay in the cabin, leaving out
certain intimate details, of course.  What
little pieces of the puzzle he knew spilled from
him - Matthew, his 'Grandpa', seeing Jesse
tonight at the Ranch, the sudden arrival of
Julia's so-called husband.  Only one thing he'd
left out - her pregnancy.

For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to
speak of it.  It made everything seem so raw and
painful.  It was, of course, the reason she was
here.  But it wasn't of tantamount importance at
this point.  They all had to make it out of
there alive.  And Frohike would find out soon
enough, he figured.

"Langly and Byers arrived yesterday," Frohike
murmured.  "I got a room at a hotel, should do
nicely as a base of operations.  They're setting
things up while I come after you."

Gabriel grinned ruefully.  "Guess you're all
wanted men like me now, huh?"  He hated putting
his friends lives on the line this way.  Just
another load of guilt he'd have to live with if
any of them were hurt because of this.

Frohike stood.  "Actually, no."  He moved to the
coffeepot and gave Gabriel a smile.  "One of the
advantages of working in the company's computer
section.  One little tweak of the mouse, and
it's as if we've never even worked for the
company.  You either, by the way."

A ray of sunshine, which Gabriel embraced with a
small smile, standing as well.  "Hey, at least
we don't have to worry about that, right? 
Thanks, man."

His friend fingered his beard.  "And as soon as
this beard disappears, they won't be able to
recognize me - any of us, really.  We can adopt
our usual handsome faces and move about freely. 
No one's looking for the old Administration
anymore, you know.  Too busy digging for 'k'. 
Greedy bastards."  He huffed, gulping down the
rest of his coffee before asking, "So what now? 
Who's this husband, anyway?"

"I don't know," Gabriel replied.  "But whoever
he is, he has the cross."  Worry bit at his
words.  "I don't think she'll buy it, but with
that..."

"From what you've told me, she already knows who
you are to her.  Come on, Mulder - excuse me,
*Gabe* - she's still Scully.  Sharp as a tack. 
Surely if the intuition has survived, so has the
skepticism?"

Gabriel gave him a short smile.  "God damn it,
Frohike.  You should have come a couple hours
earlier.  We could have been long gone from
here."

Frohike set his cup on the table.  "If I had
arrived earlier," he said, giving the rumpled
bed a pointed look, "I probably would have been
very, very embarrassed, am I right?"

Gabriel colored, the memory of her body wrapped
around his making him suddenly very warm.  "Not
as much as *we* would've been," he muttered,
lowering his eyes.  Suddenly, his world seemed a
very unsure place, this cabin a fake shelter,
despite the harbor it was hours ago.  Raising
worried eyes to his friend, he asked softly,
"We're gonna get her out of here, aren't we?"

"If I have anything to say about it, yeah."  

Frohike's determination made shake off his bad
feelings.  Hands on hips, he smiled.  "Wait'll
you see her, man.  She's... she's..."  He wanted
to tell the little man of her pregnancy, and how
it made her glow, but the words still stuck in
his throat.  Inevitable questions would follow,
and she was due to arrive shortly.  Best not to
let her walk in on a discussion of implants and
alien clones.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Frohike waved him off. 
"Speaking of - I need to beautify myself before
the fair Agent Scully comes to call.  You
wouldn't happen to have a razor around here,
would you?"

Gabriel swallowed at yet another flashback, this
one filled with the tender scrape of the blade
across his chin, her eyes smiling with joy at
her fancy work.  Clearing his throat, he
supplied, "Bathroom.  Take your time.  Clean up. 
She won't be here for another half hour."

Frohike turned for the bathroom door, pausing to
ask softly, "I know I said she was still Scully,
and I believe it, Mulder.  But really... she's
still the same, isn't she?"  He asked as if his
whole world hinged on Gabriel's answer, his eyes
hopeful.

With a nod, he said what he was sure of in his
heart and mind.  "Still the same, Frohike.  She
may not know us, but nothing could change the
good person inside."

"Damn."  Frohike winked at Gabriel's surprised
stare.  "And here I was, figuring I might have a
shot with her at last.  She still has a thing
for your sorry ass, doesn't she?"

Gabriel spread his hands and cocked an eyebrow,
avoiding the bed with a roll of his eyes. 
"'Fraid so, buddy."

"Figures.  Why some women go for the brooding,
morose type when they could have a love god is
beyond me."  He chuckled, closing the bathroom
door behind him.

Gabriel's smile faded, worry setting in again. 
They hadn't yet discussed just how they were
going to leave this place.  With a stretch of
his muscles, he shook it off.  One thing at a
time.  First he had to set this 'husband'
business straight.

The cabin door opened with a blast of cold. 
"Gabriel?"

Shit, she was early.  He hadn't had time to
think it through yet.  But he couldn't deny the
relief that surged in him, and he stepped
forward from the shadows by the bathroom.

As soon as she saw him, she launched herself
into his embrace.  He held her tight, running
his hands over her cloak, nuzzling her face with
his.  "You okay?"

"I'm fine."  She burrowed closer, her cold nose
seeking warmth.  "I can't stay long."

Pulling back her hood, he settled his chin on
the top of her head, his hands rubbing up and
down her back.  "I know.  But I'm glad you came
back."

She was quiet for a moment or two, then she gave
his chin a kiss before pulling away, her eyes
downcast.  "I've seen him before," she said
slowly, bringing her worried gaze up.

Gabriel stilled, his hands grasping her upper
arms through the cloak.  "Who?"  Did she know
Jesse from somewhere?

"My hus - the man who says he's my husband."  A
sudden glimmer of tears filled her eyes.  "Oh,
Gabriel... he's got the cross."



End Chapter Sixteen