Gabriel
Chapter Two

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Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 15, 2001
8:13 a.m.


Sweat ran in hot rivulets down Gabriel's back,
and the sun beat upon his bare chest with
furious heat.  Despite the cool night before,
the temperature today approached ninety, he was
certain.  At times, he felt as though the pick
was glued to his calloused hands, the wood
melted onto his skin.  But he kept hitting at
the rocks brought up from the mine, breaking
them into smaller pieces for the trip to the
processor beyond the hill.

The first time he'd gone shirtless, he'd worried
about the scar that nearly divided his chest in
half.  Would someone question him about it?  He
didn't think anyone but a select few knew of its
existence; when he'd done his father's bidding
on national TV, only his face and neck were
visible, and that betraying part of his skin was
very well covered now.  Besides, he soon found
out that his scar was nothing compared to the
assortment of tattoos and puckered flesh his
fellow workers displayed.

Most had been injured and not so long ago, from
the looks of their skin.  Possibly in the
Invasion - but most probably in the aftermath,
at the hands of Guardsmen.  Gabriel's pitiful
reminders were put to shame by these battle-
scarred men who fought back.  None of what
distorted his flesh would be considered an
honor.  Especially the newest.

He paused for a moment and reached for his
canteen, guzzling the water while he stretched
his back.  With dirty fingernails, he scratched
at the newest memento of yet another betrayal,
wondering if this part of his chest would ever
not be numb.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
April 8, 2001
5:45 a.m.


He didn't want to hear any more.  If he could
raise his arms, he'd put his hands over his ears
and scream away Frohike's voice.  But he was
restrained - for his own safety, they said. 
Like they gave a rat's ass about his well-being. 
If they did, they wouldn't be filling his head
with all these lies.

"You said you remember waking up and Scully was
gone.  Do you remember being shot?"

Jerking his head back to the left, he faced the
ashen face of Byers.  "How many times do I have
to fucking say it?" Mulder growled.  "They came
and took her!  I was on my way after her when I
got shot!"

"Mulder, you were already wounded by the time we
got there.  We couldn't have gotten there more
than a half-minute after we heard the first
shot."

Mulder closed his eyes at Frohike's attempt at
logic, wanting to shake the little man until his
ears bled.

"The commandos didn't come into the bunker until
*after* you'd made it to the hallway.  I saw you
stagger out the door myself.  Bleeding like a
stuck pig, I might add."  His friend leaned
closer, finishing softly,  "Don't you see?"

"Don't I see what?" he shot back, piercing the
concerned face with a furious glare.  "That
you're trying to cover up your piss-poor excuse
for security?"

"Damn it, Mulder, she shot you once before!"

"For my own protection!"  Why couldn't they see
that Scully would never do this to him?  He
clenched his jaw, the futile attempt at opening
their eyes abandoned for now.  "Just do it, God
damn it."

All three hovered close now, their faces pale
with fear.  As Frohike turned to the table
beside him, he shook his head, though he said
nothing.  It was Byers who reiterated what
Mulder had already been told.  "You realize we
don't have enough morphine for the procedure. 
We have to use it sparingly - save it for after
we -" With a gulp, he looked away.

Mulder knew this bunker was not as well-equipped
as the one in West Virginia.  Krycek had slowly
fed off of its stores to support the growing
number of men he acquired for the assault.   
"Yeah," he whispered, shutting his eyes against
the agony to come.  "Just get it over with."

He felt as though he was back in D.C.,
slobbering with a numbed jaw as his dentist
prepared the drill.  Except this time, he didn't
have the luxury of a waiting room magazine, or
the press of the hygienist's breasts against his
arm, or the bitter taste of novocaine on his -

At the first probe of the forceps, he screamed.

"Hold his head, Byers."  Frohike's command was
stern.  "Langly, get something for him to bite
down on."

God, it was killing him.  Waves of scarlet fire
radiated from his shoulder and his arm twitched,
the nerves reacting with electric avoidance.  In
seconds, he felt cool fingers pulling at his
jaw.

"It's okay, Mulder," Frohike murmured.  "I've
stopped for now.  Open your mouth."

He'd stopped?  Mulder still felt the pierce of
the metal and he opened glazed eyes, letting his
lips go lax as some of the pain faded.  The
smell of leather filled his nostrils, but it
wasn't enough to dampen the stench of blood. 
Absently, he realized they'd put a belt in his
mouth.  He clamped down hard, giving them a nod.

Jesus!  Frohike hadn't given him any warning as
he dug into Mulder's flesh once again.  "I've
almost got it..."

Mulder whimpered, trying to keep a hold on his
bearings, not trusting them enough any more to
leave his body in blessed unconsciousness. 
After they were done, he told himself.  I can
put up with this for a minute longer.

Suddenly, the pain was gone.  "Got it!" 
Frohike's grim smile and the clang of metal
against metal made Mulder sag with relief.  His
whole body trembled and he didn't even feel the
first pierce of the suturing needle.

"How the hell did Scully ever do this?"

Scully... Mulder felt the belt slide from his
mouth as the first tear slipped free.

"She didn't, buttwad."  That was Langly's voice. 
"Her specialty was slicing and dicing,
remember?"

"Yeah," came the short response.  "Then she
graduated to shootin' and scootin'."

With a last hitching breath, Mulder let go.


Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 15, 2001
8:16 a.m.


Slam after slam, he worked with mindless
accuracy, neatly slicing the huge boulders into
quarters.  It was good that he didn't have to
think; sometimes his brain felt like it would
explode, he had so much energy to expend.  If he
couldn't put that energy to use where he really
wanted to, then this was the next best thing.

The repetitive work did his disability a world
of good, he had to admit.  Though he still had
trouble moving his fingers like he wanted, his
arm was strong again, able to flex and curl
almost normally.  It was a miracle he hadn't
lost the use of it altogether; the Colonel
wasn't exactly a top notch surgeon.

*She* would have done it right.  Slicing and
dicing, my ass, he thought.  Those morons had
never felt the gentle, healing touch of those
delicate fingers.  And they had been so ready to
buy into the 'shootin and scootin' scenario as
well.  To be honest, they'd almost convinced
him, too.

When he'd first started his search, his anger
had warred with his love for her.  Despite the
way the Gunmen had listed all the reasons for
her actions, he was torn between wanting to hug
her and strangle her, should he see her again. 
His father, curse his evil soul, had implied
that last night in the tower that the only
reason she'd come to him was to kill him.  Put
him down like the betraying, murderous scum he
was.

"My name is Julia."

Plain as day, muttered huskily in the bunker
before she'd departed.  It all made no sense to
him still.  The only thing he knew for sure was
that she had, indeed, fired the shot designed to
kill.  It was only because he'd feinted left at
the last second that he wasn't dead.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
April 10, 2001
12:15 p.m.


Mulder sat up on the cot and grimaced at the
pull of flesh.  He still couldn't feel too much
below his shoulder in his right arm, though the
healing wound itself was raw with piercing pain,
especially when he moved.  He couldn't blame the
Colonel; an inexperienced hand in removing a
bullet was bound to have caused some nerve
damage.  But he couldn't bring himself to give
thanks to his friend.

He couldn't bring himself to do much of anything
these days.  The bowl of soup on the table
beside him was hardly touched.  He slept only
when the pull of fatigue made him close his
eyes.  The boys melted into the other rooms of
the small bunker, making themselves scarce in
the face of his hostility.  Really, he couldn't
blame them.  A warm word from him now would
probably choke him.  Only one person could coax
him from his misery and she was gone.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Mulder started
at the intrusion.

"Got something for you to see," Frohike said,
flipping on the lamp next to the cot.  Byers and
Langly followed, between them a cart loaded with
a TV and videotape recorder.

Mulder squinted at the yellow glare, really not
in the mood for theatrics.  Spying the videotape
in Frohike's hand, he said wryly, "You found my
copy of 'Debbie Does Dallas'?  Really guys, this
is above and beyond the call of duty."  Settling
back against the concrete wall, he stretched his
legs out on the cot.

After rolling the cart to the side of his cot
and plugging the equipment into the wall socket,
Byers and Langly retreated to the far end of the
room, saying nothing.  Like frightened rabbits,
they kept well away from his sarcastic snare. 
He would have laughed at their fear if he felt
like showing teeth.  Maybe he'd snarl instead -
really give them something to talk about behind
his back.  Just like he knew they did on the
subject of Scully.

Yeah, that's right, he told them with a
narrowing of his gaze.  She tried to kill me and
I've gone fucking nuts.  Quite a pair, aren't
we?

The monitor flipped on under Frohike's touch;
Mulder tensed as he saw Frohike pop the tape in
before turning to face him.

"You know as part of the security in West
Virginia, we monitored several parts of the
bunker," he began tentatively.  "Though you've
got to realize we'd never spy on you."

Dread filled Mulder's chest, along with a
healthy dose of anger.  "Like hell you
wouldn't."  Nausea churned in his stomach; just
the thought of anyone watching or listening in,
especially after living with surveillance for
months in the tower, was enough to make him want
to scream.  There was one thing he *was* sure of
as far as that night was concerned - he could
still taste the fragrant silk of her skin on his
tongue.

Frohike pursed his lips, the affront making him
stretch to his full height.  "The cameras were
always on, Mulder - but they didn't record
unless triggered by movement.  The monitors in
the control room only received constant feed
from the obvious breach points.  Every exit, and
all the hallways in or out.  No one had access
to the other cameras except for us, and we would
never do that to you and Scully."

At the hurt-filled dressing down, Mulder lowered
his eyes, picking at the worn blanket beneath
him.  An apology hovered on his lips, but the
ice around his heart was thick and the most he
could manage was a husky, "Show me."


Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 15, 2001
8:27 a.m.


"Hey man, didn't see you at breakfast."  Jesse's
greeting was curious as he bent beside Gabriel
to hoist a few huge chunks of rock into his
cart.

"Overslept," Gabriel replied with a grunt,
hitting the rocks again.  The force of the
pick's penetration into the stone reverberated
up his arm.  He was tired today, and missing the
6:00 a.m. meal hadn't helped.  He'd used the
computer in the foreman's tent until lights out
at 10:00, then stumbled to his tent to toss and
turn with frustration.

No where left to look, the Colonel had said days
ago, only to repeat it again last night in
answer to Gabriel's constant queries.  The
solemn, unforgiving declaration haunted his
dreams, bringing him visions of her, calling out
his name with frightened pleas of help.  They
stayed with him still today, swimming before his
watering eyes like ghosts.

As the load filled the cart, Jesse kept talking. 
"Man, I gotta tell you about last night.  The
'Love Man' had the ladies buzzin', I tell you."

Jesse had frequented the whore houses every
chance he got since they'd been in this camp. 
He couldn't go every night, and Gabriel supposed
it was just as well... he was getting mighty
tired of hearing about Jesse's sexual exploits. 
Love Man, indeed.  Gabriel had gone into the
outskirts of Denver last Sunday just to look
around; he asked a few questions at every stop,
but didn't venture too far into the population. 
It was best to keep a low profile.

At Jesse's broken-record intrusion, Gabriel
almost hauled off and slugged him.  He wasn't in
the mood for anything but his own morose
thoughts.  "Later."  His arm had begun to hurt,
like it did when he was overdoing it.  Though he
kept on - if the foreman saw him favoring a
limb, he'd surely be sent to the doc.  And the
doc had ultimate say-so on work fitness;  you
couldn't work, you got canned.

Jesse grabbed the handles of his cart and paused
behind Gabriel, saying, "Got some real lookers
at the Silver Moon, man.  High class bitches,
not like those clap-ridden whores back in
Tucson."

Irritation threaded through Gabriel's reply.  "I
said later, Jesse.  Leave me alone."

"Okay," Jesse said, "but you're missin' out.  I
think you'd like Layla, or maybe even Jenny. 
That Miss Eliza, she got some -"

Gabriel's hand shot out, stilling Jesse's
departure.  His eyes narrowed on the black man's
face.  "*What* did you say?"

Jesse jerked away from Gabriel, his own eyes
becoming slits in the sunshine.  "I said you'd
like Layla," he said, with no small amount of
confusion at Gabriel's abrupt about-face.

"No, after that."  Come on, spill it again, he
screamed silently.  I wasn't paying attention
the first time.

"Jenny?  You like that name?"

"No, God damn it!"

His yell didn't go unnoticed by the foreman, and
Gabriel could have spit nails with anger at
himself for creating a scene.

"Hey!  You two get back to work!"  The foreman's
stare was leveled at them, his hand clutched
around his radio, ready to call in security.

Gabriel had seen how the foreman dealt with
disruptions of any kind.  Call it in to the
company, which immediately contacted the
territorial police. *If* there was anyone left
alive to be arrested, they would be.  The
foreman wasn't particularly keen on stepping
into the fray.  And he didn't distinguish
friendly conversation from unfriendly - loud
voices meant the work wasn't getting done.

"Jesse," Gabriel growled, his hand slipping
around the man's slick bicep, "don't go.  Talk
to me."

Jesse grimaced, wrenching his arm away.  "Don't
be gettin' me in trouble, man."  His eyes darted
to the approaching foreman before coming back to
Gabriel.  "I'll catch you at lunch, okay?"

"No you won't."  The foreman's voice drifted
over their shoulders.  "No lunch for either of
you."

"*What*?"  Jesse and Gabriel answered in unison,
incredulity making the question echo in the pit.

"You heard me.  This little conversation just
used up your lunch time.  Now, get back to
work."  He turned to leave, kicking up dust in
his wake.

Jesse took it in stride, shrugging his shoulders
at Gabriel before turning away.  The look on his
face said it all - it was no use arguing with
the man.  At least they still had jobs.

Gabriel, however, was incensed.  This was the
closest he'd come to any sort of lead in the
months since he'd set out and he'd had enough of
the company's strict rules.  With a growl, he
took a step toward the foreman, his knife coming
up with menace.

Only to be stopped short by a beefy arm around
his neck and a hot whisper in his ear.  "Cool
it, man!" Jesse hissed, easily snatching the
knife from Gabriel's shaky hand.  "You ain't got
a lick o'sense, do you?  I don't know why I
bother."  He gave Gabriel a squeeze to punctuate
his warning.  "Now, you gonna settle down?"

Jesus, what had he almost done?  Guaranteed
himself a trip to territorial prison, is what. 
With a deep breath, he asked, unwilling to let
Jesse go just yet, "Eliza?"

At that, Jesse released him, whirling him around
to say, "*That's* what this is all about?"

Gabriel didn't want to waste time.  Chest
heaving, he pursued the subject. "Dark hair,
dark eyes, voice like someone botched a nose
job?"

With a rueful smile, Jesse flipped the knife and
handed it back to Gabriel.  "You know, I'da
never figured you for the Elvira type - she's
one cold bitch."  Chuckling, he turned to his
cart and his muscles bulged as he lifted the
hundreds of pounds of rocks.  "Yeah.  Maybe
tomorrow night I'll take you up there - if you
can keep your God damned mouth shut 'til then."

As Jesse walked away, Gabriel slid the knife
back into his belt and went for his pick.  So it
wasn't the one he was looking for; it wasn't the
reason he traveled from one hellhole to another,
working his body from sunrise to sunset only to
work his mind as he laid awake each night.  It
wasn't her.

But it *was* someone he'd thought was dead.  A
link to the people he knew still lurked in the
shadows of the new government.  Maybe a link to
the answers, maybe not.  The best chance he'd
gotten so far - it would be foolish to pass it
up.

His sun-dried lips cracked open just a hair at
the first slam of the pick into the rock.  Then a
little wider, and a little wider, with every
successive hit.

The men who passed by looked at him like he'd
lost his mind.  Maybe he had - he couldn't stop
smiling.  It felt damned good.


End Chapter Two