Gabriel
Chapter Eight


The Rocky Mountains
September 19, 2001
6:45 a.m.


He felt better when he rose from the bed that
morning.  Still sore, but at least he was able
to walk without feeling like he was going to
fall down at any moment.  He slipped on the
pants Matthew had brought him and found he
didn't have the energy to roll up the pants
legs.  So they dragged the floor; they covered
him, that was all that mattered.  He'd tried to
don the socks and shoes, but found he couldn't
bend far enough to get them on.  So he stayed
barefoot.

A mouse scurried through his legs as he picked
up a small log to throw on the dying fire.  He
was cold and needed warmth.  Short of going back
to bed, he'd have to make do with the small
fire.  Matthew had said the Guards paid no
attention to the cabin; he wondered if it was
because they'd been ordered to stay away by
whoever it was running this place.

There were lots of questions he wanted answers
for and he'd get them, eventually.  Right now,
all he wanted was to see her again.

He made a pot of bitter, strong coffee and
opened a can of peaches.  The syrup slid down
his sore throat and he chewed the fruit into a
mash that just as easy to swallow.  The rush of
sugar and caffeine invigorated him and he wasted
no time splashing the sleep from his eyes with
icy water from the sink.  Pulling the rocker to
a position facing the door, he sat in front of
the fire to wait.

His mind began to work as he watched the sunrise
lighten the room.  Number one: it was her. 
Though he hadn't yet faced her with all his
faculties, he had no doubt of that fact.  Well,
maybe just a little; all the times he'd believed
without proof paled in comparison to this.  One
good look, that's all he needed.  She'd get such
a kick out of his skepticism.

Number two: she wasn't being held here against
her will.  At least, not within the walls of the
Ranch.  It appeared as if she could move about
freely, though something told him she didn't go
far without Matthew trailing along.

Number three: she still thought she was Julia. 
Or she had been *told* she was Julia.  The
paintings he'd scoured last night were all
mirrors of the one he'd first noticed; she knew
she was Julia, but she also knew there was
something missing in her psyche.  Fair enough. 
Even when the chip had called her to Ruskin Dam,
she hadn't been totally out of it, from what her
session with Dr. Verber had told him.  She'd
recognized Cassandra and had known enough about
what was happening to get herself away from the
danger.

He could work around that.  Okay, so maybe he
couldn't come right out and tell her she was
Scully - not right now, anyway.  There was the
little matter of his bruised voice, which made
expression of such a grave matter very
difficult.  And she probably wouldn't believe
him, anyway, even with the doubts she had as
represented by the paintings.  First, he had to
earn her trust.

Number four: Just how the hell was he going to
do that?  He'd scared her the other night,
despite Matthew's insistence that she was going
to help him.  This was a biggie.  He was no good
at ingratiating himself to anyone.

Number five: Another biggie.  The bounty hunter
and his purpose for kidnaping him from the
brothel.  Had he been working alone?  More
likely, he'd been bringing Gabriel to someone
else.  The alien could have killed him in an
instant, but he hadn't.  Alive and delivered to
an unknown person - he'd probably never know who
now.  Unless it was the mysterious 'Grandpa'.
Although, maybe the bounty hunter had been on
his way to kidnap Julia as well.  Knowing that
Gabriel would eventually find her, he waited,
disguised as Eliza.  Wait for Gabriel to show
up, then nab them both.

On to number six: Just who the hell was that
grandfather of Matthew's, anyway?  Some
benevolent soul who took pity on her and kept
her safe... again, not likely.  Though if the
bounty hunter had been working to kidnap them
both, then 'Grandpa' was unlikely to be the
recipient of the alien's efforts.  Why kidnap
Julia when he had her already?

All this thinking was giving Gabriel a headache. 

There was one conclusion to be made, however he
looked at it - she *was* being watched over.  In
a loose net, to be sure, but under watch still. 
Even if what Matthew said was true, it still
didn't explain how she ended up in Denver or why
she'd been taken from the bunker in the first
place.  That was something that still pierced at
his gut with agonizing pain - why take her?

He sighed, knowing he may not ever understand
that question.  All he knew was that he needed
her with him, as Julia or Scully, it didn't
matter.  If he could make her see that, then he
could take her away from here and make damn sure
nobody got to her next time.  Even if he had to
chain her to him... even if he had to take the
chip out...

Number seven:

"Don't move."

Gabriel's breath hitched at the husky command
and he lifted his chin against the slight prick
of the knife at his throat.  God, she smelled
good.  Like cool Colorado air and leaves of red-
gold ...  His lips turned up in a grin; damn
him, he really *was* slipping.  And despite her
not realizing who she was, she still had enough
of the real her within her to get the jump on
him.  She was good.

Number seven: the cabin had a back door.

"Matthew is right outside, but I wanted to come
in alone first."  Her words tickled his temple
and he clenched his fingers around the arm of
the rocker, sheer joy at her presence
threatening to make his heart jump out of his
chest.  Concentrate, he told himself.  This is
your test.  You'd better pass it or you'll find
yourself out on your ass in a flash.

"Are you the one?"

Number eight: you should have seen that one
coming again.  Fool! he scribbled on the yellow
notepad in his mind.

"Are you?  Yes or no?"

Now that was a rather difficult question to
answer, especially with a knife held to one's
throat, he thought.  Yes, I'm the one, he sees
himself saying - right before she slits his neck
because she's been told someone's coming to kill
her.  Great.

Or no, I'm not the one - the one you've been
told to wait for, to keep yourself safe for, the
one they've told you will eventually return for
you, even though it's probably not true.  Then
she really washes her hands of you.

Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

Instead, he feigned a gasp and lowered his head,
as if seized with pain.  She relented almost
immediately, her hand lowering just a fraction; 
it was enough for him to wrench the knife from
her.  She sucked in a surprised breath, then
nothing.  By the time he raised his head, she
was gone from behind him.

Frantically, he looked around the room, trying
to adjust his eyes from the light streaming
through the kitchen window to the shadows at his
left.  He struggled to stand, adrenaline making
his legs weak.

"All it would take," came from the dark alcove,
"is one scream of Matthew's name."

He conceded to her logic with a slow nod of his
head, straightening his spine.  But he had a
point to make as well.  With a snap of his
wrist, he sent the knife flying, burying it in
the doorframe.

That's all it would take from me, he told her
silently, leveling her with a stare.  If that's
what I wanted.

His eyes were rapidly picking her up in the
darkness; she still had that same black cloak
on, but he saw the pale outline of her face
framed in the hood, its square jaw loosening
into a grin.

"Point taken," she said.  "Gabriel.  I take it
you don't want to answer my question."

No, what he wanted to do was step forward and
take her into his arms, but that wasn't an
option.  He stood still, his chest heaving with
excitement.

"Then I won't ask it again, okay?"

Jesus, that wasn't what he meant at all...

"Miss Julia?"

Matthew opened the door wide, letting his eyes
roam about the room before spying the knife at
his shoulder.  He dropped the duffel bag and
flat case he held and pulled the knife from the
wood. "Everything okay in here?"  Giving Gabriel
a wary look, he fisted the knife handle.

"We're fine, Matthew," she answered, stepping
into the light as she lowered the hood of her
cloak.  "Put the bag on the table, please - and
you know where my case goes."

Oh, God, oh Jesus... yeah, it was her all right. 
All beautiful and small and so *pink* with good
health he thought he might faint from the
brilliance of her smile.

Matthew lifted the duffel to the table with a
grunt and turned for the flat case, bringing it
almost reverently to the alcove before moving
back to her side.  She gave him a smile of
thanks.

"Would you go back to the Ranch and get my
glasses?  I seem to have forgotten them on my
bedside table."  She took the knife from
Matthew's hand and slipped it into her pocket.

God, he couldn't take his eyes from her. 
Drinking in her face and voice... yes, her
voice.  The voice he hadn't heard truly for
months; the words she'd spoken as she left the
bunker faded, just as the memory of what she'd
done to him left for good.  So what if she'd
just held him at knife point?  He didn't care,
because he had her back with him.

"Miss, I don't think I should leave you alone."

"Nonsense," she huffed.  "And how many times
have I told you to stop calling me 'Miss' - it's
just Julia."

"Grandpa says it's impolite."

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, but -"

"Then stop it.  You're making me feel old."  She
gave Matthew a pat on the arm and continued,
"Now, go along.  We're doing just fine, aren't
we, Gabriel?"

Oh, yeah, they were doing just great.  Fabulous,
spectacular... get the hell out already,
Matthew.  His smile was shaky and he felt like
the biggest goof that ever walked on two feet,
but he felt wonderful.

"Now, go.  I'm just going to unpack what we've
brought.  I'll be fine."  She ushered Matthew
out the door, leaving it open for the light.  As
she turned back, she whispered, "He's only
sixteen, you know.  I have this horrible feeling
I'm old enough to be his mother, but I refuse to
let him treat me like I am."

Sixteen?  God, in the old world, he'd have had a
*great* future in the NBA, Gabriel thought.  And
yes, with a little stretch, she could possibly
be old enough to have given birth to the boy. 
But she certainly didn't look like it, not to
his eyes, anyway.

Her hair was pulled away from her face into a
braid that snaked down the back of her neck.  It
had gotten so long and little tendrils of gold
escaped to caress her brow and cheeks, making
her look like she was much younger than her
years.  Her hands went into her pockets.

"It's cold in here, Gabriel," she stated, moving
in a circle around him to the fire.  He turned
with her, unable to tear his gaze from her even
for a moment.  She easily lifted a few more logs
into the fireplace.  "Matthew told you that you
didn't have to worry about the smoke - we're
here a lot, even at night."

So she *had* listened in on their one-sided
conversation yesterday.  Shivering from more
than the cold, he stood in place, waiting for
her to continue.  Still smiling softly, he let
his eyes roam over her face.

She saw his stare and flushed a bit, smiling
herself.  "Sorry about the way I greeted you. 
Think of it as a test.  Matthew said he thought
we could trust you.  But I had to be sure." 
Once again, she moved silently across the floor,
hissing at the cold wind that blew in before she
slammed the door shut.  "Besides, you couldn't
hurt a flea - not in the shape you're in.  But
just in case... the knife stays right here." 
She patted her pocket and began to empty the
contents of the duffel on the table.

Gabriel didn't know where to start or what to do
- he knew what he *felt* like doing.   But
somehow, he didn't think she'd take too kindly
to his tongue down her throat.  Instead, he
moved gingerly to the table, picking his way
through the semi-dark room.  Just a she felt his
legs would give out from sheer relief at seeing
her, he reached the chair and flopped into it,
fastening his gaze on the beauty before him.

She pulled the string over the table and the
light bulb flickered for a moment, then blared. 
He blinked at the sudden light, feeling his eyes
narrow painfully.  They were still red from
exposure to the alien blood, but they were much
better than even the night before.

"Too much?" she asked, reaching for the string
again.

No, he shook his head firmly.  He wanted to look
at her - God, he'd never get enough of looking
at her, never again.  He reached for the pad and
pencil he'd left on the table last night and,
with painstaking determination, scrawled a
heavy, <Beautiful,> onto the white sheet, giving
in to the urge to at least compliment her.

She shrank back at that, her eyes narrowing as
she paused, a can of chili hovering in mid-air. 
"Umm... Gabriel -"

Shit, that was just a bit too forward.  Some
effort at gaining her trust.  God, he felt like
he was Matthew's age again, trying to get the
most popular girl in school to give him the time
of day.  He was no good at it then, and now,
looking like a hobo, he really had no hope at
all.  Think of something quick, he told himself.

Gabriel looked over at the array of paintings in
the alcove and pointed, hoping his explanation
was enough to satisfy her.  She may not know who
she really was, but she still had a sharp mind -
one that was wary of flattery.

Sighing, Julia turned to put the can into the
cabinet.  "I'm not much of an artist, I'm
afraid.  Too much unknown."  She paused and
lowered her chin, as if debating whether or not
she should continue.  But she did, giving him a
glance.  "It was why I asked you if you were the
one... he's supposed to come for me one day."

<Who?> Gabriel wrote, then raised his head for
her answer.

"The one I dream about, but cannot see.  The one
I know is coming for me one day."

God, he was thoroughly confused.  She expected
someone to come for her?  How could she when she
didn't even know who she really was?  Julia had
no history, no family.  If their roles were
reversed, he'd be clamoring for answers, trying
to get out of here with his every waking breath.

She laughed shortly as she continued to put away
the supplies.  "Guess I should explain myself,
huh?"

He nodded, anxious to hear what she had to say.

"I've only been here a few months, Gabriel.  I
know what Matthew told you - that his
grandfather found me in Denver.  That's true, I
suppose.  But unfortunately, I can't remember
anything prior to waking up at the Ranch.  Of
course, I've been told about the invasion.  But
I've lost everything from my old life.  And
there isn't anyone here who knows me from
before.  All I knew was my name."  Her eyes
misted over as she took a pan from the cabinet. 
"Then the dreams started.  I see someone who
knows me, who knows what happened to me, why I'm
-" she broke off, biting her lip beforre
continuing.  "The doctor tells me I'm seeing
someone from my past.  Chances are, he's dead. 
They told me my memory would return eventually,
not to rush it - the stress wasn't good for me. 
I just thought maybe you'd know me...."  She
trailed off, turning to the stove.  "Ridiculous,
isn't it?  I'm not psychic."

And he'd missed his chance.  No way in hell
she'd believe him now if he said he was the one. 
Too convenient - hell, *he'd* be mighty
suspicious at the sudden turnaround, if he was
her.  He clenched his teeth against the agony of
the easy way out slipping through his fingers.

All right, so that explained the 'one' thing -
and why she seemed content to wait around this
place.  Was her mental health that fragile?  Was
she hurt some other way, something he couldn't
see?

Another, more important fact - whoever had her
was taking very good care of her.  She had a
definite glow of good health; so did Matthew,
for that matter.  Maybe his grandfather was just
paranoid - and he obviously had the money to
take care of anyone who got too close.

"Would you like some eggs for breakfast?"  She
turned, eggs in hand over the heating pan.

He bent over the pad again.  What to say? 
Should he go for broke and write her name?  No -
best not to risk Matthew seeing it, in case he
was not the innocent he appeared to be.  And the
fire place was too far away to quickly dispose
of the paper, should the boy walk in. 
Inspiration struck, and he scrawled the word.

Look at it, he silently pleaded.  Don't you
recognize the name?  The name I *wanted* to take
instead?

Shaking her head, she raised confused eyes to
his.  "Jibril?  I don't understand - is that
even a word?  Are you sure you're okay,
Gabriel?"

Frustration gathered in his chest. This doing
without a voice was a bitch, he decided, then
realized he had a backup - sign language.  If
her knowledge of it hadn't been erased with her
memory, that is.

Picking his right hand up, he told himself to
concentrate... start slowly.  One letter at a
time, something she would not mistake, but would
awaken her to the possibility of more.  Small
beads of sweat broke out on his forehead; damn
the misfiring nerves in his arm.

E - G - G - S.  Y - E - S.

Her eyes widened and she let the eggs drop from
her fingers to the pan, where they shattered. 
"I understand you.  God, Gabriel, do it again."

He blinked with brief relief, then exhaled,
keeping his gaze on her wondrous face as he
picked his way carefully to her sleeping mind.
<Name.>

"Yes, Julia.  You knew that already.  Say
something else, please."  Excitement made her
smile and she turned from the stove to stand
beside him, touching his fingers with hers. 
"How do I know what you're saying?  Do you know
what this means?"

He nodded, fully understanding her happiness at
the memory of such language.  It took her by
surprise, but it also told her something about
herself that hadn't been filtered through
another person - she could read sign language. 
A bit of history that she embraced, much in the
same way her fingers wrapped around his.

Gabriel swallowed, his eyes drifting to the
sight of her fingers cradling his.  Touching -
she was touching him.  The warmth of her hands
radiated up his arm and he found he couldn't
look away.  She kept speaking, apparently not
noticing his sudden, tense silence.

"It means my mind remembered.  It's not much,
but it was *me*."  Like holding a precious
flower, she let her hands peel away from around
his.  "Say something again, Gabriel.  Anything,"
she breathed, her blue eyes misting over.

God, what could he say?  Her real name?  His
real name?  Matthew would be back at any moment;
though Gabriel suspected the boy was an
innocent, one thing he knew for sure - he also
had a big mouth.  The things Gabriel had learned
from him in the short time since he'd been here
was proof of that.  Best not to give Matthew a
word he could pass along that would set off
alarms.  Searching his mind for something that
could possibly give her another piece of memory,
he settled on a simple sentence.

<I am the bringer of truth.>

All was still for a moment and he held his
breath as she processed the words, blinking
twice as she backed away.  "It *is* you, isn't
it?" she breathed.

Before he could answer, she'd run to the alcove. 
He saw her fumble with her case and he slowly
stood, his stiff muscles protesting just a bit
in his effort to follow.  But he needn't have
bothered, because she was back in a heartbeat,
her eyes flashing with anguish as she held a
drawing before him with trembling hands.  "Is
this you?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

Is was agony to tear his eyes from the face that
was so close, when all he wanted was to touch it
with his lips.  But he did, lowering his chin to
look at what she'd adamantly shoved at him.

It was a sketch, flowing black lines upon cream-
colored parchment.  A vague representation of a
man, the shadows of his face hidden behind a
fall of long, curly hair as he laid in naked
splendor upon a makeshift bed of blankets.

Gabriel caught his breath - is that who she saw
in her dreams?  He tensed at the sight of a very
familiar adornment in the otherwise stark
picture - the cross.  Lying on the bare chest
just below the averted, sleeping face... his
hand crept up his bare skin looking for it,
eager to confirm her suspicions.

But it was gone.  He looked at her once again,
this time with tears in his eyes.  The one link
to her - the *proof* he so desperately needed -
was missing.  With all the rough handling he'd
received from the bounty hunter and those men,
it must have gotten torn off.

"Is it?"

The smell of burning eggs reached his nose.  She
didn't even notice it, never once wavering from
her search for the truth.  "This is you."

As he debated his approach of the conclusion he
saw already dawning in her eyes, she suddenly
gasped, the parchment crumbling as her fingers
fisted around it.  He stilled, his eyes going
wide as he saw her head snap back.

Oh, shit, he thought, reaching his good arm
around her.  He staggered as she began to jerk
in his hold, her eyes rolling back in her head. 
God, it was some kind of seizure - visions of
Max Fenig from years ago assaulted him and he
knew he had to do something or she'd injure
herself.

Letting his legs bend, his fell to his knees
with her cradled in his arm, wincing as he hit
the floor.  Her arms were flailing and he used
his chest as confinement, bringing her close to
try to trap those hands against his body.  But
he couldn't bring her close enough, not with the
bulk of his bandaged arm between them.  He
didn't know what else to do and he settled for
just curling his arm beneath her neck.

He waited for long, agonizing moments as her
body slowly stopped, his panicked tears dropping
upon her ashen cheeks.  When the last of the
tremors died, he brought one knee up and used
the vee of his legs to hold her as he brushed
her cheek with his fingers.  She was still
breathing, though out of it totally.  But she
was okay - he hoped.  Only time would tell.

As her breaths became even and deep, he gathered
her close to him, savoring the chance to hold
her in his embrace.  Then he went perfectly
still, his face buried in her warm neck. 
Something wasn't right.  The hand that was
almost confined by the immovable sling trembled
as its knuckles brushed against her torso.

Pulling back, he realized the bulk of his arm
wasn't the only impediment to the touch of his
body to hers.  The cloak was flat against her
body and his eyes widened at the sight.  Huge,
silent sobs broke from his throat as he lowered
his head, closing his eyes to brush a kiss to
her cold cheek.

And he understood everything.  Why she'd been
taken from him.  That she hadn't been found
wandering the streets of Denver after all.  That
'Charles Spencer' was not the good-as-gold
'Grandpa' that Matthew thought him to be.

Because 'Grandpa' had gotten what he wanted. 
Had probably stationed the bounty hunter in
Denver to prevent Gabriel from getting too
close.  And had ordered his guards to kill
anyone who approached the fortress.

Julia - the one he'd let slip away from him...
the one who didn't even realize just how
important she was... was pregnant.



End Chapter Eight