From: *Rain'22* Date: 11 Oct 2003 03:50:08 -0700 Subject: [all-xf] Spunk Book I (Chapter Seven A) Source: atxc TITLE: Spunk BOOK I (Dangos fi pa mor dawns) Chapter Seven A AUTHOR: Rain Garcia [Agent Rain] --------------------------------- Mulder manor Beverly Hills, Los Angeles March 23, 1985 Saturday Emily poured freshly squeezed lemon juice into Mulder's champagne glass. They exchanged sarcastic looks as Mr. Spender- or as he wanted to be called, Captain Spender,- chatted about his fabulous chateau in Paris. It didn't matter. They settled on getting married in the US, and the couple was going to stick with that plan. Mulder thanked Emily, churning back to his place on the sofa. He sat down heavily, not intending to snag Diana's gray chiffon skirt with one butt cheek. He quickly sat up; mouthing a 'sorry' to the stern- faced brunette, and sat back down- this time at the far end of the couch. Captain Spender dragged at his tobacco, puffing out the black smoke. Mulder didn't like the smell of tobacco smoke, let alone inside his own home, but Emily had warned and pleaded with him to be nice to Jeffrey's parents. So that's what he was doing right now. Being nice. When his ex- wife was a few centimeters from him on the same couch, and when a man smoking hard tobacco was in front of him, and when he had better things to do [like pressuring the bank on who sent him that leisure amount of $5000] than sit there and listen to an old man talk about his picturesque rest house- the last thing he wanted to do is BE nice. Mulder calmed himself with another drink. It was all for Emily. It always was. Toutes les fois pour Emily. Detaching himself from the story, he tried to study Jeffrey. The young man had his arm around Emily, his whole body as stiff as a walking stick. The man was in the army, as Emily had told him when they were just dating. He was terribly patriotic about his country, and wanted to name his forthcoming children Abraham, Jacqueline... the man invested well in History 101. He laughed at Emily back then, telling her that she didn't *mesh* with the army guy. Emily was too sweet for him, too mellow, too... Emily. His daughter only shrugged when he made his comment, but later proved him wrong when she presented to him a humongous engagement ring over dinner. He choked on his lobster. He met THE Jeffrey the next day, and found him polite, a little stiff, but at least, the man laughed at Mulder's jokes. Whether Jeffrey's snickers were for Mulder's approval or for finding Mulder plain crazy, it didn't matter. Emily was in love with him--- as a father, he warned her that Jeffrey's job was dangerous. If he was to be deported to a country, he would leave Emily and their future children. His daughter told him that it didn't matter: they would be with each other in spirit. Fine. So he gave them their blessings. What else could he do? "... You could hear the birds hum when you wake up in the morning, so I've made it a point to wake up early- 6 AM early. Isn't that right, honeybunch?" Captain Spender drew Mrs. Spender--- or Cassandra--- towards him and huffed another round. He smoked, told stories that were 50 years ago, and called his wife "honeybunch". This wasn't exactly the in- law he had in his mind when he met Jeffrey. Diana was all smiles the whole day, and it intimidated him for no reason at all. He thought it might've been the atmosphere- this WAS their home half the time they were married- but Diana was putting up quite a show. She even kissed him on the cheek. Mulder wanted to wash his face clean when she did. He was almost a step away from the bathroom when Emily hooked her arm around him and drew him to the living room. When his future in- laws were done ruffling around, Diana crossed her legs, dangling a glinting Gucci bracelet in his direction. "That sounds splendid, Captain Spender. But Jeffrey and Emily decided on a garden wedding here in the United States. I'm sure they would love a second wedding-" "No need," the captain coughed out, forming smoke rings as he did. "We have 5 other kids that could be married there." "I'm betting on Jam," Cassandra inserted, making Jeffrey grin. Mulder forgot- the couple was a baby- making machine back in their hey- days. Overall, they had 8 children. 3 already married, the younger three still studying, and the 2 middle kids in stable professions. Jeffrey was the 4th of all their kids. That fact might've sounded horrible to others, but to Mulder it sounded nice. Not nice like nice that he was now, but nice. Plain nice. Having children around the house, seeing them grow up, and seeing them become themselves. He only had Emily for that, and he was too young when she was still in her early teens for him to appreciate the significance. He needed a second chance. "We're planning on the summer house Dad has in Quonochontaug, Rhode Island... and it's large. It has a great garden for the wedding, and the inside of the house has this wonderful living room that's fit for the reception," Emily said, intertwining her fingers with Jeffrey's. The young man nodded in agreement. "We want something simple, not very extravagant. A total of 50 guests will do," Jeffrey added. Cassandra clapped her hands in surprise. "But baby, I've asked my whole garden club to come to your wedding!" "Mom-" Jeffrey warned, darting his eye towards Mulder, Diana, and Emily's side. Cassandra folded her hands on her lap and leaned on her husband. Captain Spender patted her back, extinguishing his tobacco on the crystal ash tray. "It's... really okay, Jeffrey. We could still afford 20 or more. Dad's rest house is splendidly big," Emily encouraged her fiance, and turned to Mulder for support. "Right, Dad?" Mulder was busy with the sunflower seeds, and he was caught with one in his mouth. All eyes were on him. He swallowed the whole damn seed and muttered: "Yeah. Sure. It's great." They abandoned him, the whole clan sinking into the wedding preliminaries once again. Mulder kept quiet throughout the whole conversation, content with the sunflower seeds. He forgot about his favorite snack when he was staying in Vegas; he was too busy arguing with Scully and fixing everything out for her show to think about eating some. Next week, he'll be visiting Scully in Las Vegas. He'll have to remember to bring some seeds with him. They ease his tension. Jenny, their housekeeper, appeared from the den. She excused herself from interrupting the conversation, and moved towards Mulder. She grinned at Diana first before she started talking. "The phone in the den, Mr. Mulder. It is for you." All eyes were on him again. Mulder, clearly happy for the distraction, scooped a handful of sunflower seeds and thanked Jenny. He excused himself from the group, and headed towards the den, munching absently on a juicy seed. Reaching the phone, he tucked it in between his shoulder and ear. "Hell-ow?" he greeted, still busy with the seed swirling in his mouth. A deep male voice met his ear. "Is this Mr. Fox Mulder?" "Yes, speaking. May I know who this is?" "Mr. Mulder, this is Dr. Vast from the Santa Cecilia Hospital here in Las Vegas. You know Ms. Dana Scully?" Mulder propped himself up, brushing away specks of damp seeds from his t- shirt. "Yes. Why? Is there something wrong?" "Ms. Scully was admitted to our hospital this afternoon by Mr. Jerry Jayson. According to him, she fainted during a dance routine, and had a major nose bleed while she was unconscious. We have been..." He cut off the doctor, smacking his palms on the surface of his desk. The sunflower seeds that he held flew all over the rug, flying all over the place. The news caught him off- guard. "Is- is she okay? What are the findings?" "Calm down, Mr. Mulder. Ms. Scully's condition is stable. There's no problem about that aspect, but we have been worried about her mental health. She had been reluctant to talk to anyone, and we had to sedate her to get blood samples." "She was violent?" "Yes, at one point, she was. Mr. Jayson suggested that we call you, since according to him, you have been living with her for the past month." "I'm... I'm her director. I take care of her," Mulder explained. He cannot keep his voice from shaking. Goddamn it. This couldn't be happening. "Maybe you would know how to calm her down. We need to keep her in the hospital for at least three days, until we get the results of her blood test. If it's no bother to you, I suggest that you see her here in Las Vegas." Mulder didn't say anything at first. Fly to Vegas? Right now? "Mr. Mulder?" the doctor piped up. Mulder snapped back to reality. "Umm, sure... uhh, I'll see about that. If I can't come, I'll phone you immediately." "Thank you, Mr. Mulder. Sorry for the inconvenience." That was the Doctor's last statement before he heard the click. The other line went dead, and the busy tone pierced Mulder's ears. He didn't make any move to put it back into its cradle, though. He just stood there, appalled at what was happening. He wanted nothing more than to drop everything and fly to Vegas. However, his daughter was right there in the living room, planning her wedding. "Dad...?" Emily's voice surprised him, making him jump. He swirled around, breathing hard. "Emily... Christ, you scared me." He placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart. Emily smiled sadly. "Something's going on. What's up?" "It's..." He bent down and began to pick up the scattered sunflower seeds, using it as an excuse to not look his daughter in the eye. "Scully. She's been admitted to a hospital after suffering unconsciousness and a nasty nose bleed." He purposely used the word 'nasty'. 'Major' sounded too drastic. And panicky, like what he was experiencing at that second. Emily kneeled down in front of him, and began to help him pick out the seeds. "They need you there?" Mulder kept on picking up seeds, still avoiding his daughter's eyes. "You should go there, if that's the case. We will all be fine here. It's not like the wedding's tomorrow anyway," his daughter reasoned out, resting her elbows on her thighs. He soughed and slowly looked into her eyes. "She needs you, Dad. Even more than Jeffrey and I do right now." His daughter's encouragement made his mood lighten. It was true; Scully did need him. He could not deny that. It was written in black and white that he was her "caretaker". She, unarguably, belonged to him. "She *is* mine. She is... my responsibility," Mulder agreed, rising up to his feet. Emily gathered a few seeds that he missed before also standing up. "You should leave now." Emily took his wrist and opened his clenched fingers, taking the sunflower seeds from his palm. "I'll take care of everything. Go on." When Emily smiled, he was convinced that it was all right- he could go. Relieved, Mulder kissed Emily on the forehead, and exited the den. He jumped on the stairs, ignoring the surprised stares form the guests, towards his bedroom to pack. ------------------------------------ On short notice, he was able to gather one of the three musketeers with him. This time it was Byers, his personal favorite. That was because the man was quiet. He talked only when Mulder talked, and always told the truth. That was Byers' mantra: get rid of bullshit and tell the truth. Fuck everything else, he had to tell the truth. And another thing he liked and hated about the man at the same time was that he seemed to know Mulder better than the director knew himself. Really. They arrived in the hospital approximately three hours after his conversation with the doctor. Mulder pushed through rushing nurses and doctors in the ER, until he reached the information center. "Hi. My name's Fox Mulder and am looking for a patient named Dana Scully." The blond nurse shuffled through some records, and told him to go to a room 201. Mulder complied immediately, with Byers - his personal puppy- at his heels. The elevator ride took an eternity for Mulder. He was sweating profusely, his body still not used to all the running and the overwhelming heat spring was jostling in. Byers remained by his side, carrying yellow lilies from the airport's flower shop. They made a side trip, since the flowers immediately reminded him of Scully. Maybe it would help calm her down. In the hallway, they were met with a mild- mannered doctor, whom Mulder immediately took as the Dr. Vast. They shook hands firmly. He introduced his companion to the Doctor after their meeting. "Thank you for coming. We knew we could count on you," Dr. Vast greeted, and they wasted no time as they walked towards Scully's room. "What exactly happened, Doctor?" Byers finally spoke out, hugging the vase of lilies close to his chest. His squeaky rubber shoes rubbed on the shiny marble tiles of the hallways. Mulder caught a grimace from the Doctor before the man answered. "Mr. Jayson mentioned an ongoing practice in his gymnasium when Ms. Scully complained of dizziness. Stopping the rehearsal," The Doctor turned a sharp right, leading them to another hallway that was dimly lighted with fluorescents that could hardly fill the small gaps of the windows. The atmosphere made Mulder feel more nervous. He sunk his hands into his pockets to hide the sweat. "Mr. Jayson said that Ms. Scully complained of vertigo, and by that time, she was already extremely pale. She fainted not long afterwards." Dr. Vast waved a pleasant hello to a curvaceous nurse that was exiting a private room. The nurse snubbed him, then smiled at Mulder. The director disregarded it. He was too busy listening to Dr. Vast to notice the nurse's come-on. "The crew tried hard to revive Ms. Scully, however, as that was happening, a nosebleed took place. The bleeding got so bad that they immediately rushed her here. We were able to stabilize her condition, and she regained consciousness in the next hour." Dr. Vast had led them to a small corridor, where they found Jerry sitting down on the lounging chairs. At the sight of them, the colorful man rose up, smiling forlornly at Mulder and Byers. "That was when everything got messy, Mr. Mulder." The doctor waved his hand towards the room opposite Jerry. Mulder took a moment, before he looked into the slightly opened blinds. Through the slits, he could make out Scully--- dejectedly huddled on the bed, with her back arched against the head board. She had her face buried in between her knees, her hair tousled all over her head, and her whole body was shivering in extreme fright. Mulder quickly turned away. Seeing Scully like that scared him; her being so different from her usual self. Mulder turned to his companions, who were all obviously waiting for his reaction. "She's been crying. I can tell. She's scared crazy... What did you do to her?" He composed himself enough to say those words without anger snarling out of theme. There was fire in his eyes though, and the three people all caught it. When Dr. Vast spoke, he did with gentleness, regarding Mulder's reaction with care. "We sedated her, Mr. Mulder. We collected some blood so we could test her health- but we promise you, we didn't-" Byers once told him that he had a habit of cutting people off before they could finish their train of thought. When his faithful friend gave him the "Byers' warning- blinking-eyes look" as a signal, Mulder snatched the flowers out of his hand, and entered the room, leaving the three outside in complete, utter surprise. --------------------------------- The scrape of the vase against the empty bed table echoed across the sullen room, and the mere sound of it almost made Mulder jump. He calmed his pounding heart, pretending to be rearranging the flowers [not that it mattered; there's not much contrast with yellow and yellow.], while stealing forlorn glances at Scully. Mulder wasn't sure whether it was only to him that his settling of the vase appeared so noisy... Scully wasn't giving any indication that she gave a fuck about his presence. Her head was still buried in between her knees. She moved sometimes, Mulder noticed as he stood there stupidly, waiting for a sign from her so that he could approach. Scully rearranged the position of her feet, and rubbed them on the mattress. The sheets around her thin body creased more as she did that. He swallowed, anticipating her reaction if he surged forward and asked how she felt. This time, he's not gonna take "I'm fine" as an answer. She gave him that same reply every time he asked her if she was okay. Mulder closed his eyes briefly, and then inched his way towards the bed. He sat down lightly on a spare space, a few inches from Scully, making sure that he didn't put all of his weight on the mattress. He wouldn't know how she would react, would he? "Sc-" he started, his breathe hitching in his throat. He was stopped by an anonymous sound coming from the woman before him. "If you are here to talk to me- don't bother. I won't talk." She lifted her face from her legs, surprising Mulder with her deathly paleness. She was as white as the sheets around her--- probably even whiter. Her tears pooled around her eyes and dried on her cheeks, leaving behind barely visible brown tracks of where they once were. Mulder had to stop himself from reaching over and wiping them dry- he had more help with Scully's firing blue eyes in that aspect. "I don't need you to talk," he admitted, clenching his fists as her mouth twitched in surprise. "I... just want you to listen." "I won't do that either," she stubbornly conveyed, angling her face so that they were looking at each other eye- to ...eye. Mulder's fist tightened. "What do you want to do?" He'll argue with her. It's what they both do best: argue and tire each other out. That's what he's going to do. He'll tire her out and before she even knows it, he'll be able to talk her into calming down. There's a catch to that: Mulder's physical faculties were not much help. He had been jet- setting all around LA to catch some things before leaving, booked a flight for Las Vegas in no time, and headed to the hospital once they arrived. He hadn't slept well last night because of pre- wedding planning jitters, and it probably showed right now. Did he mention that Dr. Vast hadn't told Scully that she needed to stay for three more days? Shit. Scully's lower lip trembled. "I want to leave. I don't want to stay here." She pronounced them with forced confidence. Mulder breathed in. "Scully, please understand..." "How many days do I have to stay in this hell- hole?" Mulder was taken aback by her sudden question. His first intention was to stall her with his words, but he remembered that she wouldn't listen to him. She would only open her ears when he'd answer her questions. "Three days. Only three days." He made it sound so simple, as if those three days didn't matter. He blinked and Scully's expression changed to extreme panic. "I...I'm... not staying here... that long," she said, and he couldn't determine whether the sound of teeth chattering were coming from her or from him. Mulder licked his lips, and assured himself that it wasn't from him. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Scully, you are sick. If we recall what happened to you according to Mr. Jayson, you fainted and had extreme blood loss. They need to monitor you for your own safety. You'll get a blood transfusion soon-" "BULLSHIT! I WANT TO LEAVE!" she shouted, cutting him off with a hiss. Mulder's hands dropped to his side and his eyes widened with her sudden outrage. Scully's face was now flushed with the mixture of panic and rage, though he could tell that she had already put in half of all the energy she had into shouting. "You cannot leave. I will personally not allow it until you are well enough to do so. You can't control this, Scully. This is your fucking health." "Let me go, Mulder. You don't... understand!" She clutched her legs against her body once again, wrapping her arms around them protectively. Tears were dripping from her eyes, and Mulder was struck with the fear at the sight of Scully crying too much. Her already weak body might get aggravated. "I don't want to argue with you anymore, Scully. I'm not going to fight you today," he cleared, knowing that he himself didn't have the energy to continue with his initial plan. He stretched his hand towards her feet, hesitating as he touched her there. Her toes were freezing. Scully flinched when his palm came in contact with her feet, though they were under the blankets. His warmth was colliding with her coldness. "You don't understand." Her voice was softer. She was watching his fingers curled around her toes, trying to fuse his some of his heat into her. "What don't I understand?" He squeezed her feet encouragingly. She jumped back a bit when he did that, but didn't react any further. "N... I'm..." She was cautious about it, Mulder realized. So he inched closer and took her hand in his, caressing the back of it gently. The softness was familiar to him, but the cold that invaded the tips of her fingers weren't. Scully let another tear appear. "I'm afraid." "Afraid of what?" She tried to pull her hand back from him, but he held on. She let him hold it while she talked. "This place!" Mulder guessed that if she would've have had the strength, that would probably right into his face. "Afraid of hospitals?" He gripped her hand and Scully finally gave up. "Yes," she whispered, dejectedly lowering her arm, taking his with it. He tired her out. Scully only made confessions when she was dead tired. Mulder tucked her hand into his stomach and drew closer until he had his whole body against hers. She convulsed in anxiety as he did that, but relaxed when her head met his chest. His breathing also slackened, and that helped her calm down against him. Mulder placed his chin on her head, rounding his other hand over her waist and gripping her to him. It didn't surprise him that they were hugging... what surprised him was how comfortable it felt. He didn't want to let her go. "I'm sorry, Scully... but you have to stay here. You are mine, remember? And it's my responsibility to take care of you. That's ultimately what I'm going to do." She sobbed. He could feel the wetness of her tears against his own skin. That desperation tore Mulder up. He didn't want her to cry anymore. If she cried another round, she'd dry up and disintegrate into nothingness. "Tell me how to make it better for you," he said hoarsely, stroking her frazzled red hair, combing through the knotted strands delicately. "I... don't... know..." Each word was punctuated with an intake of breath. Mulder blinked and pressed his cheek on the top of her head. He hoped she would stop shutting herself and start talking. At least he had a fight against that. Spunk Rule # 6 is now formed: tire her out so she'll start opening up bit by bit. It was a hard task, since she also easily tired Mulder out--- but it's worth a try when necessary. "You're my responsibility, Scully. Tell me how I could make this better for you, so I won't worry." She rubbed her eyes on his shirt, and through a muffled voice, she was able to say: "Please stay with me. Don't leave me, please. I had a nightmare today... the sedation... and there was no one here. No one heard me or helped me." Mulder nodded, letting some strands stick to his face as he did so. "I won't leave you," he promised. Scully's hand with his pressed against her collarbone, making him remember that he was still holding her fingers in a death grip. It didn't matter. He probably wouldn't let go of her for a long, long time. He felt an empowerment over him... an over protectiveness for the lady. Maybe her statement to him last week went straight to his head, but he couldn't deny the strong feeling. He wanted to take care of her for as long as she would allow him to. She was his. He owned her until the movie ran. He'd make sure that the task at hand was taken care of- no matter how challenging it was. He will never back out. He never did. Scully continued to cry, and he tried his best to hush her. She was still talking as the last sobs escaped from her throat. Her voice was spent, and she could do nothing but whisper. "Don't leave me, please, Mulder. Don't leave me, please. I don't want to dream anymore." "I won't leave, Scully. I won't," he replied. That got her to stop, and they settled down. Scully was still against him, but he loosened his grip on her. His two hands were flat on her back this time, and hers were limp at her sides. That was the moment when Byers chose to enter the room and study the situation at hand. "She's fine. Were gonna be fine," Mulder told Byers even before the man could ask him. The Musketeer nodded, still intent on both of them. "Byers, could I ask you for a favor?" He had his back to his friend, so it was hard for him to see the man's expression. Scully was watching the Musketeer from his shoulder, peeking with her sensitized red eyes. "Anything," Byers replied. "Uhh, could you call Emily for me? Tell her I won't be able to go home any time this week. I'm staying here until Scully's all fine." When Scully heard those words, she pushed herself away from Mulder and stared at him as if he was the most impossible man in the world. "No, Mulder. Go home... I don't want to be a bother." Her desperate tone was replaced by a faade of courageous attitude and he could see that she was fighting the fright and panic that was rising again within her. He admired her courage and generosity. However, he was not going anywhere. She's his responsibility. He had to stand up for her. "You're no bother, Scully. It's s'okay. Emily understands." "No... you see..." "I want to stay, Scully," he firmly stated, and she quieted down. Now that they were disconnected, he turned his body towards Byers. The man was still standing in the middle of the room, and when he had Scully in full view, he waved a little. Scully waved back, forcing a smile on her lips. "Tell Emily that everything's going to be fine, and she doesn't need to worry. They should go on without me; I'll catch up next week. Will you do that, Byers?" Byers nodded, and left without a word. With that settled, Mulder returned his attention to his Spunk. He rose from the bed, and tucked her under the covers. While she was trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, Mulder straightened out the covers around her, knowing that if she woke up clear- headed the next day she'd be irritated by the creases. Scully lay on her right side, facing his body. Mulder tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, and leaned into her ear. "I'm not going to leave you, Scully. You should have a nice night." When he drew back, she was already passive. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, tugging also at an invisible chord in Mulder's heart. ----------------------------- Continued in Chapter Seven B ----------------------------- TITLE: Spunk BOOK I (Dangos fi pa mor dawns) Chapter Seven B ----------------------------- He had to take advantage of the time Scully spent sleeping. He knew that she wouldn't let him out of her sight when she comes around, so he fixed everything that needed to be fixed. Generously, Mr. Jayson and Byers offered to crane the stiff hospital bench outside Scully's room for him, since he's staying the night and there's no way he could rest contentedly on the stool that was supplied in the room. It was only fit for the basket of fruits that he asked Byers to get for Scully. The grateful doctors and nurses also offered extra blankets and pillows for him; a slight consolation prize for getting Scully to calm down after hours of screaming her head off. When all was done [Emily was phoned and assured, Mr. Jayson thanked- and given the opportunity to attend back to his businesses], Byers pulled Mulder by the arm before he could enter Scully's room. "What?" Mulder twisted his head towards his friend, pulling back his arm. Byers scratched his beard, messing the fine strands. Compared to Mulder, though, the Musketeer looked better by a hundred percent. "Are you sure you want to stay here alone? I could sit up with you, Mulder." "I'll be fine. You go and rent a hotel nearby. I'll call you if something goes wrong." Mulder smiled feebly, and then headed once again towards the room--- only to be stopped by Byers once again. When he heard his name uttered, he sighed and faced his friend with annoyance. "If there's something you want to tell me, please do it now," he pushed, standing in front of the man chest-to- chest. He found out- from the time Byers entered that hospital room and took a visible note of his hug with Scully- that an idea was pecking at the back of the man's head. Mulder prepared himself for whatever Byers would be saying. As he had once noted to himself, Byers could read him pretty well- the other person who could do that with great synch was Scully- but Byers had been doing that ever since he met the three stooges. He valued whatever his friend advised him, even if sometimes it got downright irritating that this person could know you very well without even trying. Byers loosened the green tie on his suit. Mulder stared at a spot on his friend's head, not wanting to look into his eyes and give himself away. "You obviously care for her, Mulder-" "I *take* care of her, Byers," he corrected, putting his hands on his hips. The man lifted his eyeglasses, and started cleaning it with his gray suit jacket. Byers had a penchant for being clean- cut. He always wore a tie and suit, as if he was a government employee, contrary to his real occupation. It was what he was most comfortable in, coming from a highly socialized family himself. "Stop cutting people off, Mulder," Byers sternly advocated him, pausing his task to glare at him. Mulder didn't react, and Byers took that as a sign for him to carry on. "Let me finish. I want to help you, I want to make sure you won't get hurt in the end." "I wouldn't get hurt what?" It all sounds incredulous to Mulder, a big giant puzzle piece. He couldn't connect one end of Byers' statement to the other... he's not even sure he wants to retrieve the last puzzle piece. He's not THAT steadfast about what the lecture was about this time. He should also reconsider Byers as his favorite Musketeer. "Get hurt by her. C'mon, Mulder. I see the way you treat her and I see the way you care for her. You have to understand that she'll be leaving after the movie..." "Wait, wait, wait!" Mulder held his two hands up, shutting Byers up. He stole a hand from that stop sign, and wiped away a drop of sweat that threatened to invade his eyesight, and then held it back up against Byers. "What are we talking about here? Is this at all important, Byers? Fine, so I care for her. What's wrong with that? Is it wrong to care for someone nowadays?" "No, I don't mean it that way, Mulder." His friend shoved his hands away. They landed on Mulder's sides, string noodles of defeat. "Emily will be leaving you soon. This must be one of the hardest times of your life- and I believe that you can pull through it- however, you cannot-" He shouldn't cut people off. Scrap that fucking idea. "I can't use Scully as Emily's replacement- is that it? Is that what you want to tell me, Byers?" The suit- stuck man caught his eyes and held them in his stance. "She will eventually have to move on after your movie. Spunk has her own life. Sooner of later she would want to go and explore her avenues in Hollywood. She cannot be your new 'deity'..." "First of all," Mulder held a finger up in the air, resisting the urge to hold up his middle finger to end the damn conversation. "I am not using Scully as Emily's replacement or as my *new* deity- because no one can replace Emily. Second, I understand that she would be moving on after this and I'm going to encourage her to do just that. Third, I am only here as her friend. She needs me, and I'm here for her. Is that all wrong? What's so damn wrong about all of that?" "The last part- *You* need her." Mulder laughed. That was funny. Very funny AND outright rude of Byers to correct his own statement. "You are my friend, Byers. One of my closest ones. Don't make this mistake. I don't need her. I'm fine as her friend, and I'm sure that she's also fine as mine. If ever I do need her, it's only for the movie. Scully and I both talked about that a long time ago." "You need her," the Musketeer insisted, making Mulder groan. That was vehemently ignored. "I can see it in the way you held her... look, nothing's wrong with admitting that... I'm only worried about you. And her." "Fine. Say that I need her. Say that I am that needy bastard SOB that you are pushing on me." Before Byers could cut him off, he continued firing his bullets. He has to know where this conversation is going. "What's to worry about her?" "You don't know anything about her, Mulder. She's going to hurt you in that aspect. She keeps secrets... why she has nightmares, why she has this fright of hospitals... you should know that. You should be wary of that. Why she's all Spunk and the next minute she's submitting herself to you, telling you that you *own* her. Mulder, she will hurt you because she does not tell you anything. Not a single cent of her past." "Whoa. How did you know about her nightmares?" "She complained about them once during her times in the Lone Glitter," Byers explained, shifting his solid stand. "Spunk told us that she was having a dreadful headache that day. She didn't have enough sleep because she had a nightmare. With the eye bugs she was sporting for the whole week... we kinda did the math." Mulder tilted his head to one side. "Ok. Fine. So what am I supposed to be worried about again?" He couldn't understand or see Byers' point. Sure, the girl was secretive. She doesn't tell Mulder anything personal unless he pushes too hard. That's not bad, is it? "Her past. You should be worried about her past. It's not pretty. I could tell. It's haunting her." "Byers, that is none of my business. If she wants to tell me something, she could. I'm there for her." Mulder turned his back on his friend, and figuratively [in his own mind] also turned his back on Byers' ravings. There was nothing to worry about. He entered the room, freezing himself in his step as he saw Scully inhale in her sleep. Her nose twitched as she grabbed a handful of blankets towards her, and hugged tight. She looked like an ethereal angel. Really. In her sleep, that is. Mulder grinned. There was nothing to worry about. There wouldn't be. --------------------------------- To be continued. --------------------------------- CHAPTER EIGHT: Room no. 201 Santa Cecilia Hospital Las Vegas March 24, 1985 Sunday He didn't know how long he must've dozed off, but when he opened his eyes, he found Scully staring at him intently. He blinked several times to clear his blurred view, as she waited for him to rouse completely from his sleep. He yawned heavily, eliciting a loud noise from his throat that echoed in the quiet room. When he returned his attention to Scully, she was smiling at him. That brightened him up. He returned a scratch on his shoulder and yawned once again. "Hey," he greeted when he finished, this time stretching his long arms above his head. A few joints cracked in the process, widening Scully's smile. She could brighten up a thunderstorm with that grin of hers. "Hey," she answered back, tucking a hand under her chin. Her messy hair bundled up behind her, and Mulder had to laugh at her appearance. It was so un- Scully. "I must look dreadful." She was a smart woman; taking clues and piecing them together. Mulder mimicked her position, letting the amusement dance in his sleepy eyes. "No. You look okay for a patient. Do you need anything?" She thought carefully, scrunching up her face, making little lines appear in the middle of her forehead. "I want to brush my teeth." Scully shyly turned her head away from him. "I mean; I feel so dirty. I cannot take dirty. At least let me brush my teeth, comb my hair... get this dextrose out of my arm..." She rattled her right arm that had the dextrose chord on it. Mulder laughed. "You're not that lucky, Scully." He stood up from his night companion, lifting his arms towards the ceiling to have that full body stretch his muscles were pleading for. Mulder tossed the now useless white sheets on the bench, crumpling them up on one side and placing the pillow on top of them. Scully grimaced at the mess beside her. "You should fix that. I know I would," she remarked. Mulder moved over to the table and picked up the basin he asked Byers to get last night. "I *know* you would. But you can't do much about it today, can you?" he teased, making her put on the most adorable scowl. Even with her dark eye bugs and tousled hair, she still looked beautiful to Mulder. He opened Scully's trusty backpack [Mr. Jayson himself packed her things for her 3 days stay in the hospital] and grabbed her green toothbrush with her toothpaste. He saw her comb and tucked it under his armpit. Scully was trying her fingers as a comb for her stringy hair. It wasn't working as well as she wanted it to. "Dear Jesus, this is horrible. I have a companion that's bitching at me; a bad, bad, bad hair day, and I feel so untidy. What more could you do to me?" She gazed up the white ceiling, giving out her best "I'm-too-nice-to-be- naughty" impression. Mulder went on to get one of the mineral water bottles that was left in the room, and turned to Scully. "I'd be bitching at you for three days, Scully. Here." He handed her the basin and the toothbrush utensils. She held the basin with both her hand and waited for him to finish pouring water on a plastic cup. Everything they needed was in the hospital room. He wasn't a Boy Scout special award recipient back in grade school for nothing. Holding the basin to her face, they were able to maneuver quite well. Scully had her teeth brushed squeaky clean, and even had her face washed. When that was done, he gave her the comb and she started brushing through the web of tattered strands. She winched when she was trying to comb through a knot. Mulder positioned himself on the bedside, anchoring himself by situating his feet on his hospital bench beside the bed. He moved his temporary bed nearer to Scully so that he'll be able to hear her if she ever needed him through the night. "How are you feeling?" Scully rubbed her eye with one hand, and still wrestled with her hair using the other. "I'm fine, Mulder. I feel a lot better than yesterday. Do I still look pale?" He cracked his knuckles absentmindedly, "Yeah. I guess you still do." She didn't say anything, and he didn't either. They were sharing nice silence. A silence that didn't involve stuffiness or uneasiness. Just nice. They couldn't stay silent that way forever, unfortunately, so Mulder stood up and went over to the fruit basket. He began to hold up some fruits, asking what she wanted to have for breakfast. A quick check on his wristwatch told him that it was only 6:32 AM- hospital breakfast don't come until 7 AM. She needed her nourishment for the time being. She picked the pears for herself. He added an apple for him. They were already munching on the fruits when Scully opened up a topic that he didn't expect from her. "Thank you for your help, Mulder. And for the beautiful lilies," she said, taking a big bite out of her fruit, hiding her face from him. Mulder smiled; surprised that she should say that. He had assumed that Scully was already his responsibility, and that it wasn't necessary for her to keep thanking him. "It's... it's my job, Scully: to help you when you need me to." She offered him a grin - that lilies-and-golden- summer grin of hers in return for his comment. And Mulder seriously believed in that moment, while she munched on her pear and smiled at him, that the whole day didn't matter anymore. All Scully had to do was smile that smile of hers and everything was going to be fine. Everything was going to be okay. ----------------------------------- He sat on that same hard bench, his hands clasped before him in a reverent prayer, facing Scully and her all- knowing look. They were spending the third and supposed last day in the hospital room with quiet glances at each other, and Scully's interrogation gaze quickly conquered those. He half wondered whether the news he has for her will have the same adverse effects that the news of having to stay in the hospital for a full 3 days had, and he lengthened his arms before him, touching the cold metal of her bed's legs. "What did Dr. Vast say Mulder?" Her tone matched her face, giving Mulder the perfect excuse to look down at his hands. He had to spill it. She's an adult; she would take it as calmly as someone her age and stature would. So he did, spilling it all out in one breath. "You need to stay for another two days for another blood transfusion because the first one wouldn't be able to sustain your health for your upcoming physical performances." There he said it. It wasn't that drastic, was it? Scully bobbed her head up and down composedly, swallowing once or twice as she tucked her emotions under her heart. She had enough breakdowns in front of him and he understood her holding out from him. Scully was a reserved woman. What he witnessed before- the vulnerable side of her- was out in the wild unintentionally, and he could sense that she had enough of showing herself that way to him. He wouldn't mind, actually, if she ever needed him that way soon. "Another two days," she voiced out- that was the only thing that mattered with what he said. "I'm staying here, if that's... that could make you feel better." Scully managed a weak laugh, a different one from her all- out "Ha's". It was more like a gasp to Mulder. "What am I suffering from?" Mulder raised his head, giving up his fight and waving a white flag as he looked into her eyes. The blues and green hues were clouded, fright poking at her eyelids and the tears pooling around her irises- but not falling. He admired her courage. "Anemia. Umm..." Mulder gathered all the facts the Doctor have mentioned to him within a second, and he was ready to divulge them all out from his fabulous memory when Scully cut him off with her OWN explanations. "Iron- deficiency anemia, pernicious anemia, or sickle- cell anemia?" Her voice shook as she carelessly recited those medical terms, and with her thick British accent, Mulder could hardly digest what she had said. He had a good idea, but he had to push her in repeating what she just had said for him to understand her. She did as he asked, this time slower and clearer. "Dr. Vast said iron- deficiency anemia." He cocked his head to one side, watching her eyes cloud with more insight. "That doesn't sound that bad, does it?" "No. It is the most common form of anemia. I should be taking iron supplements after being released from this place. Did Dr. Vast mention anything about removing my spleen?" That surprised him. Mulder didn't know what part shocked him- the fact she knew more than he would ever know about the sickness or that she asked about removing her own spleen. "Christ... no. Just blood transfusions. You lost acute amounts of blood from your bleeding." "Would the treatment be repeated?" When she said that, Mulder swore that she almost sounded medical herself. He shivered at the cool air conditioning that hit his spine. "I believe... that if you won't experience any more severe blood loss that this would be the last transfusion. " Mulder gazed into her eyes, and was even more jolted as he found a spark of guarded fright in them. She disconnected their eyes, and looked down at the white sheet on her lap, playing with the folds with her small hands. "Did he... cite the... any cause?" That part he completely missed. Dr. Vast mentioned something about that topic, like losing iron during childhood or during pregnancy or plain insufficient iron in the diet. The Doctor wouldn't possibly now which of those probable causes would apply to Scully's condition, but trying to be helpful, he suggested that it could either be pregnancy [even a miscarriage] or that Scully was not eating well. Mulder seriously felt upset when the Doctor mentioned pregnancy. Scully's only twenty, for God's sakes. And her tight figure had never showed any stretch marks or any of that telltale marks of a previous pregnancy. Byers' wonderful statements two nights ago rang in his head as that occurred to him. How could he possibly know? He didn't have a single idea about the woman's past. He tossed his feelings aside and reasoned with the Doctor considerably. "The Doctor mentioned something about loss of iron during childhood, pregnancy, or insufficient iron diet." Mulder tried to sound as lost about the subject as he could, so he could let Scully open herself up a little and he could "pry" into her. Scully was expressionless as she listened to his list. When he finished, she smiled sideways at him. "I haven't been eating much during the past months... especially when I arrived in America. I... I didn't really have much money." He hid his relief as he shifted in his seat. He didn't want her to see how much this affected him. "I have been staying with you for only a few weeks... and maybe the exhaustion of the daily practice did me in. Will the Doctor let me dance when I'm released?" "Yes. Of course he would." "Ah," she breathed out, and they shared the same reprieve. "I'd have to get a diet of beef or calf liver then." She knew a lot about her own sickness, Mulder thought out. A lot more than a usual person should. The three- letter word "pry" danced in his head with the dexterity of Spunk, interlacing with each other until Mulder pushed them out of his thoughts. Her past wasn't his business. It's only her present and future he should be worried about. "That won't be hard. I'm sure Jenny would love to concoct something new for your liking." "But I'm still staying here in Vegas until the show's done." "You'd have to settle with my cooking, then," Mulder quipped. It was fairly arranged in his own mind that he'll be staying in Las Vegas with Scully in the apartment he gotten her. He'll be a personal caretaker of sorts, a male- nanny. That's the downside--- the upside will be getting away from the chaos in his own Manor, and being able to take care of some filming properties [like the script, for instance] in the silence of an apartment. He could get everything done when she's not around. "You're staying here? With me?" she asked, incredulous. Mulder didn't understand what was so unbelievable about it. They've been living with each other for weeks now. "Yes. I have to," he pushed, knitting his eyebrows. Scully shook her head vehemently, crossing her arms under her breasts. "You don't have to do that for me. I could take care of myself," she indignantly stated, emphasizing it with an eyebrow that could defy altitude. She's stubborn- -- all spice and no sugar at all. Even when she's so vulnerable, she's tingling with womanly salsa. Mulder wondered silently whether he'll ever discover a side of Scully that didn't consist of her shouting, her cursing, her hard headedness, and her spunk. "Sure. You could... that's why you're here right now," he argued, swinging one leg over the other. Scully faltered, knowing it's an argument that she can't win. "Fine. But don't you dare cook." She settled her back on the wall, still keeping her arms tightly crossed and her pink lips pouted. Mulder bit the inside of his cheek, maintaining his serious expression as they studied each other's faces, trying to intimidate one another until someone gave up. He sighed. He already won during the first bout. He should let her win this time. "I won't dare, 'coz I *will* cook. For your information, Ms. Scully, I am a great cook." That made her arms drop to her lap, and she opened her mouth to say something, but closed it, instead opting for a blink and a grin. -------------------------------- It was a sunny Friday afternoon, a lot sunnier than Mulder expected when he woke up. A ring of sweat was enlightening themselves on his neck, and a thin film of sweat was already covering his half- naked torso. He realized that he forgot to turn the air conditioning to high cool last night--- actually, come to think of all of it, he had forgotten his whole routine last night. A routine that had been going on for at least four days, since Scully was released from the hospital. Byers went back to Los Angeles after being assured that everything was to be handled by Mulder. She still had a month to stay in Vegas for her practices until her final show, so he resolved the matter about their temporary house by renting an apartment that was a block away from Mr. Jayson's dance studio. It had two bedrooms and a large moving space for them when they get tired of each other, and also, just enough space for them to still acknowledge each other's presence. The furniture in their apartment was borrowed from Mr. Jayson himself [the better and normal half of his stuff], and the tiny details were added by Scully later on. She had a mighty grand time designing the whole spot, filling up the corners with her lilies and carnations ensembles once again. She even dabbed a small vase with a lily on his computer stand, which he returned to her room the next day. He thought it looked too girly for him. Scully thought it brightened up his dreary working space. The final draft of the script arrived 2 days ago, bringing Mulder into a swirl of work. People kept dropping in and out of the apartment, from his producer, Walter, to his scriptwriter, Kimberly Young. They discussed the first date of shooting [which was still under debate], the final casting of characters [settled yesterday], and the locations of each shoot [mostly in Warner Brothers' studio, but there are some scenes that needed special backgrounds]. The last 2 days left Mulder high and dry. Out of his much needed sunflower seeds snack; he had nothing to keep him at bay while doing most of his work. He was rereading the whole script when he fell asleep on his bed, with the lights on, the air conditioning sputtering, and with his glasses askew on his nose. When he woke up, he was tucked into the bed without his shirt, glasses, and script neatly resting on his desk. He did the math quickly. The only detail Scully forgot was the air conditioning. Then again, he always set the air conditioning in her room. She probably had no idea that it was turned on. After eating the breakfast Scully left him, he returned to the script once again. He argued a couple of times with John on the phone about a certain location that had to be shot in New York, called Emily to ask how her day went, watched some TV to release the tension building up in his neck, and ultimately, as the clock ticked 4:30, he started cooking lunch [he's very, very thankful to his Mother who forced him to cooking classes back when he was a teen. She was a cooking- obsessed woman who wanted her kids to be the same.], and his daily specialty--- liver steak. The days have been going in lightning speed for Mulder and Scully. It was crazy, chaotic, and stressful. He had been giving Scully extra care when she was released from the hospital. He made sure that she had her ferrous sulfate pills everyday, fixed her up a dish that would consist of liver, and he had always been at her side whenever she got a nose bleed. It almost had been a daily occurrence for her to get nose bleeds ever since she was diagnosed. He was crudely getting used to it. The whole apartment was still littered with the scent of his favorite dish, Pasta Primavera, when Scully entered the place, sweat dripping from her forehead and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She sniffed the air cautiously as he waved at her a good afternoon. "Spaghetti. And..." She grimaced as another scent caught her sensitive nostrils. "Liver steak. Again." Dropping the backpack on the couch, she dug in her pocket for her handkerchief and wiped away her sweat. Mulder was still tinkering with the kitchen, transferring the pasta on a serving dish. She crept up behind him, watching his kitchen indulgence. Mulder knew that if he didn't explain how he became a great cook to her before, she'll be presuming that he was gay or something. "You need it, Scully," he piped up, handing her the dish of spaghetti. She received it with both hands, holding the rim with a towel to buffer the plate's heat. She hopped over to the small dining table that was adjoined with the kitchen. "I don't need it *everyday*." "We want to be consistent so that you'll be well soon enough." It was the liver steak's turn to get on the serving dish. Mulder made sure that he would be delivering it to the table himself, or else Scully would probably throw it out the window. "And it's *pasta primavera*, not spaghetti." "I don't think I can eat that, Mulder." His last correction was ignored. She was setting the table with their simple silver plates and utensils, making a place for him and her. Finishing that, she sat down on her spot, and he on his own--- across each other. Scully protested against the dish with her small squirms as Mulder poured her the steak on a separate dish. All was in order, and they started eating, with Scully playing invisible with the liver steak. Mulder pointed the steak with his fork. "You're not forgetting about that, Scully. You tried that ploy yesterday. It didn't work." She shook her head persistently, taking a mouthful of pasta into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed fast, before answering him. "I'm not eating that, Mulder. I'm sick and tired of it." "You *need* to eat it." "I don't." "You had a nose bleed yesterday. Your eating that dish until your nose bleeds are gone." "I am not eating this dish anymore EVER." Mulder gazed up into the damn ceiling. Why, of all the people in the world to have this strange arrangement with, how did he end up having it with Scully? She argued with him, fought with him, and usually left him tired out. He gathered strength from his momentary rest, and settled back to the conversation at hand. The answer to his question was quite easy, actually. That's because Scully had the talent he was pondering for his lead movie role. And he should be thankful that he's lucky enough to have her. He almost lost her to Alex Kryceck- a bastard at that. "I'll eat it with you if you want." He cocked his head to one side, as if telling her with his tongue stuck out, "top that!" Scully considered this, and then pushed the small serving towards him. He didn't hesitate- sticking his fork into a juicy piece of liver and eating it immediately. Ugh. He forgot how liver tasted. Tangy, metallic, and purely disgusting. Seeing the expression on his face, Scully wore the look of triumph on her face. He frowned at her, and concentrated on chewing the damn thing. Swallowing it took some more effort. "Not bad, huh, Mulder?" She twisted a fork on the fine strands of pasta. Mulder groped for his glass of water and drained the damn thing in one toss. He'd gladly drink a pitcher of cold water just to remove the aftertaste of liver in his mouth. Scully propped up her head on her hand, brushing away the wild strands of hair from her face. "Well? How is it? Good? Great? Better?" Mulder forced himself to recover from the liver when he heard her say that. "Fuck you," was all he could get out, and she giggled. Her childish giggle--- unlike a normal woman's giggle - was low- pitched, not at all girly or flirty. All spice, no sugar. He didn't push her to finish his liver steak again during the whole meal. He'll have to call Jenny up back home and ask for a good liver recipe that'll mask the funky taste. ------------------------------ Since Scully also received her script the same day that Mulder did, she spent some of her free time studying her lines. That was the only time it dawned on Mulder to think about her acting abilities--- sure, she could dance the whole movie away, but could she act? It *was* a movie, for Christ's sakes. And it didn't occur to any of them that Scully had to act... everyone was enthralled when she danced. They were caught in the heat of the moment- or in the heat of finding someone as talented as her. Using most of his Spunk courage and keeping all the Spunk rules intact in his mind, he approached her on the living room couch while she was scanning the middle scenes of the script. The TV set was playing a rerun of The Cosby show, a mere background to add some life to the silence of the whole apartment. After their meal, Mulder busied himself with more phone calls with his staff. That used up most of his time, taking up two hours during the whole process of reviewing the script, complaining to John about his lack of his favorite brand of sunflower seeds, and clacking away at his computer. Mulder was on the phone with Walter for the fucking nth time when the Producer mentioned that particular subject to him: "You are very fond of her talent, like we all are-" Walter grumbled, reaching the extent of his exhaustion. Mulder entrusted most of the business back in Los Angeles to his producer, since John Doggett was already on full load with his wife's coming delivery of their first baby. His assistant, Marita, still wasn't in the shape for something as important as this, so Walter was his choice. He trusted the bald man with his life. "... And I'm wondering if you... have any idea if she knows how to act." That was the exact statement that bought him to the edge of the couch, waiting for Scully to acknowledge his presence in her vicinity. She glared at him quizzically, and he shrugged. Sighing... and maybe even understanding the need for him to talk to her, Scully slumped the thick bind of script beside her, moving away from him to give him some space. That was all settled when Scully reached over and turned the TV off. "Is there anything you need?" Mulder rested his ankle on his knee, pushing his arms across the couch's thick back cushion. He made sure that his arm didn't reach Spunk's side, or else she'd swat it with one of her stinging slaps. "I want to know if you could... handle the role. You've read the script more than once already, right?" Scully reflexively reached for her golden cross, twisting it around her fingertips lightly. "Yes. I have. Are you worried that I cannot act?" The way she read him doesn't surprise him anymore, because he could do exactly the same to her: read her like a kindergarten book- all he had to do was look into her eyes and her emotions would be as plain as day to him. "Umm... you are a wonderful dancer, Scully, but this is a movie. If you haven't experienced acting before, tell me now so I could get you acting classes." Scully shook her head, letting her cross fall back on her clavicle. "No, no need for that. I can act. I... I wouldn't have had accepted this job if I couldn't." "What's my guarantee that you could?" He was blunt about it, and he's sorry, however, it was *his* movie. He had to be sure that she could act. It was for the best of the studio and for the best of everyone involved. "I was forced to enroll in theater workshops when I was young." Scully turned her head away from him as she recalled those memories. Mulder moved closer, eager to hear what she had to say. "Dancing is my first love... and I danced even if my siblings didn't like it. So to keep my energy down, they decided to enroll me in acting workshops. I was officially enrolled to acting, guitar, piano, and art workshops. I was enrolled in all of them, except dancing." Mulder laughed, relieved at best. He believed her. There was nothing to doubt about her statement. There was nothing to doubt about Scully herself. "Go figure." She rolled her eyes, returning her attention back to him. For that quick span of time, Mulder knew that Scully missed home. The telltale mistiness in her eyes was enough for him to sympathize with her emotions--- it wasn't easy for her to be boring into the world of Hollywood when she should actually be in college. Which made Mulder think about a particular topic. "Scully... did you ever get the chance to study college? You're really too young to be all alone." She smoothened a crease at the back of her head, answering immediately before he could ask another question. "Yes. I had two semesters in college." Interesting. The earth wasn't as flat in her realm after all. Spunk had actually wanted something different from dancing. "What were you taking up?" To his surprise, a crimson blanket fanned over her pale cheeks. Mulder smiled at her reaction. He hadn't been seeing her blush for a long time now, and he wouldn't deny to himself that he loved seeing her all flushed up. Scully pressed her palms flat on her cheeks, bowing her head. "I was actually in medicine." Mulder didn't know whether to laugh or say something. Medicine? Scully was into medicine? How could a woman who's deathly afraid of hospitals [and throws incredible fits when in one] take up medicine in college? Did the fear of hospitals come before or after she studied the subject? The mere thought of staying a whole week in a hospital almost killed Scully... how could she survive all the slicing and dicing medicine involved? "Mulder," Scully interrupted, calming the red coloring of her face to a pink. "You want to ask me something. Go ahead and ask it." He didn't waste any time contemplating the words that came flying out of his mouth. "How could you study medicine, Scully? I saw your reaction in the hospital... you couldn't have..." "I did. I was interested in pathology. The idea of... saving people... appealed to me." "It did?" "Yes," she answered simply. She opened her mouth, and then closed it at once. When she spoke up, Mulder knew that it wasn't what was initially in her train of thought. "Well, I didn't last for even a whole year. I guess my fear got the best of me." He tapped his fingers on the upholstery, gradually trying to sink in what he was hearing. "E- yeah. But really, Scully... is that the reason you know so much about Anemia?" A nod. Mulder clicked his tongue. Curiosity was eating him away. Churning his insides and picking at the fine spots of his flesh. He was a lousy quitter. It was a good trait, but sometimes, it got the best of him. Byers be damned. "You still continued reading books after you stopped studying?" "Medical books to be exact. I... still am in love with Medicine. It's my second darling." The way she said 'darling' ["dahling"] made Mulder's heart warm. He was beginning to appreciate the fine points of her British accent as he continued to live with her. Maybe someday, he'll get to appreciate her Spunkiness. "That's something," he gushed, and the pink of Scully's cheeks became a full blown red blush again. Seeing that, Mulder laughed. ----------------------------- To be continued. ----------------------------- -------------------- Continued from Chapter Eight A: -------------------- Fox Mulder has known Dana Scully for 3 weeks by now. He had also endured the consequences of coming to know her as he lived with her 24/7 under the same roof in the most abnormal of circumstances. More than many times, he had been shouted at, thrown things at, argued with, given the snubbing, and had been embarrassed. But also, more than many times, he was fascinated by Scully. He was fascinated by the way she talked with strange eloquence, by the way she laughed, by the way she cried, by the way she gave him small bread crumb hints of her care for him. Those short three weeks were only the start of their relationship with each other, but as those three weeks went on, Mulder learned something about the complicated woman- something very, very important about her. Scully was a body with two personalities conquering her. You might say that she was a lone body in the middle of two towering souls to give it a clearer image, no matter how absurd the idea was. Mulder knew immediately, as the realization bolted upon him, that this was the real reason behind her tantrums, her moodiness, and her never ending show of vulnerability and independence at the same time. She was not a psychopath, of course, but it was the only temporary explanation he could conjure to stop HIMSELF from insanity with the way she was treating him. There were times when Scully would be extra sweet towards him, when she would be like a little girl looking for her lost lollipop, and Mulder had christened those moments as the Scully-girl. She would be very commiserating, soft even. She'd cry after her nightmares and Mulder would have to run towards her room to make sure she's okay. These were the times when she would tell him a bit of herself; when she would let a little bit of him in to her life. However, there was also the Spunk in her that continues to threaten that Scully- girl out of her way. This Spunk was the woman he met for the first time, the one who cursed and shouted at him for no apparent reason. This was Scully in her after- bitch attire, she herself becoming his own worst nightmare. Spunk was the woman who has her whole wall cascaded against him, making sure that he wouldn't peek into her fortress--- and if ever he was able to peek in, he wouldn't be able to see anything in it. He could read her that way, that well. Mulder sometimes wondered if their relationship would be any different if Scully was in the middle ground of those two personalities: what if she stood in the middle of Scully- girl and Spunk? How would she treat him? How would she react to his care? How would he react to her when that happens- if that happens? One night, Mulder seriously thought he had gained the answers to those questions. But the woman was far too complicated to be answered by the gestures they shared during that rare evening. He had fallen asleep earlier than Scully that evening, probably due to all the guests Walter had brought with him to their apartment. While Mulder entertained everyone to death with the prospect of the movie, Scully served them orange juice, afterwards locking herself in her room. She wasn't very hospitable. Countless dreams of dancers clothed in white and angels tangoing with them were invading Mulder's tired mind when he felt a warm body close in on his frame. By reflex, even in his sleep, he reached for that warmth and found an arm. He closed his hand in on the wrist, and dragged it to the muscles of his bare tummy. The body didn't protest... actually, that someone even cuddled closer to him. Contented, he sighed and began to sleep again. He didn't know how long he lost consciousness, but when he came around, imagine his own surprise when he found Scully's head sprawled all over his chest; an arm slung over his torso, snuggling up closer to him. His first reaction was to jerk back, but seeing that Scully was so peaceful in her own position, he opted for a slight jarring of her shoulder. Scully woke up, her eyelids still half- closed. She lifted her head from his chest and stared at him with her groggy blue eyes. Mulder swallowed hard. Did she have to be so beautiful even when she's in this state? Fuck. What was he thinking? He was going way crazy, living with this woman every damn motherfucking day. He focused on the situation at hand, thanking the night's darkness for aiding him in hiding his expressions. "Scully... what are you doing here?" he stuttered as he said that, inch- by-inch removing himself from her hold. Her hand tightened around his waist, pinning him in his position. His nerve endings didn't help him much- they were enjoying her touch as much as the rest of his body was. "Stay with me, please," she pleaded, with those watery Scully-girl blue eyes that Mulder had never, ever tried to resist. With this complication before him, he's going to dare big time. "I can't do that." "Why not?" Panic rose over the edges of her sleep- draped voice. "'Coz this is my room and you're the one who's supposed to leave?" he joked, and he didn't stop himself from feeling the soft strands of her hair with his hands. It had to be a dream. This was all a dream, a product of his fertile imagination. From being in the presence of a beautiful woman everyday, one of the adverse side effects. Something in his fucking hormones had to go haywire when that opportunity was given to you. Shit. He's not going to say "fuck" when they are positioned like this in one bed. If he wanted to keep their relationship platonic, he should lose the "F" word when he's drunk, when his hair isn't washed, and when he's in bed with Scully... wait, wasn't that almost equivalent to the "F" word? Shit. Deep, smelly shit. Mulder tried to retreat once again. "Scully please, I'll... carry you back to your room if you want... don't..." "I don't want to go back there. I... I had nightmares... again." Mulder laid his head back down on his pillow, getting the explanation. He removed the traces of aphrodisiac worry from his frigging bran. Of course, Scully was always in check. She wouldn't be barging into his bed for no reason. She had a nightmare, and she needed his company. When she got nightmares, he usually was the one who stayed beside her in her bedroom. He would stay, holding her hand, until she fell asleep. This time, he slept earlier than she did, and she woke up from her nightmare without him to comfort her. Guilt washed over Mulder. He should've been there for her. "I'm sorry... did you cry?" "Yes. And I had a nose bleed after." It was the perfect symbol of her sickness. It definitely heightened the nightmares. What choice did she have than to seek for that comfort herself? He surrendered when she told him that, pushing his body towards her smaller one, enveloping her in a hug. She buried her face on the slick skin of his, and not long after, wetness invaded his flesh. She was crying again. The nightmare must've been an enormous one this time. "Do you want to talk about it?" he offered, like he always did. But like she always did, she shook her head. She never had, not even once, considered talking to him about her dreams. And that was fine with him. Whatever she's comfortable with, it was fine with him. He dipped his mouth to her ear, while his hand traveled up and down her trembling back. "I'm here for you, you know that don't you?" She nodded meekly, and if it was possible, she buried herself deeper into his embrace, almost mixing them to become one molecule, invading the laws of physics and matter and all that science crap she so loved. After her sobbing subsided, he flipped her to one side, so that she had her back against him and he could cover her arms with his own. This position would make her feel protected; it would make her feel shielded from her demons. Mulder kissed the top of her head, and tucked it under his chin. His arm went around to hold her to him, anchoring his fingertips on her flat stomach. Her hand moved underneath his arm, and Mulder paused her movement by taking her cold hand with his own, interlacing her fingers with his. Scully's breath slowed down, molding herself to him perfectly with one wiggle. Mulder relaxed in the darkness, still not quite believing that he's in bed with Scully, that he's allowed to hold her this way. This was how he believed it was for Scully-girl and Spunk to come together - a vulnerable yet strong woman. A perfect woman. He wanted to entertain some ideas that were inching towards his brain, he really wanted to think about the nature of her nightmares- why she was such a troubled young woman, why she needed him so during those times- but the only thing dancing up in his brain like a graceful Spunk was the fact that they fit so well together like this. Two juggernauts of tectonic plates finally finding each other in the vast sea of the Atlantic. Home, mates. This was home. How her short legs weaved over his long ones, how her back molded to his front without ado. Home. Mulder kissed her hair softly, and drifted off into a euphoric, dreamless sleep himself. The sunlight was already doing a salsa on his naked torso when Mulder's senses shook him awake. He bolted out of the bed right on his ass, paddling through the soft sheets around him. There was another scent invading his head, a pleasant scent that consisted of baby powder... cucumber... strawberries... He remembered the incident last night, and instinctively searched for Scully beside him. She was nowhere to be found. Mulder jumped off his bed, scratching at an itchy patch on his stomach. It was a Saturday, Scully's day- off from rehearsals. She should be outside, cooking breakfast or watching TV. Was it his turn to cook breakfast today? Usually, it's Scully who bothered with the morning delicacies--- his duties are lunch and dinner. It wasn't fair, was it? But anyway, she's the one who had to physically work her butt off in this. All he had to accomplish the rest of the day was to tinker with the scripts, argue on the phone, and entertain the guests... Without a second thought, he exited the bedroom, crisscrossing through the living room, still scratching at that patch on his stomach. Damn it. Maybe Scully pulled a trick on him last night and puffed itching powder on him. "Scully?!?" He checked on the dining room table, not even giving a second glance at the living room. He was hungry. His stomach was making known its protest. There was no breakfast. Mulder grumbled, "Where's breakfast? Didn't you do something? Is it my turn today?" No answer. Mulder mumbled a strings of curse words under his breath. Where the hell was she? He was too lazy to look around for her today. His eyelids were still at half- mast, and he's somewhat afraid that if he gained full consciousness, he'd break the silly spell on him--- the one she cast over him last night. The dreamy, hazy, heady spell that consisted of baby powder, strawberries, and cucumber. "You didn't even make me coffee. Is this the thanks I get for last night? I could've thrown you out of the bed, you know, but NO- ooo... Ms. Scully had to use her charms on Mr. Sleepyhead to get her way with him. That wasn't very polite, you understand?" He was in the mood for bantering with her her today. He just hoped she'd make a sound that she was annoyed. If she didn't, he'd have to bother himself with finding her in their small apartment. "Mulder," Ah! She's there! Finally, someone he could annoy for the whole day. He decided that he was in the mood for everything today. Flipping himself so that his ass was pressed on the kitchen counter, he turned towards the sound of her voice... Only to bring himself to face another surprise. Or shock. Or "take the wind out of your mother fucking sails". Whatever. What the FUCK ever. John and Monica Doggett were seating across Scully in the living room, smiling lethargically at his disheveled form. Scully, meanwhile,- still in her silky pajamas- had her face in her hands. Her ears were turning to a bright pink, matching the color on Monica's cheeks, and probably the color of the sudden rush of blood to his face. Shit. Double sided, fly- infested, son-of-a-bitch shit. "Hey... John... 'Nica..." That was the only thing he could produce form his jamming vocal chords. Of all the places he didn't want to look at today, he chose not to look at the living room. Why was God so cruel to him? Why today, of all days? Through her hands, Scully spoke up, "I woke up early. John and Monica were knocking and I didn't... h- have time to wake you up." It didn't matter, really. John has seen him in his 'still in La la land state' more times than he could ever care about, and Monica wouldn't give a crap --- what he was really worried about was what he said in his 'still in La la land state'. He replayed what his big mouth spurted, and it only made his crimson face blood red. Fantastic. As if it could've been any, any better. "Good morning, mi amigo." Monica's attempt at sounding perky obviously wasn't working. John wasn't helping. He was only staring at Mulder with pure astonishment. "Good morning, mon ami-e." Mulder hoped his French would salvage some things that are already damaged, but with the weak smiles he received from the other end, little could be done. John and Monica already had the same conclusions in their minds: that he and Scully were lovers. Wonderful. That makes him... what? Less than a person? Humping his stars before they even hit the camera? "Umm..." Mulder picked at his thoughts carefully, afraid that the harshest of them might spill out of his mouth. Glimpsing at Scully, he saw that she still had her head in her hands, doing the "ostrich's" way out of it . He couldn't blame her. She wasn't the one who started yapping about 'last night' like it was the day's horoscope. "What... are you- you two doing here?" He rubbed his blurry eyesight ferociously to get a better view. "Monica? Aren't you supposed to be at home, resting?" John answered that question for his wife, locking Mulder's gaze with his 'I'm-gonna-crap-you-out-like-He Man-later-and-don't-you-try-to-run' gaze. "We came here to personally deliver you your sunflower seeds." To express her husband's point, Monica reached over her side and lifted the juicy XXXL pack of sunflower seeds. He was salivating at the sight, but in response, Mulder only raised his head higher. "And Monica wanted to see Dana. She also bought her new clothes." The "new clothes" were a heap of paper bags labeled Guess and Banana Republic on Scully's feet, scattered aimlessly. By that time, Scully's head had popped out from its hiding place, but the redness on her cheeks was as stubborn as her head was. "Oh. Thanks, John." What else could he say? We didn't fuck last night, John. Trust me. She slept in my bed--- we slept together, actually, but nothing happened. As if they'd believe a single word that out his mouth. Having run out of options, he awkwardly joined the group in the living room, making sure that he didn't meet Scully's eyes. He wouldn't want to read them this time. John half- carried/half- dragged Mulder from the living room, and to the outside of the apartment. The swift afternoon air varied from warm to humid hot, and still needing a good morning shower, Mulder didn't exactly appreciate his friend's gesture of leaving the cool air conditioned room behind. He kept grumbling under his breath as the incessant Doggett seized his bicep, almost toppling his trashy form on the railings. Mulder held onto the rails, regaining his footing. "What the hell are you thinking Mulder? That girl's only 20!!!" John bellowed, attacking Mulder with full force. Shaking his head, John pressed his two fingers against his temples. Mulder muttered another string of curses before answering, "We're not *involved*, John. I appreciate your concern for me and Scully, but you're assuming-" "Then what about that crap you were talking about, huh?!" John's voice became ragged and labored. "You expect me to think otherwise? You slept with her in the same bed! What do you want me to think? That she got scared and you let her climb in? Fuck that Mulder!" Yeah, fuck that--- but that was the truth. "Actually, John..." "No, Mulder- I'm not letting you off the hook this time! This... woman, Dana, she's special, I know... and the *studio* needs her! You were given the responsibility of taking care of her and I'm not going to watch you fuck that up!" And Byers told him that he had the habit of not letting people finish their sentences. That title should now be awarded to Mr. John Doggett. Maudit friend of his. Mulder cannot even believe the patience he's stretching at this conversation. He should be barfing what his mind's picketing right into John's face right now. But Mulder stood by, actually enjoying the enraged expression on his friend's face. He had a hidden sadistic side to him. "Dana's young--- and you, you're on the rebound from Diana! Do you think you could give her everything, everything, EVERYTHING you didn't give Diana? Are you going to marry this girl?!? I'll only let you fool this if she has an engagement ring on her finger! --- which, of course, she is devoid of! What are you thinking? Are you turning into a complete idiot, Mulder?" "No," he defied, bringing John up into another round of fit. Before his friend could start sputtering hardly- recognizable English words at him [or worst, Spanish], he took John by the shoulders and shook him. Hard enough to rattle the man's brain for the second. "I am NOT having a sexual relationship with Scully. Scully is my star, my responsibility, and my friend... but not my lover. It so happens that she has these... these nightmares that bother her every night, and it so happened that you guys arrived during the first- and probably ONLY night we'll ever sleep together in bed. She just wanted comfort from me, nothing more than that. Sure, we slept together, but we didn't have sex." Mulder released John, hoping against hope that his explanation was clear enough. He wasn't up for going through it all again, seeing that it was not necessary to do so. John brushed his fingers through his brown hair, skimming through them as if skimming through all the speculations underneath that blanket of brown roots. "Tell me that's true, please." Mulder scratched on that spot on his stomach once again, breaking away from John's one- sided view. "You've never lied to me, John. I've never lied to you. It's true." "Y- You... You're not in love with her? Nothing has happened between you?" The Director gave John his back, resting his elbows on the thin metal railings, finally allowing the ragged humid breeze to fill his lungs completely. He hesitated before answering, shuffling his fingers together; feeling in between the ridges sticky, smoldering sweat. "No. Nothing has happened. No." John came to stand beside him, and his best friend patted him on the back. Mulder shrugged, finding nothing more to say---or argue about. ----------------------------- To be continued. ----------------------------- CHAPTER NINE: April 17, 1985 Dear: Melissa, I probably don't deserve the life I am enjoying here in America. I eat more than 3 times a day, I have an apartment here in Las Vegas, I have a contract with a big studio, a contract with the Folies Bergere- my life- long dream, and I have a man who cares for me as if he and I were of the same blood--- or married. I have been busy with the rehearsals for my upcoming opening act for the Folies Bergere, and these practices have taken up most of my mornings, and half of my afternoons. It has been strenuous for me, especially since I have been battling weakness lately, and the girls in the studio aren't exactly friendly about my career. But nothing beats dancing your heart and soul out for your dream. I am dancing my dream, Missy. And that makes me feel so fulfilled. Mulder had been so nice to me these days that I sometimes wonder if he has some hidden agenda for me. He's really a good man, actually, even if he tries to tire me out most of the time. Not that I mind that, since I could outdo him in a split second. What surprised me most of all was the fact that he was a great cook--- he makes this very delicious Pasta Primavera that makes my mouth water every time I think about it. I hate his daily specialty, though, and he has to force me to eat it. According to him, it would give me enough strength for my practices. As if. Even if it's the last thing on my mind right now... I know that I have found a friend in Mr. Fox Mulder. I'm sorry if this letter is inconsistent. I'm on my way to the studio for my rehearsals, and this is just a quick side note. Eggs are burning in the frying pan... I cook breakfast everyday, and I could tell that Mulder does not enjoy my cooking. He prides himself in being a great cook. Though I would not probably tell him, he has the right to be proud. I am homesick, Missy. Truth be told, I am so homesick. I miss the golden lilies that grow from our house's backyard, I miss you and your round tummy, I miss Charles' lopsided smile, I miss Bill's stern facade, and I miss Milford Haven. I miss Wales. I miss everything about our house and our country. I'm happy here, but I miss life there. I wish I had news about you, that my letter isn't one sided. I wish you would write back. Give my love to Charles and Bill. You will give birth next month... give my love to your future son/daughter. Anrhega 'm cara at Mama's bedd. Love, Dana ------------------------------------ To be continued ------------------------------------ CHAPTER TEN: Room 88 Stardust Building Las Vegas April 30, 1985 Tuesday The past weeks after Monica and John's visit was a big, smoldering blur for Mulder: a dancing Scully, an acting Scully rehearsing in front of him, an angry Scully because he didn't fold her bed sheets with the triangle top, series of frantic phone calls from Los Angeles, airplane rides from Los Angeles to Las Vegas and back, Scully's phone calls from Las Vegas, visits from his crew in Las Vegas, and himself. He handled these on tip- toes, more gracefully than Spunk herself dancing the salsa. Within that one month, he was able to set the date for the movie's shooting [July 18], and Emily's wedding was also tucked in his planner [May 22]. The subject of he and Scully sharing one bed during that eventful night was handled as discreetly as they could. They didn't really talk about it that much, except when they want to banter each other to death. But to resolve Scully's ongoing nightmare crisis, Mulder made sure that he slept later than Scully did, so that if she started dreaming, it'll be him who'll run to her room to give her comfort--- not the other way around. They never tried sleeping in one bed again. Mulder didn't want to know Scully's take on it, but for him, it's better that they remain as far from intimacy as possible. Scully was his friend and his responsibility. He didn't want that ruined. Then again, something just had to go wrong when everything's on the fast lane. Scully whizzed past him in the kitchen, grabbing the arm's-length scissor that was hung together with the other utensils beside him. Mulder's eyes were caught as her white arm flung back to herself. Making sure that the eggs were still in good condition, he faced Scully. She was sitting on a chair across him, picking through her frizzy hair, dangling the scissors from her thumb dangerously close to her face. Mulder engaged her wrist in a tight clasp and removed the scissors from her finger. This made Scully fume out, flailing her free arm wildly for the scissors. With his height advantage, he easily kept it out of her grasp. "Now, now... what do we have here... an enraged little Ms. Scully?" he teased, pursing his lips. Scully tugged at a string of hair, lining it with her chin. "Mulder, give me those scissors." "What are you gonna do with them?" Ah, the 'you-are-in-deep-shit' face. He loved it when she gave him that look. It meant the most adorable arguing session man had ever attempted. She used her best American accent expression as she talked, "I'm gonna use them to stab you, Mulder." Nope, not even close. When Scully spoke, it's all British- -- from the quotation marks until the dots. "Ah, your violent side finally resurfaced." He wiggled his eyebrows, settling the scissors back to where they belong. Scully rolled her eyes. "I don't have a violent side. I want to cut some hair from my eyes." To illustrate her point, she tugged at that particular strand of hair once again, and she folded it to show him where she wanted it to really settle. Mulder grimaced. Scully with bangs? First, she wanted to get a whole new wardrobe that's in fashion. Now she wanted to be Pollyanna. Next big thing might be her wanting to go around wearing two pigtails like the Long stockings kid. Whatever. The people of today's generation get crazier and crazier. "You'll look horrible, Scully." He smelled the distinct aroma of finishing eggs, and turned around to scalpel the still sunny eggs from the pan before they burned. Scully had tendencies when it came to burning eggs. At least in the cooking arena, he could prove her that he's way better. "Is this what they all are wearing their hair in now? Bangs? Christ. First it was teased up, now it's bangs?" Scully huffed out tad bits of air. "They said I'll look cute in bangs. I used to have bangs about two years ago--- wasn't really a heyday, but I think I evolved a bit and I can accommodate such a change." That was her defiant answer, stretching the first sentence out to a whole explanation. Scully cute? Scully's already pretty and they want her to go back to cute? Who the fuck were these people messing with his Scully? Thankfully, only half of the towering thoughts he had made came out of his mouth. "Cute?!? Who told you that?" He couldn't really outwardly tell her that she's already pretty as she was now, because she'll turn into a ripe tomato and burst before he could even take back what he said. "The girls... in the studio." "The Folies Bergere crew?" Mulder laughed, handing her the plate of eggs. She actually believed those girls? They didn't know an inch of Scully. When she accepted the plate and settled it on the table, a small part of him shouted, "So do you!" He shrugged it aside with his cheek to his shoulder. Listening to your subconscious came cheap these days. "Yes, the Folies Bergere crew. What's wrong with that?" she said that as if she was a teacher demanding for her grade one pupil to hand over the M&Ms he stole from his classmate. Mulder tilted his head to one side while grabbing the American bread out in the kitchen counter. He's not gonna let her be the teacher this time. It's his turn. "Scully, you look fine as you are right now. You don't need to change your looks." She would never believe him. She'd never ever believe him when it came to her looks. "They all wear bangs... I guess. I mean, will it look that bad?" Bad? Ha. That's an understatement. "It won't fit you." It was her turn to grimace at his choice of words. Fine. So what he said was wrong. He could always try again. Mulder opened the bag of bread and offered her a slice. She accepted it and began to poke her egg with her fork, waiting attentively for his absolution of answer. "You'll look good in anything, Scully, believe me... but not bangs. Please." It was more of a plea than an answer. Scully sighed, jostling her eggs into the bread's embrace. Mulder watched her do that for sometime, until she pushed her head up and caught him watching her. "What?" she said, through a mouth full of bread and eggs. "They don't like you much, do they?" Scully's eyes widened when he said that. The same reaction he produced when the situation's vice- versa: when Mulder's the grade one book of colors and big bold letters, and she's the teacher reading it to the class. This time, he's the teacher. She's the book. He could read it in her eyes, the want to be accepted. Chewing on her food slowly, Scully dejectedly answered, "No. They don't. They think I'm a *bimbette* who doesn't deserve all the attention she's getting. I'm a butt ugly European who... lives with a Clydesdale chocoholic whom I should be doing the nasty with. A dipstick." He got lost with the first slang term she used. Eighties slang. Bah. Flower power was HIS decade. "In English, please," Mulder stuttered, somehow allowing his ego to dismantle the words the best he could. He had heard some of those phrases from Emily --- like bimbette, or chocoholic--- wait, that one was from Spunk herself. Scully forced a smile on her lips. "They think I'm a bitch." "I gathered that your previous statement was longer than that." "You said in English," she pointed out, together with her fork of dripping eggs. "I didn't say that you rephrase it." "Basically, that's what I said. I'm just summing it up." Another bite of her impromptu egg sandwich. Mulder's stomach churned at the sight of Scully indulging herself. That reminded him that she was already half into her breakfast and he was not even fixing himself one. Groping for the ketchup in the middle of the table, Mulder started fixing himself his meal. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" he asked, pushing his egg on top of the American bread. Scully bowed her head down to her plate, avoiding his eyes. "I didn't think... that it was that important, you know. Bunch of girls hating me for no apparent reason--- it's quite juvenile to worry about it, isn't it?" Juvenile? Sometimes Mulder had to wonder whether this woman had her head screwed on tight. If he only did practice psychology after college- rather than becoming a producer- he would've made Scully his subject at once. "No, it's not juvenile. It's normal to worry about things like that." She didn't say anything after his statement. She just placed all of her heavy concentration on her eggs and piece of bread. Mulder didn't push for more answers, though; he settled with strewing his ketchup all over the sunny egg. Then it hit him. Scully will be performing at the Tropicana in little less than a week. Why not? "What if I come with you today? Watch you perform your first dress rehearsal?" He could tell by the sudden flush in her face that she was trying hard not to choke. He set that aside, still charging full force. "At least let me see what you're working on for the whole month. I woke up early today--- this must've been the reason why," he chirpily applied, motioning with his free hand to himself. Scully lunged for her OJ and drank it all in one gulp--- at least, that's what it looked like to Mulder. He was serious about this. "You don't want to see me dance there. You'll get..." She poured herself another glass of juice as she frantically began to start another round of argument. "... Bored, you know... I mean, you have first row tickets to the show on May 6, I don't think your surprise should be ruined or something." That was her argument? She seriously concerted she'll get away THAT easily? Mulder slyly smirked. It was his turn to torture her now. "I'm coming, Scully." Another intake of Orange Juice. She's going to finish that pitcher he made in one second. "I am. Is that wrong?" A streak of juice dribbled on Scully's chin. It took all of Mulder's will to stop himself from wiping it. He thanked the good Lord when she felt it and did the task herself with the table napkin. "Why are you doing THIS to me?" she wailed, dabbing on that spot on her chin. Mulder bit his ketchup laden sandwich healthily to push down the laughter tickling his throat. Scully glared at him icily when she saw what he was attempting. "Don't you dare. I hear one snicker from you and you will DIE." He must've stopped laughing along the way since he first met her, coz he's still alive. Mulder mimicked her earlier way out of the conversation by pouring himself the last drops of the OJ, and drinking it stealthily, emitting another heavy groan from his Spunk. ---------------------------------- Mr. Jayson was more than happy to receive him on the show's first dress rehearsal, even letting him sit on the makeshift director's chair that the happy-go-lucky choreographer apparently *bought* in one of his many, many trips to Hollywood. Mulder grinned politely to keep the man ecstatic as they waited for Scully to appear in her post- bohemian/eccentric/belly- dancing attire, which according to Mr. Jayson was Scully's role of women. That's what the show was about: the different roles of women throughout the generations. "Why did you make her a belly dancer?" Mulder asked, involuntarily studying the scattered pieces of dancers that were peering at him through the red curtains hung over the studio's make shift stage. They were continually overlapping their eyes from the cloth, studying him back and then giggling. Mr. Jayson was sitting on a sofa that was out of place in the large dancing studio. He picked at his fine Gucci boots, settling them atop one of the arms. "Dana has beautiful hips. When she sways them, it takes you in with it... I noticed that quality about her when she dances." The semi- gay/semi- man choreographer [that's straight out of Scully's mouth, thank you] tilted his head towards Mulder's direction. The Director almost jumped when a slinky mousse covered strand of hair fell on his sensitized arm. "Would you rather have her in another performance, Mr. Mulder?" Of course not. Mulder would love to see Scully shake that booty of hers. It would be, in Eighties slang, the bomb. Ha! He's actually reciting eighties slang in his head! He was spending way too much time with Scully and her gnarly language barriers and cross barriers. "Uh, no. Scully can do most anything." And he believed that statement with all of his heart. With the fine constraints of their littler than little apartment; she had the gratitude to gyrate inside her own room when she thought he's not looking. Scully danced when she's bored. Scrap that: Scully danced whenever she wanted to- or can. Probably missing the privacy of the Mulder Manor's basement, she indulged with what her room could offer. He's a big pervert spying on her like that, but he's always interested to see what his star could offer. And yeah, she sure could offer a LOT. A lot more than those hips, Mr. Jayson. Mr. Jayson smiled a gnarly lopsided grin at him, then clapped his hands twice, echoing the sound throughout the whole stage. The peek-a-boo girls stopped whispering and giggling among themselves, and settled behind the curtains. Mulder relaxed, sighing deeply and settling his back onto his chair. Music that consisted of cymbals, bongo drums, and chords infiltrated his eardrums, shattering the relaxation mood he was opting for. It sounded like new- wave with a more ancient, raw, and edgier feel to it. Mulder hated new wave with a vengeance--- any form, any alteration, any any. Is this what Scully's going to be dancing to? Could he protest this later on? Maybe he should've thought of this watching-Scully-perform- rehearsals idea before. From the darkness of the stage, a lone spotlight of navy blue appeared, highlighting a lone foot that appeared from the back curtains. An anklet of beaded gold and silver wrapped around the porcelain skin beautifully, making Mulder forget all of his new wave rants. Then, she appeared. Scully's face was partially hidden by a whispery thin beige cloth, as was her whole body from the audience. He could make out traces of shiny beads from the hemline of her long skirt, fluttering through the floor of the stage as she walked with careful grace. Mulder closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, alerting his brain cells to stop short- circuiting. Yeah, fine, the woman--- this Scully--- before him was more than beautiful: she was actually ethereal, but she was STILL Scully. He should keep that in mind. All precedence of thoughts disappeared as the music slowed to an impossibly lazy beat, and Scully's movements matched that. She dipped her whole upper body low to touch her feet, shaking her belly as she did. She was like a goddess, taking a drink from the fountain of youth to revive her immortal beauty. Mulder secretly wished that the music would stay as sluggish as it was, so that he could watch Scully take immobile movements forever. But, all good parties had to end, and the music picked up speed. He wasn't disappointed for long, though, since her movements were even more graceful, taking all of her body with it. Shaking her hips, lifting her head up from that fountain of youth, and turning her back from the audience. She lost that damn beige cover. And Mulder almost flipped. Tossing the material aside, her body began to gyrate more precisely to the fast beat, taking in on her the golden tassels that hung from the midriff she was wearing. Her perfect stomach was advocated in the shimmering blue bohemian attire, and so were her two perfectly toned legs that were occasionally making an appearance from the high slits across her skirt. Mulder felt faint at the sight of this. And to think that this was ONLY the dress rehearsal. As the beat thickened, so did her movements and dance steps. She shook her belly to the sound in perfect synch, taking all of his consciousness together with the revolving beat. The beat got faster and faster, and she continued dancing to it without any qualms or mistakes. Mulder knew that Scully's passion was dancing... he just didn't know that she danced with her soul. Body, heart, and soul. The performance ended too soon, and when the lights came out, Mulder was too dumbfounded to stand up and clap. The stage was now bare before him. Mr. Jayson, who was doing the standing ovation, awakened him to reality. Mulder followed suit, while craning his neck to see where his Scully could've gone. ----------------------------- The dressing rooms were just behind the whole stage, so Mr. Jayson led Mulder to where Scully's was. He noticed that she had her own individual place; with the sign "DANA" taped inconsiderably on the front door. Mulder whisked away lint from his wool t- shirt, getting ready to knock on the door. "You Mr. Fox Mulder?" A tangy Texan accent banged through Mulder. He swirled reflexively towards the sound, finding himself face-to-face with a skinny blonde woman that was almost as tall as he was. Thick make- up invaded the natural looks of the lady, her lipstick smeared at one side of her mouth. He also noticed the sharp cut of bangs across the dancer's forehead. In reply, Mulder could only nod. The lady tossed her long blonde hair from one side to another. "You're Dana's galpal?" He surely hoped against hope that the word *galpal* doesn't have a double meaning. But he had to take precautions in this. "I'm her Director for her upcoming movie. Yes, I'm her friend." Blonde Texan smirked, blinking at him through her eyeliner heavy hazel eyes. "Friend. Sure. You live with that lady, right? You're the man responsible for all her success?" Mulder could only nod again. He can't see where this conversation's going. "Let me tell you one thing, preppy... Ms. Royal Highness doesn't deserve all that you're giving her." She shifted her stand on her 5- inch strapped heels, resting her body on the protruding pillar beside her. Mulder flinched at that. "Excuse me, but who are you to tell me that Ms. Scully does not deserve what she's getting?" he demanded lightly, pursing his anger deep down in his stomach. For the meantime. "She hasn't worked her way to the top, yet, you see. We here"-- she squinted her eyes and spread her arms wide around her. Mulder could see the makings of laugh lines across her facial skin, and loose body fat hanging from her arms. Approximately, the woman must be at least 30- 35 years old-- "worked our asses off for the better part of our damn lives. She's a hoser that hasn't even been at the middle step and now she's at the top. She doesn't deserve it, I tell yah." Bile invaded Mulder's guts as she said that. Who was she to tell him that Scully did not deserve what he's giving her? "Look, Ma'am, I don't want this to turn ugly, but if you are just here to bother me about your insecurities concerning Ms. Scully, then I suggest that you go to a psychiatrist, not to me." He turned around, breathing in and out steadily to keep himself from using his upper extremities against the lady. "Fine. But don't come running back here and telling me that I didn't warn yah." Warn him? *WARN* him? Who the fuck did the lady... "Mulder?" Scully's voice penetrated into his bleeding red anger, making him soften at the sight of her. She was standing in front of the door's crack, still in her bohemian clothes. "What's going on?" She pushed the door open, only to see the Texan lady shading her eyes from the white fluorescent light of the dressing room. Daggers lit up in Scully's eyes as this caught her. "What are you doing here Maitreya?" she said defensively, taking hold of Mulder's arm. "Maitreya" clenches her teeth together, gave Scully a 'you're-not-getting-off-easily' expression, and disappeared into the dark halls of the backstage. With her gone, Scully pulled Mulder into the dressing room. Inside, Scully took him by the collar and shoved him against the walls. "WHAT did she tell you?" Mulder pushed Scully's small fingertips from his neck. Christ, the woman had some amazing muscles for someone who's measured at 5'3". "Nothing important-" She shoved her ankles against his foot. Mulder scowled at the prickly sensation. Did she study martial arts back in Wales? She seemed like to have done JUST that. He's not gonna fight her, even if he could easily pick her out with his hands on her waist. He'll act when she'd get too violent. "WHAT DID SHE TELL YOU!?!" Okay. She's shouting. That was a warning sign for "violent Scully". Or Spunk. "She told me that you don't deserve this. C'mon, give this up, Scully." She was going to get bloody any time soon, and he had no patience for that, so he encircled her waist with his hands and carried her close to his body. Scully protested loudly, thumping his chest. When that started to hurt, Mulder pushed her on his shoulder, and the thumping transferred to his lower back. That he didn't mind. He had strong back muscles. Thanking Mr. Jayson for the long couch he upholstered in Scully's dressing room, he gently dumped her there. However, Scully took him with her as she clutched his neck and pulled him down to her. Landing on the wet warmth of her neck, Mulder reveled in the sensation of her body against his before picking himself up with his elbows. Now they were effectively eye- to- eye. He stared at Scully's baby blues as they filled up with antagonism and dread. A single tear threatened to fall from her eyelids, and he didn't stop himself from brushing it away with his thumb. From Spunk to Scully- girl. Her transformations were that quick. "That Maitreya girl... she has been giving you a hard time, huh?" he whispered, feeling his hot breath bounce back from her skin. She nodded meekly, and another tear made an appearance from the opposite eye. Mulder dipped his head low and kissed that tear away, tasting the saltiness against his lips. He didn't resurrect his head up, staying beside her head, his face into the cushion. Scully's hands dropped on his lower back, and he felt her fingers interlacing, apologizing for the pounding she pressed on his skin. And then her chest began to convulse. She started to cry. All the frustrations of being unaccepted in her own dancing dream, all the frustrations of being hated for being blessed, all the hurt of being ridiculed when you're doing your honest best in your own forte. Mulder traced his lips on her bare shoulder, letting her cry as long as she wanted to. He thought about their evident difference in weight, and that he might be crushing her, so he flipped to one side, that she'll be on top of him. But she protested with a hand to his back, keeping him as he was. She wanted comfort--- she wanted him as her blanket of comfort. Mulder wouldn't dispute that. He just hoped that she could still breath. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" he inquired for the second time that day, stretching one arm up to play with the tangles of her hair. Her face found the crook of his neck and she buried her eyes there. "I've already told you this morning," she reasoned out, pressing herself tighter against him, trying out that one molecule evading law again. She had a penchant for keeping him against her, as if she could solve the world's problems with his body heat. Mulder can't help kissing her. She tasted exquisite, her skin on his lips were like fine wine--- yes, it was intoxicating, and he admitted that to himself as he planted another on her cheek. "You didn't tell me when it started. I could've done something about it." "No... you couldn't have. They hated me from the start. They said I was too young to get this break... that I don't deserve the 'American dream'... that I don't deserve ..." Her stops were punctuated with sobs. Mulder swore he could hear his own heart breaking when she said those words. How could she even doubt herself? How could Scully doubt her own talent and dream? "Don't say that, Scully. Don't let them get to you, okay? You know that you deserve this more than anyone else. You have the passion, the talent... and I saw that in you. I want to give you what you deserve. Nothing's changing that belief of mine." "... Thank ...you." Was her mangled reply. Mulder tried to piece his heart together as he inserted one last kiss on her forehead, before standing and making Scully sit up. He forgot- THEY forgot that she was still in her bohemian costume. He offered her the roll of tissue paper from the vanity table, and she shyly took some to wipe her tears. Mulder sat back on the couch, placing an arm around her thin shoulders and pulling her close to him. "I don't want you to believe anything they say ever again, okay? You're the best dancer in this whole damn world and I'm keeping you that way. You should only listen to me about these things, no one should tell you otherwise. Remember, you're mine. You belong to me." Scully didn't smile at that- like she normally would, but she placed her head on his chest- over his beating heart, and that was enough reply for him. ------------------------------ CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Tropicana Las Vegas May 6, 1985 Monday "This is madness! Pure madness!" Mulder tucked Emily's hand close to his chest, dragging her through the bellowing crowd. He laughed as they trudged through the scantily clad masses, ducking as horns piped over their heads, jumping over couples making out on the streets, swinging shiny multi- colored confetti out of their way, until they were able to reach the inside of The Tropicana. Makings of a noisy crowd were already piling up the whole place, and to secure their front- row seats, Mulder had to drag his daughter once again. He was feeling like Moses all of a sudden: parting the huge crowd with one sweep of his body. Emily didn't dare let go of his hand, and to secure herself to him, she placed a grip on his opposite shoulder. "This is crazy, Dad!" she repeated, her mouth closer to his ear. Even with that stated, she still had to shout for him to hear her. Mulder nodded eagerly. He was like a kid let loose in a candy store. He wanted to feel everything, taste everything, and see everything. This was Las Vegas at it's finest and he bought his own daughter to see it for herself. "Think of it as a wedding gift!" he called back at her, running towards their seats until he found them, propped with white cardboard pieces that had the name 'Fox Mulder' scribbled on them. He shoved them aside and sat down with his daughter beside him. Emily swatted away strays of confetti from her brunette hair, shaking her head at the galactic crowd forming behind her. "Is it always this... insane, Daddy?" Mulder shrugged, pretending that he literally had no idea. Actually, he had a pretty good idea of how insane Las Vegas gets. He saw it every night when he woke up for a midnight snack, or after settling Scully. This actually was the mellow side of it all. Emily's all sugar, all right. She's all sugar and sweet that she hadn't seen this side of Sin city. He's quite honored, as her father, that he was the one who could show her the REAL night life. "Oh God... thank you for letting me leave Jeff behind. He'll go bonkers when he sees this crowd," she whispered to herself, not really meaning Mulder to hear it. "Langly's keeping him company back at The Four Queens. Slot machines are a lot of fun, we should try it tonight!" Mulder patted his daughter's hand, before letting it go. Emily smiled, unsure of the idea her father presented. "I think I'd be too tired to hit the machines tonight, Dad." Mulder rolled his eyes dramatically, at the same time shaking his head. If Emily's going get married soon, she should at least see some action in her life. He could give that to her before she got tied to a Military man. "C'mon, Em, this is so much fun already! We gotta hit the night full force!" Emily breathed deeply, hugging herself with her arms as she slid deeper into her seat. More people started vacating the seats around them, except for two that were opposite Mulder. They were specifically reserved for Byers and Frohike [of course, the smart ass wouldn't miss Spunk's first Las Vegas performance for the world]. He also wanted John and Monica to come and see this, but Monica was already too far due to ride an airplane. "This is one side of you that I haven't seen before, Daddy," his daughter said, and he couldn't tell whether her tone was disapproving or disbelieving. She had never seen him during his party days. This was how he acted when he's in the mood for a good, all- evening, earth shattering "par- tay". He placed an arm around her shoulders, pressing her briefly to him. "Your Daddy's pretty happy tonight, honey, and he wants his baby to have fun too. Is that bad?" He spoke to her as if she was once again that 5- year old kid with pigtails. Emily responded the same way, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes, an expression she had inherited from him, and her lips curling up to a smile. Mulder kissed the top of her head, and rubbed his hand on her sweater - clad shoulder. Sometimes, Emily hid too much of her flesh. He must've gone wrong somewhere along the way in clothing orientation. It's summer, for Christ's sake, and she was wearing a sweater. In Las Vegas. "YO! Mulder!" Hearing the familiar gruff voice, Mulder and Emily twisted in their seats, immediately catching Frohike and Byers. He could see that the Las Vegas spirit had invaded their bodies faster than a thunderbolt: Byers' usual suit-and-tie attire was now replaced with cut- off sleeves that had the picture of Yoda on the front - possibly one of Langley's vast collection of printed shirts. Frohike still had the dirty- old- man hat, only replacing his usual dirty shirt with a Hawaiian muumuu. He looked like a dirty- old- man who needed a good lesson in geography. Frohike obviously wanted to look fab for Spunk. Mulder resisted chuckling as he stood up to acknowledge his friends. He shook their hands, while Emily pressed a kiss on their cheeks. They all sat down, and Mulder placed an arm around his daughter once again. Frohike leaned into his ear, since he was beside Mulder. "I heard that you saw the dress rehearsals... how did Spunk do?" "Why should I spoil it for you, Frohike?" He quickly glanced at his watch. Only 4 minutes before the show started. "We are not far off. You should see for yourself." The DOM growled at him comically. "You're an asshole, you know that, don't you?" Mulder grinned, "Scully's told me a thousand times." "And a lucky fucking bastard to be living with a lady like her." "Some have it ...and some don't." Frohike grumpily went back to his chair, making Byers smirk. It was always a big joke for all of them when they get together to make Frohike upset. Why make a fool out of the man? Because when Frohike was bothered, he would go into childish tantrums that render all three of them in laughing/crying fits. It's especially better when Frohike's had a beer or two. It was hysterical when they've finished a whole barrel of beer. The lights around them dimmed, making some ladies who were unfortunately still looking for their seats yelp in surprise. Emily huddled closer to Mulder, and he chuckled as she did that. She sure was acting childish tonight. One big Sin City, and a scared little Emily. Go figure. "It's starting!" Byers exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. His companions were all more than excited about this. And even if he had seen it already, Mulder was excited too. His heart was pounding against his rib cage, and he's careful that Emily didn't hear it. He could hardly wait for Scully to appear on stage, and dance to that magical belly- dancing beat. Dear Lord, he sure wanted to see her in that costume again. Mulder shook his head in disapproval. Crazy. He's becoming crazy living with that gorgeous woman every damn day. Crazy. That's what he told himself before, and he's going keep telling himself the same thing until he got these crazy thoughts out of his fucking lopsided head. The lights disappeared completely, and he was almost thrown off balance by Emily. She clutched onto him as if for her dear life, and he had no choice but to hold her back, so that he wouldn't crush. Mulder's heart pounded triple- time, and he inhaled to steadily. He was so crazy- excited he's about to ripped. He was crazy- excited he was about to rip. He's so crazy- excited he's about to rip open... Damn. There went his grammar. ---------------------------------- "Stop drooling, Frohike. Scully's part is over." "She w- was... ! I swear, Mr. Fox Mulder, I'm gonna marry her someday!" This did nothing but shook Mulder's shoulder in laughter. "Your age difference is larger than ours, Mr. Melvin Frohike. Lay off her." "Love conquers all." The imaginary love- stricken hearts dancing in Frohike's brown eyes made Mulder laugh again. The dirty-old-man was crazier than him. Byers once warned him that if Frohike started quoting love quotes, it's one hell of a trip for the man. He's head over heels with on Spunk. No wonder Scully was slightly bothered whenever Mulder mentioned Frohike to her. She wasn't in favor of this whole business. "Fuck you, old man. She'll shit bricks before she accepts any of your proposals," Byers chimed in, smacking his friend's back. Mulder silently nodded in agreement, turning his attention to the stage once again. Rainbow colored dancers with breathtaking costumes designed to fit the bill of the 1920's period invaded the stage, spectacularly hitching up their legs for everyone to see their sheer underwear. Emily hid her face into her father's chest when that happened, and Mulder tried to pull her out of his lapel. His daughter was even worse than him. If she had been born in the flower power hippie decades of the 60's- with Woodstock and all that bullshit- she would've been craning her head to see all the explicit parts of the Folies Bergere dance show. He REALLY, really must've gone wrong somewhere along the way, raising this kid. He remembered Scully, and he abruptly stood up, disentangling from his daughter. Emily stared up at him, asking with her eyes where the hell he thought he was going. Above the stage's noises and the crowd's absolution with the act, he shouted, "I'M GONNA GO SEE HER! PICK HER UP AND THEN WE CAN GO AND HAVE SOME REAL FUN, OK?" He turned to Frohike and Byers, "TAKE CARE OF EMILY FOR ME, I'LL BE BACK IN A JIFFY." Emily timidly acknowledged this, and Byers filled in Mulder's seat to be closer to Mulder's daughter. Byers had the best relationship with his family. The guy could've been Emily's surrogate father had Mulder traded in his parenthood for a happy- go- lucky life. Tapping Emily on the shoulder to assure her that he'll return, he bounded off towards the back of the Tropicana's stage. --------------------------------- Scully gave him a spare key to her dressing room before the show, telling him that if he needed to see her after her performance, he was more than welcome to enter. The key was courtesy of Mr. Jayson. Sliding the cold key into the lock, he twisted the door open, knocking softly just to be sure. "Scully?" he called out, his voice soft. The outside of the stage was frenzied, but the backstage itself was eerily quiet. Mulder guessed that Scully was the only dancer behind all the razzling dazzling lights, since most of her co- workers were outside, giving the audience their fulfillment. "I'm right here." With that invitation, Mulder didn't hesitate to open the door. Scully stood in front of a large, full-length mirror, studying her reflection intently. She still had her make- up on, and her blue belly dancing/bohemian costume, as her hands ran down to the bodice of her silky skirt. Mulder closed the door behind him, not turning as the lock slid in shut, leaving behind the muffling noises outside. He hovered close to her, chewing on his lower lip as he finally got to see Scully up close. Even with the first- row seats that were given to them, it still was hard to see Scully from all the swirling lights and the mesmerizing beat of her body. This time, he could see the tiny diamonds that were arranged intricately on her forehead, the sparkling red lipstick that enhanced the dip of her lower lip, the small patterns of beads on her bare midriff, the two giant jewels that were attached to the corners of her eyes. She was a goddess, a living goddess. Aphrodite herself. Mulder reminded himself to breathe as he approached her, awkwardly smiling as he stood behind her, putting a shaky hand on her shoulder. Scully abandoned her reflection to look up at him. "That was some crowd back there. How did I do?" He tried to arrange this thoughts so that he wouldn't lose his grammar as he answered back, "You were wonderful. I'm proud of you." That satisfied Scully and she returned to the mirror, gazing at herself with awe. She wasn't alone with the awe thing. "Here I am, Las Vegas, Folies Bergere and all... I'm wondering why it feels surreal." "Let it sink in, Scully. When you hope so much for something, sometimes, it happens too fast that you don't grasp the fact that it's happening." He hoped that made sense for her. "I guess so." It probably did. She ran her hands over the pattern of her whole costume all over again; starting from her teased and upturned hair that was graced with the same tiny diamonds that were all over her face, to her make- up, to her collar bone, down to the swell of her breasts and stopping at her hips. Mulder swallowed, hoping that she didn't hear him. She was forgetting that there was a man inside the room, and she shouldn't be doing that in front of a man who was more than enthralled with the way she looked before him. To change the subject and break the tension he was feeling [only HE was feeling, apparently], Mulder motioned towards a darkened part of the dressing room behind him. "Have you seen my surprise?" he moved towards her ear, watching her eyes grow curious in the mirror. She shook her head, hiding a grin from spreading out of her lips. He gripped her hand and asked her to close her eyes. She obediently did, letting out that grin. Mulder pulled her towards the far end of the dressing room, groping for the lights. When he finally found the switch, he studied the present he bought a few hours before the show. He was quite sure that Scully was going to be ecstatic when she got to see this. Emily specifically added some sweet touches to the surprise, scolding him that even if Scully's all Spunk, she would love some tenderness from him. He honestly was too excited too excited about the present that he didn't even process what his daughter meant by that. He jerked her hand, signaling her to open her eyes. She did, and the grin that played on her crimson lips suddenly turned to a gasp. Sprawled before them was a life- size haven of immensely humongous lilies, twinkling even with the meager light above them. A glittery sign above all the flowers proclaimed "Congratulations!" underneath a 3- inched teddy bear hugging four white roses. Scully bent over to gently pick the teddy bear up, hugging it close to her body and removing the roses from the bear's paws. She also found a card tucked under the bear's arm, and opened it, reading the contents aloud: "To my Scully... for being able to dance her dream... for making me feel like shit 24/7..." An arched eyebrow met that. Mulder raised his hands in innocence. She continued, "... And for making me feel that I deserve all of her 24/7. Mulder." She closed the card, tucking it back under the teddy bear's arm. Leaning close to his present, she sniffed with that patrician nose of hers the scent of the lilies. He didn't know what she smelled from them, since his oversized nose didn't smell a damn thing. There were some things he needed to learn from Scully. "They are beautiful, Mulder. I never thought you'd be so... saccharine.... sweet." Her voice cracked as she doped her last words with a medical term so it would mask how touched she was. Unfortunately for her, Mulder understood what was going on in her, so he seized her in his arms. He didn't buy the present to make her cry; he bought it to make her happy--- to make her feel that she deserved this. His swooping surprised Scully; and she caught herself on his chest, staring up at him, her eyes a misty blue. He gingerly kissed her forehead, taking in her unique scent and feel selfishly. Scully's future husband would be pretty lucky to have someone as beautiful as her. The teddy bear was dropped back to its flowery cradle. "I'm ok, really," she argued, but did not get her point across. She knew as well as he knew that she wasn't... this was her dream, this was her life- long fulfillment, and yet, she felt doubtful. She rested her forehead on Mulder's chest, listening to his heartbeat with her solemnity. "Thank you," Scully told him. When he heard that, he moved both of them towards the full- length mirror without breaking their embrace. Reaching the mirror, he turned Scully so that she was facing her own reflection - so she could see how beautiful she was, so that she could see how he saw her. She deserved this chance more than anyone else. "Look at yourself," he ordered, his mouth close to her ear. She did as he asked, blushing at the sight of her reddened eyes. She once told him that she embarrassed herself too much in front of him, because of her constant need for comfort. It was more a statement than a question, so Mulder didn't say anything back. Truth was, he didn't think she was showing too much of herself to him... he has always thought that Scully may cry in his arms, she may let herself need him, but she never did show her true colors. She never showed her true vulnerability. She never showed the true Dana. "Why do I have to look at myself?" "I want you to see how beautiful you are. You deserve this more than anyone else, ok? You don't have to ever listen to them again," he encouraged her, putting both of his arms on her hips, and resting his head on her shoulder. A few glitters sprinkled on the junction of his thumb and index finger, making his skin also glisten in gold, like hers did. Scully studied her reflection for a second, from the top of her head to the tip of toes, then at his own. He moved his head down to her cheek, rested his lips there for a dawning moment, and then moved away/ She grinned wonderfully, pressing her face to his cheek. He had the strangest notion that she was breathing his scent in, before she said, "What are we waiting for? Let's hit the streets. It's our last night in Vegas." --------------------------------- They had to retrieve their other three companions from The Tropicana, before the evening 10 PM show started. That's when the dancers go onstage topless. Mulder didn't want Emily to see that, after noticing her reaction with the most conservative parts of the show. Langley did suggest that the guys go out and see it, while Emily and Spunk keep each other company. Mulder didn't give a yes or no; just that he'd think about it. The night was young- still 4 hours from the wee hours of the morning- and Mulder wanted to make the most out of it. He hadn't partied much for sometime now, being busy from work and Emily's wedding. He missed the adrenaline of partying, the excitement of it all. They had a table for eight at The Voodoo Lounge by the time that topless show was starting, and everyone was high on wine. Emily was dirty dancing with Jeffrey in the middle of the floor [Mulder decided that he didn't want to look at that one], and the three stooges left him and Scully suddenly, telling him that they wanted to see the topless show after all. Frohike promised to come back later on to have a small chat with Scully, after she's finished three bottles of wine. Scully called back that it'd take ten bottles of wine before she would entertain him. Wine definitely got rid of their inhibitions. He had officially finished a whole bottle of chilled French wine with Scully, and they were feeling high and cheery as an after-effect. Scully still had her full make- up on, even if the blue gown had long been shucked off, replaced with a tummy baring asymmetrical knitted shirt and low- cut Levis. The combination of her bohemian make- up and casual wear was a cross between classy and sporty. As usual, she was beautiful. Even with the wine present in his bloodstream, he could not refute that. The techno- pseudo-new wave beats were drowned out by the crowd's chatters, and was replaced by George Michael's Careless Whisper. It's one new wave song that he actually liked, even if it leaned more towards sultry rhythms. Scully was bothered by the dirty napkins on the table and with her lack of dexterity, she was actually making the mess worse. Mulder reached over to retrieve her hand from the sloppy stack of used napkins she had been piling, and with his best puppy dog eyes [and face, don't forget that], he asked her to dance. Scully's dilated pupils lightened up, and they dragged each other towards the dance floor. Couples who had the liberty of petting each other heavily were now filling it. Making sure that they weren't around Jeffrey and Emily, Mulder opted for a neither heavily- lighted or heavily- darkened spot. He swung Scully towards his chest, nestling his hands on her lower back. She at once placed her head over his chest- over his beating heart once again- while a hand supplied heat opposite her head. The soft porcelain skin of her fingertips was too tempting to resist, and Mulder gave in to this, linking his fingers with hers and dropping it at their sides. Scully sighed into his t- shirt. I feel so unsure As I take your hand And lead you to the dance floor "This is nice," he murmured hoarsely, his head swaying from side to side with the music. Scully's eyes closed and her lips still glistening from the wine. "Yes... this is rather nice," she returned, pointing her chin at his chest and looking up at him. She noticed that she had a penchant for looking at him whenever she needed assurance; she would always search his eyes as if they held the truth of all truths. Her future husband will be very, very lucky. As the music dies Something in your eyes Calls to mind a silver screen And all its sad goodbyes His mind was a playground of hazy surroundings--- of Scully and her scent, of the wine and it's incriminating effects. All that was happening bedazzled him and maybe he was a tad bit drunk, but holding Scully right there and right now felt so right for Mulder. The way her skin slid against his felt like heaven. The way her breasts pushed up against his chest was slowly driving him to the edge, and the feel of her lower back was like fine satin, even finer than the best patented milk in the whole fucking world. Shit... he's not gonna say the *F* word when he was drunk, when he hadn't washed his hair, when he's holding... I'm never gonna dance again Guilty feet have got no rhythm Though it's easy to pretend The list was lost to him. Mulder shut the world around him tightly in a zip- lock bag, stapling it a hundred times over and over again. He forgot about his nosy mind, so he made a whole new zip- lock bag to store it inside of. He needed this. He *needed* her. Wine be damned. Byers be damned. Mulder lowered his head, catching Scully's eyes with his own. And he kissed her. I know you're not a fool I should have known better than to cheat a friend And waste a chance that I've been given *Kiss* was an overstatement. The meeting of their lips was more of a simple movement against each other's - a chance to feel each other's plump mouth against, and a chance to taste what could be beyond. He bathed in the ecstasy of her warmth for a few glorious seconds, before Scully pulled away from him. It wasn't as if he was kissing her with full passion, but her retreating surprised him nonetheless. So I'm never gonna dance again The way I danced with you. "WH- what... what..." Scully stepped away from him, as if he has morphed into the El Chupacabra, the Mexican goatsucker. Mulder also backed away, unintentionally running his tongue over what remained of her on his lips. He's gonna say it now: FUCK. F-U-C-K. Mr. Fox William Mulder made a big, big, big mistake. She still had her face in its shocked state, and Mulder defensively tried to get a hold of her. However, she moved away from him even more, almost hitting a French- kissing couple behind her. Muttering a small "sorry", she headed towards the table, with him at her heels. "Scully!" he shouted, making the romantics hiss at his interruption. He paid them no attention as he dove forward, catching Spunk by her wrist. She was ready to leave. To leave him. To leave without even trying to amend what happened. She struggled from his grip, her teeth gritting. "LET ME GO!" "I WON'T DARE!" "LET. ME. GO!" she shouted back, tears pooling from her eyes. "No, I can't do that!" With one pull, he was able to bring her back, crashing into his chest. He held her there with a death grip, tilting her face so that she could look at him like she always did: eye- to-eye. "Scully, listen... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do what I did-" Those tears sprang free, making her mascara run down her cheek. He wanted so badly to wipe them away, but he had to hold her to that place so she'd listen... and if he touched her even more, she might actually faint from the confusion. "- And maybe it's the wine... but I didn't mean it. Scully, please, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it..." Right grammar was eluding him again. Mulder struggled, his tongue knotting itself. "Please forgive me, I can't... I can't... I didn't mean it... I just didn't..." Scully closed her eyes briefly, and then opened them, making more dark tears run down her glossy cheeks. "Mulder," "It wasn't on impulse... it's the wine... I'm drunk, YOU'RE drunk yourself, please understand the fu- damn situation... Scully..." "Mulder," He stepped on the brakes, hearing her voice all of a sudden. The sound didn't register in his circuiting mind. "I... need some time alone, okay?" Oh no. She's gonna give him the speech. THE speech to end all speeches. She can't do this to him--- not to him, of all the people. They were tied to each other with a cast iron ribbon, thrown together in a marriage that evaded all the laws of marriage itself. She couldn't do this to him. Mulder shook his head furiously. Scully's his. She couldn't do this to him. "I need some time alone," she said, breaking free of his grip. Three steps were taken from him, before she continued her thoughts out loud, "It's... really no big deal, you know? It's all ok, I understand... I just need some time alone. Nothing's gonna change." Nothing's gonna change. His inner voice mocked that statement. Yeah, right. Scully turned her back to him, and headed to the exit, wiping her tears on her sleeves as she did. Leaving him alone. Standing alone, feeling like a complete, inconsiderate, testosterone- driven, crazy, drunk asshole, butt shy jerk. Now that you're gone Was what I did so wrong? So wrong that you had to leave me alone. The song had wrong timing. Mulder snatched a goblet from their table, and threw it towards one of the large speakers of the Lounge. Ladies screamed in surprise as pieces of the glass flew all over, and he stared at the commotion he created, not even flinching as he caught Emily and Jeff running towards him from the corner of his eye. --------------------------------- CHAPTER TWELVE: May 14, 1985 Dear Melissa, I have nothing much to tell you about this month. The days were a big blur for me, as if they were all cardboard cutouts on a bullet train whizzing past me. I have been saddened lately, and... it's no real news for you, is it? I've performed in Las Vegas last May 6th, and the performance was a wonderful experience for me. I've finally danced my dream; I've finally done it. Missy, sometimes I still hear your words whispering against my ear. Those things you told me the day I left for America. You told me that I wouldn't get anywhere in America, right? You told me that I was "fucking clich" to want dancing. What if those words had their desired effect on me and what if I'd stayed? What if I stayed in Wales and I was still there today, with you and Charles and Bill and your baby? I wonder if my choice is right sometimes... at first, it seemed right. At first, it was perfect. I had the opportunity to dance in Las Vegas, and I have the talent--- you very well know that... all I needed was the break to get to Vegas. What if that was changed? What if that never happened? Would I still be who I am? Will I still be the Dana Scully I am today? I am confused of my purpose here, Melissa. I am so confused that I cry myself to sleep and I wake up very late the next morning with red eyes. I laugh at my reflection, then... at least I still have something to laugh about. I find laughing a big exertion of effort lately. Maybe I'm just stressed out. Maybe I'm tired. Maybe I need a small vacation. Or, maybe I'm rambling. I hope you write back and tell me about your baby. Is it a she or a he? What's his/her name? Give my kisses to Charles and Bills, please. Anrhega 'm cara at Fam. Hi s 'm gwarchodwr drwo pawb hon anhrefn yno. Signed, Dana. ------------------------------ To be continued. ------------------------------