From: *Rain'22* Date: 18 Feb 2004 10:13:10 -0800 Subject: [all-xf] Spunk Book I (Chapter Thirteen A) Source: atxc TITLE: Spunk BOOK I (Dangos fi pa mor dawns) Chapter Thirteen A AUTHOR: Rain Garcia [Agent Rain] ---------------------- Mulder Manor Beverly Hills, Los Angeles May 17, 1985 Friday Mulder had been going through the pile of invitations Emily dumped over his head an hour ago, making sure that the addresses were correct and the names in them were polished. The scent of the beige and soft orange envelopes were already permanently imprinted in Mulder's nostrils, and he was getting nauseated with the mere feel of its silky paper. He wanted to move around, to take care of the upcoming movie; he wanted... A door creaked open from upstairs, and out came Scully. Emily was behind her and they were quietly conversing about something he didn't -but wanted to - know about. Mulder pretended to be busy with the invitations, checking if the names "Ringgo Langley, Melvin Frohike, and John Fitzgerald Byers" were written correctly. Since their move back to Los Angeles, Scully had been treating him with eerie coolness--- as if time had turned back to the prehistoric ages of their first meeting. They talked about the "big mistake" Mulder made back in The Voodoo Lounge, chalked it up to the heightened sensations the wine supplied them, and Scully had even assured him, "No bother, Mulder, I understand. It was just a mistake, from the wine... I'm still yours, you know. Nothing like that could come in the way of our purpose here." If that's so, then why was she treating him like a cockroach? He once tried holding her hand during the turbulent flight back to Los Angeles [she was starting to get pale] and she swatted him off with a jerk, eliciting stifled laughter from their fellow passengers. They must've thought that they were some kind of couple in a lover's quarrel. Ha, if only it were THAT easy between them. He had told Emily about it, purposely sugarcoating his version of the "intruding" kiss. His daughter was very patient about this trouble between them, but as she had said, "You two still have a long way to go, Daddy. It'll be okay." Ha, *okay* was an overstatement. Mulder didn't deny it, because it was true: he missed Scully, her charming Spunk- iness, her constant need for his attention and care, her blue eyes, and the way she looked at him--- as if he was the most important man in the world. Even if they were under the same roof, it seemed as if they were living in two separate worlds. "So, do you understand it now, Dana?" Emily's voice came closer from his behind. "Yes. Thanks." Scully's answer was stretched, and he recognized that she was smiling as she said that. God, he missed the way she smiled too. She hadn't been smiling for weeks now. "Excuse me, Emily, but I have to fix something in my room." He heard Emily mutter a pleasant "ok", when Scully walked towards her room across where he was seated, and locked the door shut. Mulder began to furiously skim through the at least a hundred envelopes before him [Mrs. Spender apparently invited ALL five chapters of her garden club], intending to finish it all so he'll be able to ask Emily what she and Scully were talking about. A clink beside him on the coffee table made him look up. It was Emily. She was placing a plateful of sunflower seeds for him to munch on while going through his temporary job. Mulder smiled at her appreciatively. Emily sat down next to Mulder, collecting the handful that he'd finished inspecting. "How's it going?" she asked, taking a seed from the plate herself. Mulder followed her, wanting to stuff himself with sunflower seeds and munch them all in one eating. But he limited himself to only one. He didn't want to dirty the pretty invitations. "Fine, really. Fine." "Fine like hell?" Emily supplied, making both of them laugh. "I'm sorry, Daddy... Mom promised she'll do this, but it seems like she's not available for today. You know her..." "Yeah, you can never count on her, huh?" Emily sighed disappointedly, resting her head on Mulder's shoulder. It was true--- after the divorce, Diana hadn't really been around to share some of her grace with her very own daughter. The wedding had been the closest thing Emily had as of mother- daughter bonding. Mulder guessed that Diana was probably hurting with the idea that Emily chose his custody over hers, but who could she blame? Emily had always been Daddy's girl. His daughter began to go through the invitations herself, "How's it going with Dana?" The quick change in subject didn't surprise Mulder. The topic of his ex-wife has never really been high on their list of favorite topics, but this new subject she presented wasn't exactly what he had in mind, either. "Uhh... no change." That was ironic: the word 'change'. He had been told over and over again the past month that 'change' wasn't possible, yet it was the only thing happening to him. And with Scully. Emily sadly tucked her arm under Mulder's free bicep, chewing on her seed. "Oh, Daddy... You know, it'll be fine soon enough. I could see that she cares for you." Sure. Fine. That was something. Scully *cared* for him? This, finally, was an overstatement. He may care for Scully, but her caring for him? That was not possible. The woman needed him, but not care- that wasn't part of the script between them- and it would never be. That was funny. Really, Emily should stop humoring him. He had enough humor from these invitations. A sunflower seed cracked in his mouth. "Em, honey, you shouldn't worry about us. You're getting married in a week and I want you to be problem- free." "But I'm your daughter, and your business is my business." Mulder grinned widely. There were a billion of reasons why he loved his daughter--- and her being so considerate was one of them. In silence, they picked through the invitations once again. Mulder was reading the contents of one particular invitation when something caught his eye. He ran over the invitation at least enough times for him to make sure that it was addressed to whom he thought it was for. That confirmed, he shakily waved the damn thing in the air, towards Emily. "Emily--- you are not inviting your Aunt Samantha, are you?" His daughter stared back at him with innocent hazel eyes that were a mirror image of his own. "Why? Is that illegal?" she said, with pure confidence stroking her ego. Mulder groaned heavily, rubbing his temples in reflex. His own daughter using his own words against him. Whole leg in his mouth. This couldn't- plain COULDN'T- be happening. "Honey, you know that I... we are not in good terms with Samantha," he argued steadily, holding his point out on a banner. Emily hesitated, and then charged with a more impressive banner than his. "Aunt Sam is *still* your sister, Daddy. And she promised me that she'll come to my wedding day." A proud grin betrayed his daughter's pleadings, and immediately, Mulder knew that Samantha would be coming to the wedding. The image of his sister crept like a leech in Mulder's active mind, and he had to bite a sunflower seed hard to push it away. "When did she give that particular promise again, Em?" He didn't mean to put a denting heaviness on the word "she". She scraped her elbow against her Dad's rib cage. "When I was 9, she told me that we'll do like Barbie's wedding and she'll be there to witness it all." Mulder wanted to shake his head in disagreement- but he didn't. Not when Emily looked as if she really believed what Samantha told her. Another sunflower seed cracked between his teeth. "If that's so, how the hell are you gonna reach your Aunt?" His daughter remained expressionless as she processed that question. Mulder didn't really have a big grudge towards his one and only sister- a particular statement that he had tried to defend over the years that his relationship with her was discussed. He didn't despise her the way he despised Alex Kryceck, but what she had done to their family would always be carved somewhere in Mulder's tamper- proof heart. For the first good years of his life, Fox William Mulder lived in a suburban paradise, complete with many properties under his own name [ready for his adulthood]- a wonderful mother and father to vouch for that, and a popularity level in High School that would rival any other's. Life was perfect, or so he believed --- until the day that he was processing his college application to Harvard, Samantha [then 15] came home with the biggest surprise of all. That surprise came in the presence of policemen swarming their suburban paradise. Apparently, Samantha had been involved in drug trafficking in downtown Massachusetts. True enough, they found enormous packs of marijuana and heroin inside her own bedroom, hidden underneath her bed mattress. Their mother fainted there and their father trying to revive his wife on the spot. Mulder looked on, shocked, and heaving the biggest disappointment in life. Needless to say, after Samantha's arrest for juvenile prison, the Mulders had to move to a whole new state to escape the growing antagonism and rumors of the community they once loved. Mulder could've forgiven Samantha if that was the only case. But his own father died shortly after the chaos. Samantha's former "comrades" hunted Mr. Bill Mulder down as an act of revenge towards her sister. They blamed the annihilation of their drug ring to her stupidity, and it was Mr. Mulder who they found that day. They clubbed him to death, until his blood littered on the streets. If Samantha hadn't screwed her life up... if she hadn't gone through that rebellion stages too early... it would never have happened. His life had never been the same. He escaped this in turn by partying and smoking with John, eventually ending into another horrifying twist of fate--- his marriage with Diana, and eventually, the best blessing he could ever have: Emily. Samantha had been released from jail when Emily was 8, and he took her back into his own house [he still lived in downtown Los Angeles back then with Diana]. But with the life his sister had chosen, she would always be running. So she ran against time, avoiding the world, hiding from her former "comrades". When a rock broke Mulder's window back then, with the words "BITCH WE'LL GET YOU" words inscribed on it with red marker, he knew that Samantha would be running once again. And that's what she did. As for him, he had to move to Beverly Hills- a more upscale neighborhood where he could protect his own daughter. No one should ever ask him why he had this friction with Samantha. NO ONE should ever do, if they want their faces still intact tomorrow. He and his daughter basked in complete silence for minutes, until Emily spoke up, drinking from his glass of strawberry juice. "Dad, I have to tell you a small something, by the way... and Jeff is gonna come and pick me up any minute now." He ignored the insistent desire to ask her why the hell "Jeff" kept picking her up every damn day when they'd be spending the rest of their lives together anyway. "Yeah, what's that?" Mulder opened an envelope that had the name of "Dana Scully" on it. He couldn't help but smile as he studied the invitation. Emily had told him of her desire to invite Scully, and he said that he'd do the honors, but Em also wanted it to be formal--- even if they were temporarily living in one roof. She wanted an invitation to go with the invite. Go figure. "I'd be evacuating this house in two weeks, and there are still other matters to be settled... like that continued deposit of $5000 in your account." "The asshole's still depositing, honey?" "Yes- and the bank's more discreet than ever. They did suggest that it most probably would be from one of your many investments--- or one of Grandpa's investments. You should ask Grandma in the wedding," she suggested- callous at the exact topic that she wished to discuss. Mulder noticed this, tucking Scully's invitation back to its envelope. "What do you want to tell me?" Emily shifted slightly in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. Her knee- length skirt rode up to her thigh, and Mulder pushed it back down to its correct length with dismay. As a father, he's not at all strict when it came to clothes, but he was worried about Jeff getting an impromptu peep show. She laughed at his over-protectiveness, continuing, "I taught Dana everything about your accounts--- how to do your expense reports, your bank accounts, your..." Those words didn't register fairly well in Mulder's radar. He was still picking at the envelopes when it hit him. "... Your credit cards, transactions, etcetera." Emily beamed at him sweetly. "Emily," Mulder digested the course of panic throbbing within his heart. This wasn't really happening was it? This was just an unfortunate dream and he'll wake up in that apartment in Las Vegas with Spunk--- in his OWN bed, ALONE and that damn kiss didn't happen, and Samantha's not coming to the wedding, and Emily didn't do something that he'll forever regret. "Emily," he repeated, not caring if she heard the desperate and anxious rasp in his voice. He groped for sunflower seeds and tasted its saltiness. "Please tell me that you're lying." "I don't lie to you, Dad." That's his lifestyle's biggest problem: too many people telling him the truth. "Honey," he said, facing her and keeping his voice down. "You know our situation here--- Dana and I aren't in good terms... and I don't want anything else to complicate this." "It's not gonna complicate it, Dad," Emily defended, her voice rising. "Dana's what you need right now that I'm going away. We both know that you cannot manage paperwork well, especially with this directing debut that's just around the corner. She'll be here for a long time and she could help you." "Emily... not that I doubt you or your idea, and not that I don't trust Dana... however, my passwords-- -" "Passwords are still kept hidden. I didn't give her the golden key to your files, Dad. I just taught her to do the basic paperwork. The important files in your bank are your responsibility. That's something I'm going to teach you." Seeing that Mulder quieted down, Emily continued, "Dana's the only one in this house who's not busy and who's smart enough to get a good track of what your doing. She's the only one I could think of." It was some time before Mulder replied to that. Finishing off the invitations, Mulder stacked them in neat rows and columns that would make Scully proud. "Fine. It's ok, I hope that she doesn't include in the expense reports the cost of my monthly rental for Playboy mansion highlights," he joked, and Emily laughed heartily. Deep inside of him, he knew that if Scully would've gotten that idea, she'd go ahead and do it. She would always surprise him- a thing that he had taken for granted when he took her into his own home. A car horned from outside of his Manor, alerting Emily. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek; her laughter subsiding to sudden giddiness that Mulder didn't think he liked at all. He let her go with no more words, though, and she bounded off to meet with her knight in shining armor. Or knight in a shining Ford, all spruced up to meet his very own Queen. ------------------------------------------ Mulder felt like a thief at the moment, lingering outside Scully's bedroom, watching her soft movements as she concentrated on a black and white magazine. Her whole body was propped up on the soft cushion of her single bed, surrounded by white papers that could either be his transcript records or loose pages of the script that she wanted to pay particular attention to. Ever since the script landed in her hands, she had been running around with it--- citing quotes, passages, and reenacting special moments which she thought deserved her attention. Back in Las Vegas, in their dingy two- person apartment, Scully even allowed him to indulge. He would sit back on the couch, while she acted some lines that she believed Mulder could coach. Scully was a good actress- not the best- but good enough for the movie, and with his directing; she could be better. She was also a very driven woman- wanting to seize every opportunity and giving it all her best. Kill him now, Mulder's inner thoughts once again hissed at him. Kill him now, because he missed the girl terribly. The exact reason he was standing outside her doorway, as if on a prowl, peering through the small slits of the jarred door, was because of the small pill he held in one hand and the glass of cold water in the other. It was time to drink her medicine- the ferrous sulfate or iron tablets. He was afraid that she had been neglecting her health lately, since he had no idea whether she was drinking the iron pills or eating the liver cuisine Mulder asked Jenny to make. They had been avoiding each other like a plague in his own house, setting new grounds for his stupidity. Not that he doubted her responsibility over her own condition- she did study medicine for a year in college- however, Mulder took pride in taking care of a responsible woman. And this pride was stroking him at that exact moment and he wanted to aid it. Using all of his remaining strength, he knocked softly on the door, pushing it even more ajar for him to see all of her. Scully lifted her head from the magazine, her eyes widening in what he could call as 'delayed shock' when she saw that it was him. She made a move to stand up and appear more presentable [not that it mattered, her baggy jeans and cut- off shirt were ok for Mulder]--- only resulting in the tidal wave of papers onto the floor. She apparently forgot that she was lying beside the stack of papers. Mulder shut his eyes momentarily in dread, fearing that Scully would shove him out or order him outside with her barking Spunk. Swallowing that, he encouraged himself to step into the room and loom over her as she tried to pick up the mess she has made. Typical Scully: she would rather fix the clutter first before ask him what the hell he was doing in her room. "Uh, Scully?" his voice croaked. The sound seemed foreign to him. The effects of this woman to him were incredulous. There was now a large toad in his throat and it's staying there with its squiggly arms crossed in non-cooperation. Her ponytail bobbed up and down, a signal that she's listening to him. Her deathly pale white fingers worriedly piled up the pieces of paper with ignition, pausing only once or twice to see if they were sorted correctly. If the effects of Scully on him were incredulous, he hoped that this was his effect on her. It should be, fair enough. "I bought you your medicine." She didn't seem to hear him. She continued stacking the papers, tapping them on the ground to align them and pushing them aside as she assaulted the next pile. Mulder sighed heavily, causing her to stop for a minute, and then moving on when he decided to place the tablet and glass of water over at the vanity table across her bed. It was the best move he could think of- or that his mind allowed him to think of- because he crouched down beside her before he could even talk himself out of it and started helping her pick the damn papers up. He was at his fourth piece of paper when Scully shot him a look that spelled "death" clearer than the day. Mulder doubled over, swallowing as she maintained that look. She held it until he handed her the papers, which she grabbed with rough rustling, and until he rose to his feet. He wasn't going to give up that easily, of course. Sans courage. Sitting down on her bed, he stole a glance at the magazine she was reading. The scrappy edition opened carelessly at an article that says: "The fight to immune ourselves to the AIDS plague". She REALLY was interested in medicine. Flipping through the thing, he saw that the magazine was from one of those free publishing companies that people hand out in subways and streets while trying to advocate their true intents. These were the magazines that big companies reject because their materials were either too alarming or too candid for the mass public. Naturally, it would attract Scully like a moth to a flame. Her magazine was particularly titled "Medicine's epidemic". A candid portrayal of AIDS' real threat to the public. By the time he was cradling the medicine newsletter in his arms, running through the pages with piqued interest, Scully was done fixing her papers and she had them in order once again on the bed, a few meters beside him. She stood there for minutes, until he caught her looking at him. "Oh, umm..." He dropped the magazine on his side. "It's interesting stuff." Scully sighed, sauntering over to where he disposed of her water and medicine. Without any words, she inhaled the damn tablet and finished the water. Mulder, desperate for a conversation [old habits were hard to break, especially when you have been conversing ONLY with this particular woman EVERYDAY for two months], snatched the magazine once again and opened it to the aforementioned article. "What do you know about this AIDS disease?" Scully tapped the empty glass in her free hand, casually bending over so that she could rest her ass on the vanity table. "Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, Mulder, if you do not know what the abbreviation stands for. It is not a disease--- these are diseases that that are from the suppression of the immune system when it is infected with HIV, or Human Immunodeficiency Virus." She sighed yet again, putting down the glass beside her, continuing her narration. "An HIV- infected person does not necessarily mean instant death- it could take years before the person would suffer with a sickness like Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia or commonly known in layman's term as PCP. But as I've said, these are diseases, so the infected person could also be diagnosed with tuberculosis and bacterial pneumonia. Weight loss, diarrhea, paleness, fever are symptoms of the advanced stages of the AIDS virus. Fungal infections are also not common." Wow. Mulder shook his head in disbelief, taking it all in. The facts she had been mouthing at him were all easy to process--- what's hard to process was the weight of Scully's brain cells. She was actually very, very, very smart. Maybe if she finished college, she would've graduated with top honors--- like him. If they were in the same school, they would've been in stiff competition, calling each other cat names and racing to their professors to get the highest grades. Wow. You really know YOUR stuff, *Dana*. --- He would've said that if they were in competition. Mulder cleared his throat, gathering every single information he could remember from early morning listening to Don Imus' on WNBC. That's not much, actually, since the broadcaster was keener on the jokes than on the facts itself. Eddie Murphy wasn't much help either. He had admitted it a long time ago: spending most of his time in the superficial anorexia of Hollywood dampened his brain. There's not much around in Hollywood to use your brain for, actually. You relate more on actions, decisions, what's best--- and only occasionally what you went by in school. "The AIDS virus has only affected a large sum of the gay community. There hadn't really been any big news about it affecting anyone who's straight or who's monogamous. Why make such a big fuss about it?" Yes, the subject was new to him. The said outbreak only occurred in 1980, and there wasn't much to be said. Five years later, there still seemed to be nothing much to be said at all. Scully chewed on her lower lip carefully. "What you are citing is *medical homophobia*. I understand that the statistics suggest that only the gay community is being affected, however, this disease could also be transmitted through blood donations, sexual relationships with prostitutes who had once pleasured bisexuals with the HIV virus... the possibilities about this epidemic are endless, Mulder. It is a worldwide concern. The homosexuals shouldn't be the only people in this fight. They are still our brothers... and sisters. We should fight this with them. Especially with the growing rate of young children being affected too." What impressed him the most about Scully was his knowledge that she's a straight Catholic- she believed in the Gospel reverently and wore a golden cross on a chain around her neck most of the time to prove it- but she never would go to mass. It was as if she had given up on prayer and decided that she'd take care of her own destiny. He would've called her a lapsed Catholic if only she didn't keep wearing that necklace. "I realized that, that children could also be affected by this AIDS through their parents--- if they were HIV positive, most probably their children would also be. I realized that this thing does not only affect gays... but," He stopped, and then changed his course out of pure, innocent curiosity. "What is the possibility that someone myself would be affected?" Scully's lips suddenly turned upward, curling into a delicious smile. Mulder reacted with one himself, missing everything about their arguments--- the mind- blowing heated conversations, the shallow pitching of one- liners, occasional fights in between, then the encore: a peel of laughter or smiles from one another. "Hmm... let's see, you don't go out for hookers when you get lonely, do you?" Mulder mouthed an exaggerated "no". "You aren't... most impossibly... gay? Or bisexual?" He smirked. Already cleared up before. "Blood donations? Transfusions lately in the past five or seven years?" "You're the only person I know who had a transfusion in the past five or seven years." She suddenly paled, with that and Mulder had the strange urgency to take back what he said. Open mouth insert whole body. Strike one hundred for Mr. Fox William Mulder. "Christ, I'm sorry, Scully--- the Saint Cecilia hospital is a respectable medicine facility... and they test people nowadays for the virus..." Her blue eyes were wide and bright as she tried hard to pinch some color into her cheeks. Mulder stared at her in guilt. She was already pale enough to defunct paper --- he can't imagine how she could've gone paler without disintegrating her melanin. Fantastic, Mr. Fox William Mulder could sure fix everything. Finally getting some color back to her cheeks, Scully breathed in deeply, "What do you need from me, Mulder?" Damn it! He blew it! "I..." He remembered the invitation [thank you Emily] and searched his front jeans pockets for the envelope. Finding it, he left the bed to give it to her. "Emily wants you to come to the wedding. It will mean a lot to her." Scully opened her palm and Mulder gently rested the invitation on her hand. She retrieved it and studied her name on the beige cover. She wasn't gonna say anything soon, so Mulder had the initiative to keep the conversation going. "I don't expect you to come, even if it would mean the world to my daughter... but..." He was halted abruptly when fine spots of red began to appear on the invitation. "Scully?" he said, and she at once snapped her head up, her eyes boring through the ceiling. A drop of blood trickled down from her nose, resting on her lip. She pinched the bridge of her nose vehemently, trying to contain the nose bleed before it got worse. Mulder salvaged tissue near him, handed her some, and began to wipe the blood on her face. He tentatively removed the invitation from her hand and settled it on the table near them. For some unknown reason, she was pushing herself further away from him as he cleaned her up, frightening Mulder with the idea that she might fall backwards, so he grabbed her by the waist and held her effectively, flush against his body. Feeling this contact, Scully bowed her head down to inspect it--- only to bring more drops of blood on her blouse, and some on his shirt. He tipped her chin to bring her head back up. "Relax, relax," he murmured, wiping the fresh droplets of blood on her shirt, and on his. Scully slackened against his form, breathing steadily as they both waited for the nose bleed to stop. She tipped her head back down, an indication that it had stopped. Mulder released her reluctantly, wishing that he could do more to help her. But of course, she wouldn't let him. "I'm kinda... getting used to it, the blood and everything gory about it." She checked on her blood- splattered shirt, and on his, mumbling a small "sorry". Mulder waved that it was okay. It was more than okay to have her blood all over him--- Jesus, she could have her whole lunch on his shirt, and he wouldn't mind because it will give him more excuses to take care of her. "I'll see," she said, out of subject. Mulder cocked his head to his left, not really sure what she's talking about. "The wedding. I'll see," she cleared. Mulder was able to nod. "I hope you would come. I know you don't want to go because I'd be there-" Scully opened her mouth to protest, but he held a finger up to shut her up. "- And living everyday with me is bad enough, but please come for Emily. She truly adores you." Her eyes skittered to the invitation and back to him. "I won't even talk to you during the ceremony or reception, if that's what you are worried about. Just, please come." She wouldn't answer him; she never did in moments like these. So he didn't wait for one. Mulder reached beside her for the glass of water and exited her bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. ------------------------------ To be continued. ------------------------------ ---------- Dinner that evening flew by without much words, other than "please pass the ketchup" or "hand me that pitcher, please". He was hearing too much politeness for the whole day that he was about to burst like a red balloon. Scully kept avoiding his eyes- -- or the whole of him, for that matter. She stuck her expression to her "fascinating" string beans and medium rare burger patties, as if he was an invisible man. He felt invisible himself with the way she had been treating him. Scully politely asked Jenny if she could wash the dishes for that evening and the maid reluctantly relented to her offer after much coaxing from the auburn lady. Mulder knew that she was only offering to do the chore to avoid his presence outside of the dining room. Emily was still out with her prince charming--- no one would be there to break the tension between them. Quietly, Mulder crept up behind Scully with a lumpy towel in one hand, ready to help out with the washing dishes thing. He positioned himself beside Scully, accepting the wet pieces of porcelain that she was handing him. She didn't even question his presence; he understood that she didn't want to talk about this new intrusion he was testing out. That was about the time when Jenny grimaced at the two and headed to her own quarters, frustrated. Crazy people, she must've been thinking, hiring helpers and doing the job themselves. He cleared his throat appropriately before he spoke, "I'm sorry about what I said... about the blood transfusions this afternoon." She swallowed hard, submerging under the evading lukewarm water. "S'okay, Mulder. I wasn't offended." Yeah, right. He'd gladly believe that if she didn't pale when he mentioned that strike- out. "No, really, I didn't mean to imply that you-" "Mulder, please, it's okay. I'm fine. I was just taken aback, I guess." Taken aback? More like shocked to death. "Scully... I know I'm not making our situation any better... at least," She handed him the forks and spoons, which he took without hesitation. He gazed at her pouting red lips, hoping that she would at least look at him so that he could read whatever was going on in her mind. "Let me try to make it better. We are eventually going to be spending a whole year together. If this is the way we would be treating each other for the rest of the time duration, then maybe I should..." he trailed off. He didn't want to go on and present that thought out in the world. She squeezed the mandarin scented dish soap onto the sponge she was holding, in turn squeezing it in her hand to bubble the soap--- or to release tension. "I told you I'm fine. Please, can't you just-" Another squeeze on the sponge. Tighter, this time. "Quit? Is quitting so hard for you to do?" He should be offended since being a lousy quitter was his middle name, but he was already told thousands of times about how hard he pushed through that it didn't matter to him anymore. "Yes, it is, especially when the other end is making it very challenging for me." That was the truth. Mulder honestly didn't understand why the hell Scully was giving him the hardest time over a small--- well, not really small --- matter. He wished that there was someway he could pull her strings effectively so that she could utter the answers he longed for out. Scully ran the sponge over a plate, stopping every once in a while to contemplate what he said. "I need some time to think. To clear my head. I told you before that it doesn't change anything, I am still-" "Yes, you are still mine. Yes, it supposedly doesn't change anything- but Scully; the only thing happening to us IS change. Do you understand that?" She turned off the faucet with a tight grip, pushing over to him the last of the dishes. He cradled the plates with his two hands, wishing once again that she would at least look at him. At least, JUST look at him so he could see what was bothering her. Scully soughed heavily, redirecting her head to the opposite direction. "Yes, I do. I understand the situation clear as day. What I don't understand is why you had to do it. Why you had to..." Another deep breath. "I'm sorry," she was able to insert, before completely turning her back to him and heading towards her room. Her door closed with a loud bang. Mulder had to hold onto the dishes tightly or else he would've lost his grip on them when she took that first step away from him. ------------------------------ To be continued. ------------------------------ CHAPTER FOURTEEN: "... God worked throughout the night, giving the father few words, but a firm, authoritative voice; eyes that saw everything, but remained calm and tolerant. Finally, almost as an afterthought, He added tears. Then He turned to the Angel and said, "Now are you satisfied that he can love as much as a mother?"' - An excerpt from "When God Created Fathers" by Erma Bombeck Quonochontaug, Rhode Island May 22, 1986 Wednesday Mr. William Mulder bought the summer house way back 1943 as a wedding present to his wife, Teena. It was where they were married and where they spent their honeymoon- it continuing until the whole summer of that year, spending time together planting flowers and trees around the whole garden to liven up the beautiful place. When Mrs. Mulder was pregnant with their first child, she spent the whole nine months in Rhode Island, breathing in the flowers and gardening when she felt like it. Mr. Mulder, who was the president of a generic food company, traveled back and forth between Massachusetts, Washington DC, and Rhode Island. They spent evenings basked in the moonlight, laughing and just being themselves, enjoying their time alone. It was where Fox William Mulder was born. Teena wrestled with her son's bowtie, shaking her head at the way Mulder fixed it himself. He was able to casually wrap the two loose ends together in an also- loose knot when his mother entered his old bedroom, appalled at the mess he had done to himself. "Goodness, Fox, you should get bowtie- tying lessons from your friend, John. He seems very well- prepared for this," she remarked, tightening the confining bow around his neck. Mulder groaned. "Monica tied that for him." A 'harrumph' escaped her, and with one last tug, she finished. Mulder smiled appreciatively, turning around to look at his reflection in the full- length mirror. It was like staring at a complete and nervous stranger. His hazel eyes were wide and twitching, lips drier than usual, hands shaking. If it wasn't for his slick hair pasted on his head, he would've appeared like an 'asshole father of the bride'. Shit. Was he *that* old already? "You look handsome, Fox." Naturally, mothers would never tell their own sons otherwise. Mulder watched his mother in the mirror as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, patting him carefully. "I wish your father was here. He would've been very proud of Emily. And of you. You raised a wonderful and beautiful young woman," she added, with a quirk, "For a teenager, that is, you did a good job." "Mom," Mulder warned, though his eyes betrayed his humor. Teena grinned, fine laugh lines sprouting at the edges of her eyes. "I always hoped that you would get married here, like your father and I did. I... I suppose having my granddaughter married here is enough. Bill would've been happy to find out about this." Her smile saddened, drawing herself closer to Mulder until they were splitting the mirror between them. "When you didn't get married here, I was hoping that at least Samantha--" He shoved his face away from the mirror, so that his mother wouldn't see his reaction. The subject of Samantha was the least favorite for the whole Mulder clan- she was the only woman in their whole history that didn't finish college, didn't settle down appropriately, and didn't hang around when there were family gatherings. Needless to say, she probably wouldn't be around to join the party today. "I'm sorry, Fox," Teena said, straightening out her glasses. She gazed upward at Mulder, craning her neck to reach the top of his blow- dried and gel splattered hair. "Do you have any word about your sister?" His mother had forgiven his sister a long time ago--- about the dysfunction she brought to their family and about the death of their father--- but Mulder still held a rock against his very own sister. His father was his best friend, his mentor; he stared up at his Bill Mulder with the belief that he could save the whole world with one wave of his hand. When his father suggested that he take Psychology, he didn't second guess it. When his father told him to take up French in college, the next thing he knew he was already lining up for a class with Mr. Dmeter. No one should ever question what he felt for his sister, ever. "No, Mom. The last time I heard anything about her was three years ago. She was headed to Hawaii back then, remember?" Teena managed a nod, her eyelids dropping heavily at her disappointment. "Then how could you have sent the invitation?" Good question. Mulder squinted one eye, knowing that it was time to say the awful truth. His Mom was not going to like it. "I didn't," he said simply, hoping against hope that there wouldn't be any excess questions following it. "What do you mean you didn't, Fox?" A livid stroke came upon Teena's voice. Mulder ignored it, setting himself up for a good screamer. In his own daughter's wedding day. "I didn't want Emily to be disappointed, Mom, so I pretended that I mailed the invitation to Hawaii--- because that's where Samantha supposedly is. I didn't send it. I know it would never reach Samantha, either way." He expected his Mother to start giving him the worst scolding of the year, but instead, she rolled her eyes in disappointment. That was an improvement, a very big improvement. "Oh Fox. What do you have up your sleeve?" He cringed. Mothers knew best. Fathers did too... in likelihood. Here it comes. "A bouquet of white roses from 'Aunt Samantha in Hawaii'." Teena grimaced, inserting a button of jasmine on Mulder's lapel. He in turn also grimaced at it--- but ignoring his manly sentiments, she patted it in place. She also patted his cheek for an honest good luck. "You expect her to believe that, Fox? Emily is a smart woman. She takes after you." She added as an afterthought: "And she's also 21 years old. Adult enough to see through your tricks." "Yeah, but a father can only hope, right?" His mother smirked and pushed him down to her so she could kiss his forehead. -------------------------------- Mulder had the strange teenage notion that when Emily was born, she was born into his arms: handed down from the Great Architect without any barriers, without the natural conception, and without the Woman. He was the first parent who had the chance to hold Emily in his arms. He was the parent who named her, and she became the name he bestowed, she became this "Emily"--- that was all from him. All *selfishly* from him. During the first weeks after Emily's birth, Diana was too pained to even hold her daughter. Every time Mulder would good- naturedly offer the small baby to his wife, she would wail out incoherent phrases until the nurses would rush to her room. Mulder gave Emily her first diaper change, her first bath, her first bottle feeding, her first kiss. Mulder gave her his life. It was just ironic that he was the one to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day. He was the father of the bride, and that was his unsung duty. Still, as Mulder first saw Emily in her wedding dress, he found it ironic. She smiled adorably for him, frozen tears within her eyelids dangerously shining. Emily was of white laces and crystal diamonds. Her veil, attached to her topped brunette hair, scraped lightly on the ground with its intricate patterns of white cords. The wedding dress itself was simple, sleeveless, and outlined with miniature crystals that sparkled when the sunlight crossed their individual translucent eyes, however, the way the material bounced off her tanned skin was incomparable. Mulder was completely choked up when he came to fetch Emily from the inside of the house. It was a garden wedding; they would have to walk towards the backyard, bursting from the front door for dramatic purposes. Everyone was settling outside. They were the only ones left inside the house, save for the other people included in the aisle repertoire. As he stepped into her dressing room [or the former master's bedroom], the eerie silence was enough to stiffen him up into tears. God. And it was only like yesterday that she was wearing those bouncy pigtails. "How do I look?" She twirled around for him, swirling untamed dust particles in her wake. Mulder resisted the urge to bawl in front of his daughter. He had never, honestly, seen her more beautiful. Of all the days she had to be this radiant-- why did it have to be today? "You look wonderful, honey. Breathtaking," he coughed out. Emily ran a light tongue to her lip. "Thanks." Watching her reflection on the full- length mirror [Mulder once called his parents "vanity- freaks" out of good ribbing due to their mirror fetish] for one last time, she cranked out an elbow towards Mulder. He robotically slid his arm into place, and they began to walk down the stairs together, occasionally guiding Emily's long veil so that she or he would not step on it. They were now in place behind the whole line of the repertoire. Mulder still hadn't squeaked more or less some last words for his daughter. Emily peered at him through her obscure veil. "Daddy?" she timidly called out, her voice somehow reminiscent of its pitch when she was eight years old. "Yes honey?" he said, a little bit too quickly. She let her mouth hang open first before speaking, "You are still my best friend. Nothing will change that even after this." The tears that he had been restraining for so long finally broke free from Mulder's eyes. They trekked down his cheekbones, onto his waiting black tux. Emily broke from his elbow clutch and hugged him, wrapping her arms around his shoulder blades tightly, as if she would never let go. As if she would never let go. "Christ, Emily... I will miss you so much. So damn.... much," he stuttered, burying his face partially into her shoulder, controlling beyond himself the tears so that it wouldn't ruin her wedding dress. She didn't seem to mind as she pushed her father's head further into her skin. "I will miss you too, Daddy, but we'll still see each other every week. I promise you that. You will always be my best friend. We would always be that two peas in a pod... I will always be that little girl of yours." Her voice was cracking- she was also about to cry. Not a good idea, since she hadn't even entered the altar and her make- up will already be ruined. Mulder reluctantly drew apart, lingering his hand on her waist. "I know that, honey. I know that." Through the veil, he kissed her on her forehead, and then on the tip of her nose. "I love you, Emily. You know that don't you?" A single drop of salty tear managed to break free from the confines of Emily's eye, and she wiped it with her bare hand. "Yes, Dad. I love you too." Regaining much needed composure, they went back to their original position, ready to head towards the garden. At last, the live band cranked the immortal tunes of "Here Comes the Bride". Mulder smiled at Emily, and they began to walk slow, in time with the beat. The front door opened imperceptibly, welcoming the first line of flower girls into the morning sunlight, into the colorful garden. All heads turned towards the entering cohort, eyes gleaming of excitement. A certain flash of red caught Mulder's eyes as they were nearing the front door. Before he could even decipher whether it was who he was expecting it to be, Emily cut him off with a sly grin. "She's here, Dad. Dana came." Mulder hummed contentedly, taking a small step together with her. "Oh, and Dad?" The entrance was only a few meters from them. He could now see Scully fully, sitting at the last line of benches. He guessed at once that she probably came in at the last possible minute, somehow spending the whole day contemplating on the invitation. He was forced to leave her in Los Angeles when Scully wasn't giving him an exact answer about her attendance. "Yes, Em?" Mulder remembered to answer, stiffening his flat stomach as the first rays of the sun hit his forehead. "Thanks for the white roses." He managed a grimace before he needed to smile for the wedding guests. -------------------------------------- John Doggett cranked a goblet of white wine from Mulder, prying his fingers one by one. If the man didn't know any better, he'd say that Mulder's hands were suction cups. "Heel, Mulder. Heel." Mulder's wine fetish resurfaced when his emotions did. They were best of friends. He didn't give a damn about what John was ordering him. His eyes were locked on Diana and her "new friend" as they were swirling on the make- shift dance floor of the living room, bouncing their assess off to Huey Lewis & The News's "The Power Of Love". Her "new friend" was buzzed cut, tanned- skin, had well- toned triceps and biceps, had those six- pack abdomen that were pretty visible from the thin white shirt the man had on. He didn't even bother to wear a tux--- he had to wear those thin white shirts to show the world how his VIP card in the gym paid off. His name would probably rhyme with "Fabio". Oh, and he's not really a "new friend", if you're going to ask Mulder himself on his opinion. He's feeling very *opinionated* on the subject right now. "Where do you think she got him?" he asked, not looking at his companion. John had successfully isolated the glass far away from Mulder, and he was sighing dejectedly at his friend. He was twisting the glass close to his face, watching the fine red wine swirl on around the goblet. "Work, maybe?" "Diana doesn't work." The world will shift and the great depression will have to repeat itself, but the damn woman will never touch anything with the scent of labor. John grumbled few recognizable expletives in Spanish [the only thing Mulder understood was Mierda], ultimately allowing himself to coddle a well- deserved swig of Mulder's own wine. It was going to be a long, long day. The reception was designed cordially only for the kindred or close family friends. However, when Diana sauntered into the ballroom with her "new friend" without even second- glancing at her daughter or at Mulder himself... the world suddenly turned into a spit ball. It annoyed him greatly that she had the guts to show up with her "new friend" when indeed this was her daughter's wedding. The invitation didn't say that you could bring JUST anyone along. Oh, hey hi Mr. "Fabio", can we stop coitus for a while? It's my daughter's wedding today. Do you want to come with me? But from the obvious vantage point, John didn't think that Mulder was irritated by that fact. He was thinking more on the "green- eyed" monster lines. Celoso asno. "What the hell are you doing eyeing them like you are doing, Mulder?" The wine had the desired effect on his friend. John's words slightly tilted to one punctuation as he spoke; it had been a long time since he indulged himself to a one- shot alcohol trip. Mulder twitched at his question. No doubt about it, John was thinking the celoso asno trick: the jealous ass trick, that was. That was not even close to the truth of his insecurity. Diana was a beautiful woman. She had light creamy skin and Emily's brunette hair, her face the contour of an exquisite woman, nose pointed, and eyebrows light. Her figure wasn't something to laugh at too- she used to attend aerobics class every week when they were married. When it comes to attitudes, though, it's a totally different story. His ex- wife was a bitch. Period. Every woman in the world could somehow be classified into a level of bitchiness, but Diana would be every level and all scores a bitch. She was a kind bitch, a bad bitch, a whore of a bitch, a grateful bitch... the list of adjectives would go and on, each ending with the word "bitch". His real problem was his insecurity of having *no one* when his ex- wife [yes, queen of the reigning bitches] had someone. It was normal, as psychology told him years ago, to have your ego knack you for things like this. It wasn't normal, as Mulder had defined it, to have his ego invite his insecurity in. They must be best of friends too. Mulder squirmed in his seat, raising one leg and placing it atop his knee. That explanation, when said out loud, would never make sense. It barely made sense in his own mind. Opting for something less idiosyncratic, he answered his friend. "Diana had the guts to bring that man in her own daughter's wedding." State the obvious. John called for a waiter to pour more wine on his newly-claimed glass. The bulky Mexican waiter did so, and Doggett thanked the man in Spanish. The waiter brightened up, preparing himself to converse in smooth Spanish when the opposite table called his services. That was where Monica [painfully 2 weeks from labor] and Scully were seated, talking and enjoying the music at the same time. "Why don't you dance, Mulder? It'll get rid of your tension," Doggett recommended dutifully. "I've danced with Emily." He anchored a hand on his ankle. Mulder was indicating that she was the only person he'll allow himself to dance with tonight. Frohike, Byers, or Langley were all OUT of the question. "Why don't you take Dana?" John's eyebrow shot an imperceptible arrow towards the young woman sitting next to Monica. They were conversing in low voices- in Welsh, most probably. Monica would glance towards them occasionally, as if waiting for Mulder to approach the table and grab Scully. If this suggestion of John's was premeditated, he'll kill the man later. Right now, Mulder thought that he must fall for the premeditation. He'll include Dana Scully in his list. Shrugging and nonchalant at best, Mulder rose from the table and began to trek towards Scully. Monica gave his presence away with her widened eyes, and the auburn woman congealed in her seat. That awkward move didn't stop Mulder from placing a hand on her shoulder and pressing his flesh softly on her bare skin. That was his way of announcing his presence. Scully snapped her head up to look at him, whispering a single word: "Cacha." The tone of her voice and the range of it told Mulder that she didn't want him to hear it. Welsh curses. "Dance?" He had gathered enough courage to move the rock of Gibraltar by that moment, thanks to the white wine and his stroked ego. [White wine combined with water, that was. If he drunk ONLY white wine, he wouldn't want to know what would happen after their dance.] Scully warily gave him the eye, including Monica in her expression. She stood up, though, having no other choice but to accept the father-of-the-bride's proposal. Smoothing her satin green strapless gown, she accepted his hand and they walked casually towards the crowded dance floor. Keeping reasonable distance from her as they emerged face-to-face, Dana formally anchored her hands over his lapel, while he held her small waist, unintentionally feeling the soft skin of her back. Her gown was backless; did he mention that? It dipped to her lower back, lifting up to form a heart on her chest. A high slit strutted her toned legs, peeking from the gown's casing and making most of the young men present drooling at her sight. She also didn't curl her hair. She let it dry naturally, forming soft straight edges on her shoulders and framing her face, adding 3 more years to her present age. Oh, and did he mention that, next to Emily, she would be the most beautiful woman in the wedding? Their eyes locked as the music changed to Whitney Houston's "Saving All My Love for You". He calmly studied the interweaving blues and greens in her iris, hoping that his own eyes wouldn't give away his admiration for her. Christ, her husband will be very lucky indeed. Trying to break the tension, Mulder bolted his good senses out and joked, "I'm not gonna kiss you this time if you're worrying about that." He was ready for the overkill, really. But, his good senses must've been his bad luck charm, because Scully smiled at his jive. She even relaxed a bit, her fingers falling on his chest... her right hand atop his beating heart. Mulder can't help sighing deeply, watching her hand go up and down his chest in time with his breath. It felt normal; it felt like the old days before *he* screwed up. "Congratulations, by the way, Mulder," she said, her voice lowering and betraying her natural British accent. Mulder smoothened the porcelain skin of her lower back with his thumb, and he felt her shiver slightly. She didn't pull back, even with that bold move of his. Wine was making him do crazy things again. He had to keep himself intact. "For what?" "For earning a son." Scully's smile widened to a grin. "And for losing a daughter?" he added unintentionally. That's not helping himself. Or her, for that matter. Fuck the wine. Scully lowered her eyes from him, sympathetic at his suggestion. Seeing this, Mulder saw that he didn't want sympathy. He didn't want any sympathy, especially when it's coming from her--- or anyone else. "No, I didn't mean it that way," he hoarsely took back, also looking down to study their shoes brushing with each other. Mulder was trying hard to keep his emotions at bay. "It's okay, Mulder. I understand. You will miss her very much." That statement from her awakened something deep inside Mulder, a volcano bubbling out from nowhere, ready to spurt boiling magma. How could she possibly understand what he's feeling? How could she possibly understand the isolation and pain? He's jealous that his ex- wife's having a ball of a life, he's demented that his own daughter's leaving him, he's appalled that Scully's here and she's dancing with him in spite of what he had done to her. He's angry at the world for making him feel lonely when he's not. He's angry. That's it, concluded, and period dotted on sentence more than a hundred times. He's a complicated man, an equation straight out of Algebra and Chemistry books. She could never, ever understand him. Fuck the wine again; et al. Scully chose that particular moment to lift her head up and she tried to catch his eyes. He didn't budge, gaze still lingering on their shoes. His hands on her back transferred down to her waist, his newfound awkwardness surfacing. "I *do* understand. If you don't believe me, at least look at-" A yelp came from her throat, cutting her statement. Scully was pushed into his arms, and he wrapped them around her protectively, raising his neck above her head to see what made her move into him. Behind her stood Diana and Mr. "new friend", mouthing 'sorry'. They were studying the situation in mock bewildered expressions, being caught up in their own versions of dirty foxtrot that they forgot there was a planet revolving under their footsteps. Bitchy Diana. Mulder stroked Scully's bare back, and she tilted her head away from his chest to investigate whoever tripped her. Amer chienne. The *Bile Bitch* tripped you, Dana Scully. *French*, this time. "Oh Christ, we're so sorry, Fox." Diana raised a hand into his face, waving her fingers sweetly. Mulder nodded, watching "new friend" launch into the same mode. Scully gathered herself from his chest, coming to stand beside him. Mulder remembered that his Spunk hadn't met his ex- wife yet, so he took the opportunity to be a nice host and introduce the two. And he didn't forget "new friend". Motioning to his ex- wife, he turned to Scully, "This is Diana and..." He snapped his fingers for a name, and Diana snapped it back to him. "Bob." Too bad it didn't rhyme with "Fabio". "... And Bob. Diana, Bob, this is Dana Scully. She's the lead in my upcoming movie." They all shook hands, exchanging a few plastic flabbergasted compliments, and that was all Mulder let them do. That was also all he could take, looking at Diana and her "Bob/Fabio", Spunk and her statement, and the boiling magma drawing out of his lungs. He held Scully by the elbow and drew her away from the dance floor, away from Diana and "Bob", who were following their actions with curious gazes. It was as if something in him snapped. Which was the inebriated truth. Scully shucked her thin arms from him, jiggling it as they exited the ballroom. "Mulder, what are you doing? Let me go!" she demanded, her pitch lowering to dangerous dimensions. The garden was still littered with white chairs and the day's flowers. Mulder stepped intentionally on a spilled bouquet of red roses, dragging Spunk to wherever he's planning to take her. With one final yank, Scully was able to bring Mulder to a stop. "What are you doing?! Why are you acting like this?!" Her voice was enraged, and he heard a hint of panic. Mulder knitted his eyebrows tightly on his forehead. "There! Now look at me! What do you see!?! Huh? Could you see everything and predict the next World War? Could you see what I am feeling?!?" Shoving his face into hers, Scully recoiled slightly, but held her stance and shoved her face back, their noses scraping against each other. Up close, she sniffed the alcohol in his breath and drew an immediate conclusion. "You're crazy, Mulder. You're drunk again. You should rest, give yourself a good bath and sleep-" "NO! Tell me what you see, what you read, Scully! Isn't that what you're good at? Isn't that what you do when you want to argue with me?!? Isn't that what you do best?!?" He was shouting, but it didn't matter. The music inside was too loud for any other audible sounds, and the garden was isolated. He didn't care. He didn't want to care. Scully gritted her teeth, accepting his challenge. "FINE! So I will read you! You know what I read? I read a man who's forcing himself to the brink of destruction when all around him are real friends who care for him! I see a drunk man who wastes his life on alcohol when problems arise! I see a man who wants loneliness when that is not what is bloody intended for him! I see a man who just cannot quit! And you are not quitting right now!" Mulder was silenced when she said that. When he told her to read, he didn't say that she should open a new chapter. Scully blinked back tears [he didn't want to think about that] as she began to talk again, this time in a hush, "Mulder, please... quit." It was more of a plead than a command. "I don't want to say anymore. I don't want to do this." She didn't want to argue with him. Not today. Surprise, surprise. He was still silent as he lifted his head up to the sky, to see the mad prisms the setting sun was weaving. Scully did the same, trying to find whatever Mulder was seeing so fascinating about it. -------------------------------- To be continued in Chapter Fourteen B -------------------------------- ----------------------- "I should be happy." That was his conclusion over his breakdown; on his final act of stupidity in front of the person he would be utterly humiliated to act stupid in front of. Now, that person he was referring to was sitting with him on the fresh ripe green grass, not giving a fuck about the fine gown she was wearing, taking a swig of beer as the stars began to appear and the full moon danced its opening act. Mulder, his bowtie now loosened and his tux jacket being used as a makeshift blanket, pointed the beer towards a very prominent star. The Northern Star. "I should be happy today because my daughter is getting married." The star heaved a sparkle in disagreement. Of course, it wasn't true, so he rephrased it. "I should be happy today because she is married and she's moving on... but I'm not." Scully modified her position on his tux to make herself more comfortable. The gown wasn't helping her feel at ease. "Why aren't you happy?" Mulder discerned that Scully more than knew the answer to that--- and she could recite the whole detail to him without intermissions, but somehow, tonight was for him. Tonight was for his clearer head, for him to clear his whole side. "Do you sometimes... feel that everyone is moving on except you? That the world is taking a new step everyday and here you are, still moving backward?" She took a drink first, relishing the taste of beer on her red lips. "Yes. You are moving but you take three steps forward and five backward." Mulder nodded. "It shouldn't have come to me today. I had the whole month to think of it... of the consequences Emily's marriage would have- of the probable loneliness... but I didn't- I wasn't given the opportunity to do so." Another gulp of dry beer. "Scully, I'm really sorry for what happened back in the Lounge. I really am." "I've accepted your apology a long time ago." "Then why are you treating me this way?" Silence. Scully lifted her legs from the ground, and pressed them to her chest. This position always reminded Mulder of how little she was, of how vulnerable she could be. This was how she sat in the hospital, when she awakened from her nightmares, when she's afraid. He never wanted her this way, and he hoped she would drop her legs and stop positioning herself like that. Oblivious to his thoughts, Scully hugged her legs with her arms. "I overreacted back in the bar--- it was the wine. And why I kept treating you like this... I guess I've never just thought of you that way. In that line." She ended this with her chin on her two knees, gazing on beyond to the insistent Northern Star. "I never thought of you that way, either," he admitted, and it was true. He cared for the woman because she needed his care- because she needed him. In some ways, yes, he had needed her too. Scully was a beautiful lady, and he'd be gay if he wouldn't be attracted to her physically--- but that's how far it would ever go. He could never think of Scully that way, of that crazy lovers-induced way. Never. It was a complicated relationship- wherein you cannot define your purpose and you don't hold titles. It was easy with Emily: father- daughter. Easy with Diana: ex- husband- ex- wife. And with John: best friend- best friend. With Scully, he can't say if she was his surrogate daughter, his friend, his best friend, or his new deity. Who could tell? Mulder finished his beer off, gently placing it in between his toes to play with the smooth glass. "My Mom told me that when she gave birth here, she barely reciprocated the pain because the birds were humming in her ear... the flowers' scent was everywhere. Her love for this place was born with me. "Even if it is against my better will that this place be under my name, my Dad surged forward with the idea. He told me that this is where my life started, and I should own that piece of my life." "What about your sister?" The question, in any other day, would be dismissed with a mock or a grumble, but Mulder was so relaxed that he didn't even mind her asking him about Samantha. "Samantha was too far gone to be even remembered during that will signing. My parents were still angry with her back then." Scully shivered as a light breeze flickered against them. Mulder placed a light hand on her bare back. "Cold?" A nod answered his question. Mulder went straight up on his feet, helping Scully up on hers too. His soiled tux rested on his arm, and they kicked the empty bottles of beer on the grass. They were about to leave the site when Scully pulled back and ran towards the empty bottles, bringing them with her as they walked towards the summer house. The guests had left for their hotel accommodations--- even his mother---- and it was by his request that he be left at the summer house. The extra helpers were already polishing off the whole place, leaving it spic and span for him to be able to sleep steadily tonight. He wanted to have tonight as a contemplation hour, a rare time for him to relax and just be himself. Instinctively, his hand draped itself on Scully's thin shoulders as if they had a life of their own. He pulled her closer, and for what seemed like the first time in months, she didn't hesitate. That made an ounce of unnamed emotion lift from Mulder's heart. They were nearing the front porch when he brought up a question he never thought he'll ask for the night: "Will you stay?" Scully worried her free finger over her lips. "My clothes are all in the hotel, Mulder." "I have excess jeans and t- shirts. A belt will hold up pretty well." She laughed at the absurdity of his idea. "Do the words underwear occur to you, Mr. Superman?" That was the least of his worries for tonight. He didn't care if she was in underwear or without, he didn't care if she'd raid his whole wardrobe and he'd have to sleep naked. It'll be too crass to answer "no", so he opted for something else. "Stay?" He was begging now, pleading his puppy dog eyes at her. Scully immediately softened when she saw his face. "Okay," she said, and that made another sack of emotion rise from deep inside of him. --------------------------------- Scully opted for something reasonably baggy: his Yankees shirt and denim jeans. He was right after all. The belt did hold it up pretty well, even if the rest of his jeans bunched up on her ankles like mud puddles. She was folding her gown in a neat square [she must have spent the last 30 minutes doing it over and over again] when he entered the master's bedroom, *real* blankets in one hand, and a picnic basket in the other. Her back was to him, so she didn't see his intentions at first. "Where would I be sleeping tonight?" As the last fold came, she thrust the long sleeves of his shirt up on her shoulder. Mulder leaned his body on the doorframe, "With me," he said innocently. Scully chuckled appreciatively, thinking that his statement was a joke. "Real bed, Mulder. Real nice be-" She was cut off when she swirled around and discovered what he was holding. The chuckle in her voice was now a smirk of disapproval. "What is that?" "You could be helpful and bring the pillows." Her hand found her forehead and massaged it to ease some confusion away. "What is this? Camping out?" "Yeah." The hand rested on her hip, her expression becoming vaguely amused. "Where are the pillows?" "Look at the stars," Scully breathed at him, rubbing her slightly bulging stomach. The ham sandwich he concocted while she was taking a shower was heavy on mayonnaise. She ate three of them- and almost gobbled up half of his share. He did as she said, propping his head up on his two hands. The sky was one gigantic sea of jewels. "What's to look at?" he wanted to know, squinting his eyes at the billions of stars that were glinting at him. "'The moon is my friend, and the stars are our audience as we share a passion for the darkness...'" she recited in dull monologue, her eyes scanning the sea of sparkling diamonds. "'A ni dawns oblegid dyna neb yfory... cyfan hynny mater ef ni heno.'" "What could that possibly mean?" Mulder rolled over to his side, anchoring his head on his hand, so that he could look at her. Scully didn't shunt, still seemingly attracted to the midnight sky. "And we dance because there is no more tomorrow... all that matters is us tonight," she sighed, also turning to look at him. Seeing that she was still a few inches from his face, she perked herself up with the pillow under her. Now they were eye-to-eye--- one of their best and favorite positions together. "I didn't know you were a gooey romantic," he teased, earning a glare from her. "That-- for your information, Mister-- is a Welsh classic poem by Ray Dist. It's entitled 'The moon, my friend'. My third year high school oral recitation." She grinned at the memory, that lilies and carnations grin. Mulder warmed at the sight of it. She hadn't been showing those whites of hers the past week, and he's just happy that they were real friends once again. Happy that at least, in his frazzled world, she was real, ...and she was there for him. "Why is that poem so special to you?" He smiled back, reaching over to caress her cold cheek, to force some warmth into her frozen pale skin. Scully allowed herself to lean into his palm; closing her eyes with his touch. "It soothes me, Mulder. When I feel alone, it soothes me," she said with the softest of her timbres. He breathed in the crispy air of the evening, eventually retrieving his hand from her cheek and lying down on his side. He opened his arms and invited Scully in, which she took without hesitation. Her head laid down on his bicep, pillowing there comfortably and his free arm rested on her waist, circling her rounded stomach. Pulling her close to him to generate more body heat, he placed his cheek on her ear, his nose under her chin--- where he could breathe in her wonderful scent. "Owe it to the only living forest here in the vicinity of Rhode Island for the cold breeze. It's summer *and* it's cold," he snickered, gentling a blanket over their forms. They stayed in silence for a moment, getting used to the feel of each other's bodies. Mulder kissed the outline of Scully's jaw, taking another whiff of her amazing scent. He'd love to wake up to her fragrance tomorrow, together with the singing of stray birds and the flowers' perfume. "Thanks," he said suddenly, surprising her. "For what?" She rubbed her head against his arm, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but his head was effectively pinning hers in place. "For being my friend. For keeping me company. For putting up with an asshole like me. For being real." Scully groped for his hand in the dark, finding it on her stomach. She intertwined her fingers with his, settling it on her hip bone. That was her way of saying that it was all her pleasure. Mulder obscured his face into the pit that connected her shoulder and neck, "Tell me the rest of your poem, Scully." His lips met that spot below her neck as an advance thank you. Her voice slurred slightly as she began to talk, with gentler phrases and sentences. "I am lonely... afoot on a cobblestone of chills and blizzards that howl in my ear. The midnight cuckoo clock angrily banishes me from the evening, telling me to quiet down my emotions- They are too noisy. "Solitude is in the night; Mother Earth says that the moon would keep me company. Fi ewyllys cael ef er y noson a ef ewyllys dangos fi pa mor ar dawns. "The moon is my friend, and the stars are our audience as we share a passion for the darkness. A ni dawns oblegid dyna neb yfory... cyfan hynny mater ef ni heno." He fell asleep to the sound of Scully's voice, and his nostrils filling up with the scent of strawberries, cucumber, and baby power. Someday he might want to think about this relationship with Scully- why they enjoyed each other's physical presence, why they needed each other, why and how they could hold each other in that unique lovers' way and yet, remain overhead the beckoning water... Someday. But not tonight. "... We dance because there is no more tomorrow... all that matters is us tonight. And I believe for a second, that tomorrow will never again come. A fi credu er yail hynny yfory ewyllys byth eto dod. That tonight is the last chapter in Mother's Earth's book." --------------------------------- To be continued in Chapter Fifteen --------------------------------- CHAPTER FIFTEEN: June 3, 1985 Dear Melissa, Have you ever experienced the feeling of having two magnetic pulls stretching you to the limits? That there is one pulling you from your right and there's another on your left? Is it supposed to be painful? I feel that way right now, one part of me longs so much for Wales and the ocean's scent, the lilies pirouetting in the air, the people. Another part of me feels that I am needed here in Los Angeles. That I belong here, with this chaotic Hollywood world that I do not want to have anything to do with in the first place. When I arrived in Los Angeles five months ago, it was by mistake. There wasn't an available flight for Las Vegas, and being desperate to leave Wales behind, I boarded a Los Angeles flight. But that simple mistake must be one of the best things that have happened to me. I cannot believe that I am actually here, dancing my ass off. I could see you right now, Missy, as you laugh at what I am telling you. Funny, isn't it? How God makes us collapse into mistakes and gives us better opportunities through them? I have to admit, I have fallen in love with LA. I have fallen in love with the Hollywood Hills, the traffic, the Sunset Boulevard. It is great to be accepted in a foreign land, to know that land and to love it like you love your own. Oh, Melissa, I haven't asked about Nana--- how is she? I am missing her terribly. She must have been worried sick about me. Please give her my apologies for not giving her my love. I have been taking her for granted throughout the years of my life that I have forgotten about her again. You know how it goes, the person who you cherish the most you take for granted- and you can never really grasp their importance until you lose them. I am feeling that way about you and our brothers, right now. As I have forever felt for Mother. How is your baby, by the way? Does she/he look like Mother? If she/he does, then she's/he's one lucky lady/gentleman. Another girl/boy born under the physical reign of Margaret Scully. I've always wanted company. The movie will be coming out late next year. I do hope you will enjoy it. I am already practicing every other day the production numbers. It looks very, very, very promising. Give my love to your baby, Charles, Bill, and of course, Nana. Fam wedi rhyddhau 'm , Melissa. Hi 'n ddiau has. Signed, Dana ------------------------------ To be continued. ------------------------------ "THE MOON, MY FRIEND." I am lonely, afoot on a cobblestone of chills and blizzards that howl in my ear, The midnight cuckoo clock angrily banishes me from the evening, telling me to quiet down my emotions- They are too noisy. Solitude is in the night, Mother Earth said that the moon could keep me company. Fi ewyllys cael ef er y noson a ef ewyllys dangos fi pa mor ar dawns. [I will have him for the night And he will show me how to dance.] The moon is my friend, and the stars are our audience as we share a passion for the darkness. A ni dawns oblegid dyna neb yfory... cyfan hynny mater ef ni heno. [And we dance because there is no more tomorrow... all that matters is us tonight.] I want to keep on dancing, until Mother Earth scolds me for stepping on her shoes, until the cuckoo clock ages and gets too tired to howl at me, unti the blizzards die down and until the sun comes up. The moon is my only friend, and the stars applaud our union with gleeful sparkles, A fi credu er yail hynny yfory ewyllys byth eto dod. [And I believe for a second, that tomorrow will never again come.] That tonight is the last chapter in Mother's Earth's book. ----------------------- CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Warner Brothers Studios Los Angeles June 13, 1985 Thursday The movie's root was actually pretty simple: freedom through dancing. It was now up to Kimberly Young, the writer, to get something weaving from that simple plot. So she did. It started also simply enough: a young woman traveling in a greasy truck with a man- Mr. Darin Dether. Mr. Dether was a professional dancer that just happened upon the lady in the dirt road, and being all gentlemanly, he accepted her hitchhiking plea. He was on his way to Washington, DC and company was thick on the road. Asking if there's any place that she would want to be dropped, the woman only said, "I'd go wherever your heading." Reaching his destination, Mr. Dether had no choice but to drop the lady and leave her there, alone in the busy streets of DC. They meet again after a month. Mr. Dether was fresh out of his show in a very famous production studio in Washington. The mysterious woman would be a waitress in the diner that he ate in everyday. She was new there, having hopped from one job to another. Trying to find ways to help her dilemma, he asked if she knew how to dance. The woman smiles, telling him that she could "try." The woman, Aida Simile, would turn out to be a wonderful dancer. Darin would enter her into his dancing studio and they launch into extravagant productions that put Aida's name on the map. She had a mysterious past, though, and as the two fall in love with each other day by day, Aida would tell him that she had to go back home. The time was very crucial- in one week, the biggest production [specifically starring Aida and Darin] should be coming up. She cannot possibly miss that. But Aida relented, telling him that she had to go. This was because her daughter was dying of leukemia... and the real reason why she's working in the city was to pay for her medicine bills. Unfortunately, when she got the break in Washington, it was too late for any medicine to heal her little angel. Letting her go, Darin learned that she was married and her husband was waiting for her back home. He had no choice but to watch the woman he loved disappear from him. Eventually Aida made it to the final performance- but she did not accept Darin's love anymore. She had a life back home and that's where she belonged. And that part, specifically, was where Mulder protested. He didn't like the ending. No one in their right mind would like THAT ending--- having your two heroes ending up in separate ways, not even succumbing into a relationship. Mulder had been thinking again and again for a possible avenue to this over the months. Kimberly Young stood before him, quickly reviewing the thick bound of script in her hands, "Why do they have to end up together?" she cried out, exasperated. He already had her do a completely different draft of the script while he was in Las Vegas to accommodate Dana Scully's British accent. "That is so cliche, don't you think?" Mulder tucked his reading glasses onto his nose, grimacing at the fiery writer. "No one wants to be depressed with an unhappy ending, Kimberly. People today want happy stories--- check Flash Dance out! Or, or Footloose... even Back to the Future ends happily." He flipped towards the last page, pointing at the paragraphs. "We're here to make a hit, we're not trying to break the norm--- the script's good enough, Kim. The script's already good enough to break a few norms if that's what you want." Kimberly swallowed hard, brushing through the final pages herself. "Fine. So I could rewrite this and change the ending. *Again*. What do you want the ending to be?" "Make Aida and Darin like soulma- wait, no, there are no such things as soulmates." He rested a finger on his chin, pounding his brain for something good to end the whole movie. "Kill the husband--- scrap him out of the script." "What?!?" "Remove him. He's only a page long, right? Take that page off, and say that he's been long dead. That'll free Aida to be with Darin." "Then it'll be so easy to predict that they'll end up together." "Okay, fine. So don't make the husband a husband. Make him a live-in partner. They decide that the 'magic's gone'--- of course, it's not supposed to sound like that, but something like that--- and she [still grieving from her daughter's death] dances the final production. They - Darin and Aida - end up together, talking about their pasts and how important they are to each other. There." Heaving a frustrated grunt, the orange-streaked writer broke away from him, for better measures. If he stayed in her face for another moment, things were going to get nasty. Kimberly threaded towards the insides of a studio, marching up the large ramp while furiously writing into the ring-bound script. In her fury, she didn't see Walter Skinner coming down from the studio, and they bumped into each other. Thank God no flying papers came about, and Kimberly picked herself up without any words and began to scribble on her paper again. Walter glanced at the woman, and then, seeing Mulder, a surge of knowing came across his face. Using his palm as a shield against the sun, Walter rocked his bald head from one side to another. "You made revisions, didn't you?" "No, not me," He removed the reading glasses from his face. They ended up in his breast pocket, together with his other small paraphernalia- ball pens, pieces of paper, chewing gum wrappers, and candy. "Her. She's the writer." "With a very demanding director, what do you expect?" Mulder hopped on a parked studio golf cart, an effective way of moving around the whole lot without having to bask under the lilting sun. Walter indignantly stepped in with him, and Mulder began to drive off, ignoring the engines protesting his speed. "Why are you in a hurry, Mulder?" Skinner held onto the damn thing's sides, watching his head as the roof came dangerously close to his glittering baldness. He diffused the speed when Walter alarmed him. No need to get the man nervous... yet. "I have to deliver Scully's lunch," he replied, turning to a blind right. Walter, beside him, ran a hand through his smooth head, as if inspecting if it was damaged. "Christ, what are you? Her nanny?" "Her lunch is liver spread sandwich. Where the fuck did you think she'll find something like that around here, huh? McDonalds?" Another sharp left, almost dropping Skinner to the ground, the golf car wiggling in agony as his speed began to increase again. "It's 11:40, Mulder! For goddamn's sakes, slow down! Dana won't get hungry for a few minutes!" They bounded over a hump and the roof connected with their heads, making them yelp in surprise and pain. Walter rubbed the reddening patch on his head. "Fuck it, Mulder! Slow down! If you don't I'll-" The Director began to laugh. There was always something amusing about surprising Skinner. The man was mild- mannered, in control, and the perfect definition of calm. Mulder was out of the blue, crazy, over-the-top... and because of that, they had an amount of friction that could topple anybody down easily. But not them. Mulder and Walter have a great friendship, and the main driving force behind it was as he mentioned before: they don't quit. And that made them a great team. "Fine." The car's speed lilted, making Skinner straighten himself up on his seat. Mulder drove in a leisurely pace, occasionally bidding a wave to the Warner Brothers staff he recognized. He had been around for more than 10 years and had been a familiar face to almost half of the whole crew. A certain studio inside the lot was intended years ago for musical rehearsals- back in the early 1930's- and was now being used as one of the many silver screen sets. Musicals had faltered years ago, but dancing was very popular nowadays, so the big bosses decided to keep the studio specifically for dance rehearsals. That's where Scully was that moment, rehearsing the humongous "production" numbers for the movie with her co-stars. Mulder parked his buggy askew beside the lot, reaching behind him to retrieve Scully's lunch. Skinner bounded off the car, eyeing it with frightening curiosity while rubbing on his head. Together, they set off to the inside of the loft. The security guard recognized Mulder and Skinner at once, and he ushered them in with pleasant greetings. Inside, the gray walls were sparkling with studio lights of different colors. Whenever filming was being done, there were only a few selected bulbs that could be used in a given scene, but today, the whole place was lit up for the rehearsals. Mulder could see all the individual cracks on the cemented walls and the aging wooden floors--- which were being bruised once again by the heeled steps of the lady dancers. From his view, he could make out the dozen dancers that were furiously practicing complicated dance steps over and over again. There were specifically two groups during the practices: a group for the extras, and a group only for Scully and Harry Pendrell- the man designated to play Mr. Darin Dether. For that, WB had to hire two professional choreographers. Mulder, with Skinner trailing behind him, waved at the group of extras- who waved back with individual greetings. He also took time to pat the choreographer, Ms. Cindy Laurel, on her shoulder. She smiled at him, in that peculiar way ballet dancers do. At one corner, he found Scully on her knees, doing a merry-go-round with her torso. Pendrell was resting on a chair with a Coke in one hand, cheering on Spunk as she executed the back- bending step. Their choreographer, Mrs. Sara, was easing Scully to the perfect completion of the step, barking out small commands that made Scully grimace each time she heard it. "Hey Sunshine!" he called out. Scully heard his voice and she stood erect, her eyes brightening. Pendrell and Mrs. Sara also glimpsed at him, giving him pleasant greetings. It was great to be director. Really. You got pleasant greetings all day long. Standing up, Scully began to rush towards him. Forgetting that she was only clad in a less-than- modest dancing bikini [he gave in to her request of buying a new "dancing" wardrobe last week before the rehearsals started] and that sweat was dripping from every pore of her body; she jumped into him a big hug. Mulder didn't pull away. He could never refuse Scully- sweat and all. "Thank you sooo much. Mrs. Sara was *killing* me with that step---" Scully said through his neck, launching into her whispered version of Mrs. Sara [lowered voice and silly Italian accent], "'Oh, Dana! Carry on this, carry on that... no, no *dahling*, that's wrong, that's no-ooo..." Mulder laughed with her, patting her wet back with his free hand. Releasing him, it dawned on him what she had done and she blushed, reddening her already flushed cheeks. Mulder chuckled, bending over to give her a kiss on those red cheeks. Seeing this, Skinner turned towards Pendrell and Mrs. Sara, beginning a conversation with them to give Scully and Mulder some privacy. "Brought you your lunch." He held up the brown paper bag to her face. This only made Scully blush even more. Mulder brought it back down, seeing her reaction. "Why- is there something wrong?" "Nothing," she said too fast, grabbing the paper bag from his hands. Mulder didn't give it to her. Instead, he raised it over his head where she couldn't reach it. "Fine, take-advantage-of-my---- height." With each word she tried to reach the lunch bag, but Mulder was far too tall for her to succeed. Accepting that she lost, Scully crossed her arms under her breasts and cocked an eyebrow at him. Mulder hid the bag behind his body, effectively away from her. "Ah, I sense a hint of embarrassment from Ms. Scully. Could you tell Mr. Mulder, your personal nanny, what's the big problem?" "I'm not telling you." The eyebrow only rose higher. That amused Mulder to the extent. "Then there's no lunch for Ms. Scully. How's that?" She smirked, "Pendrell will give me his." "Oh, and what makes Ms. Scully so sure about that?" She didn't answer and her blush became crimson. She'll burst like a ripened tomato if that blush of hers would turn blood red. A vein had to go haywire when that happened. Mulder didn't quite get what she meant by her reactions, so he took her by the arm and drew her from the others, craning his neck to reach her ear. "You want to eat lunch with me? Tell me what's bothering you?" Scully still had her eyebrow intact, but she did allow the corner of her lips to twirl, transforming into her Scully-girl mode. "Anything to make me temporarily forget Mrs. Sara's voice. And her bulging eyes. Yuck." -------------------------------- She was still obliged to eat the liverwurst padded sandwich, and she did that with uncertainty, chewing at the sandwich as if it was the worst tasting meal in the world. Mulder gulped down his McDonalds coke, not caring if he has to order another large cup--- the sun outside was scorching hot. He fiddled with the insides of his Quarter Pounder, inhaling the wonderful, wonderful scent of fast food grease. Indulgence was minimal these days. As he was chewing on his own lunch, he watched Scully down hers--- it must be the most difficult task in the whole wide world. He wondered, irritably, if there was anything wrong with his meal. He prepared the sandwiches himself everyday, only asking Jenny to open up the canned liverwurst to make the task easier. Why he did it? Because he knew exactly how Scully wanted her sandwich. Maybe this time, he tacked too much mayonnaise. "Not good?" he inquired. Scully chewed slowly on her last bite, raising her eyes from him to think about what she's going to say. "Good, actually." She swallowed, taking a drink of her iced tea, submerging the truth of her words. "I wonder how it would taste with lettuce," she said through the straw. Mulder snickered. "Lettuce? You want lettuce?" When Scully would suggest new ingredients for his recipes, it meant that something's definitely wrong. "Are you tired of liverwurst, Scully?" She twirled her fork around the spaghetti, "Yeah, I guess I am." "You tire too fast. What do you want for lunch next time? Something from Jenny's liver menu?" "Oh, shit- Did you taste the one she had soaked in seasoning? That was grody." Mulder didn't comment. He didn't- never- had tasted one of Jenny's liver cuisines, actually. The first and last time his taste buds encountered something as sordidly *grody* was when he made that liver deal with Scully. She licked off the spaghetti sauce from the plastic fork; suddenly deciding that eating wasn't high on her priority list at that moment. "Of course you didn't, did you?" Still no comment. To avoid the incorrigible eyebrow that still stood in her forehead's peak, Mulder bit into his hamburger. There was no sense in trying to answer her question. He promised himself back then and there that he would never touch liver again in his whole fucking life. Feeling the strange urgency to change the subject, Mulder placed his hamburger down. "And what about that Pendrell comment you made back in the studio?" Judging from the sudden outburst of blush on Scully's cheek, he had made the right change the subject move. He's getting her bad to the fucking bone. "Why, Dana Scully," he mocked, raising that auburn eyebrow another meter high. "You have a crush on that guy?" She scowled, chewing on her lip. "I don't. He's not appealing." "Then why are you blushing?" "Because..." Scully was trailing of. That meant she's not the one who's supposed to be embarrassed. Mulder created an elaborate equation in his brain as Scully left him in silence, resisting to give away what really was happening. She sipped gradually on her iced tea, expecting him to make his discovery any moment. It hammered on Mulder suddenly, giving him a swift blow to the noggin. Generally, that's what it was all adding to... but... "NO..." Mulder triumphantly panned, making Scully blush all over again. "Pendrell likes you, doesn't he?" She shone her eyes from him, picking on the spaghetti until all the noodles were meshed up. Bingo. He hit the million dollar jackpot! "He likes you and you can't do a fuck about it!" A new set of eyeballs rolled at him. "You could be less blunt about it." Ah, but being less blunt wasn't their game. The Pope himself might pray to God to strike them both with thunder if he heard one of their mid- afternoon conversations. One thing he had learned from those mid- afternoon conversations? Scully's far from being saint. She had an obsession for Aerosmith- yeah, Moonlighting too- and once filled her teacher's bag with molasses. "Has he made a pass at you?" Mulder raised, his curiosity growing. "I'm not sure if it's a pass... the girls were telling me about his illin' gushing on me. I don't think I am at ease with that knowledge. He... looks at me..." "Funny?" Mulder supplied, remembering Alex Kryceck's words to him a month ago. It shouldn't strike him that he used the same word in supply for Pendrell's liking on Scully; but anyway, it's not about him. It's about his two co- stars. An annoyed grumble came out of his companion. She didn't really like the idea of having someone professionally liking her that way. That idea made another network of ideas control Mulder's mind. "Not funny- funny, you see... I just... I don't know. I guess when I am working with someone professionally I want it to stay professional." He wanted to laugh his two- cents in. That was the most improbable statement Scully had ever made ever since they met. Their relationship was meant to be based on professional ethics, but hey, here they were now. She relied on him as if he was her best friend/brother, and he relied on her as if she was his own property. That relationship certainly have crossed the working aspects- their real reason in being together-, so what was her REAL point in this? He didn't catch Scully studying him during the time he was thinking and absently munching on the disheveled burger, and when she started, he was afraid that he spoke his sentiments aloud. "We are a different case, Mulder." Making sure that it was him this time talking, he jolted, "How are we different from that professional- personal crap?" The last word was muffled by a sip on his coke. He was making sure that she didn't hear the word 'crap' as clear as day. "You are different from Pendrell. Pendrell's... he's a good working partner. We've been working non- stop with each other for almost four weeks, and he's a great guy. But you are... more than that to me. You are my friend. A close friend." His inner senses were nagging him to stop; for once in his life he should stop. For once in his life he should quit, surrender, wave the white flag, or do something else that signified that he understood her- because he really did... But God help him, he had the stamina of a stallion. The moment he decided to quit on something, the angels would personally congratulate him. "Define 'friend'." Oh, Christ, there went the ballgame. Scully was slightly taken aback, and she searched his eyes, trying to find what he wanted to hear from her. To waver the tension, Mulder closed his eyes, making Scully... girl giggle and strike his hand with a thick slap. "Friend, Mr. Superman-who-cannot-quit, means you own me as much as I own you." When those words were said, he didn't let them hang in the air for long. His eyes opened with a snap, wondering about her last statement. She owned him as much as he owned her. That's... She was keen in using the eyebrow on him today. She was holding it up, asking him to refute her last statement. If she said, "Ha! See if you can beat that!" - it would've sounded better to him than have her shove that incriminating expression in on him. He's never going to tell her that she practically had him by the neck when she DID that eyebrow- thing. "Okay," Mulder saluted her definition. What else would he say? It was true. Who was he to dispute a red- haired Spunk's statement? ----------------------------------------- Pendrell was a veteran of several independent films that scattered around Hollywood and he guest- starred on one episode of Cheers. His latest break, however, rested on his supporting role in the post- era flick, Genevieve, which was a sleeper hit. His name was easy enough to be recognized, he had several promising offers, and had bought a house last year. In short, Pendrell's already on the stepping stones for Hollywood stardom. He was a good actor, one that Walter himself adored, but no one knew that he could dance. Let alone handle a movie wherein half the time he had to dance his ass off on screen. Imagine their surprise when he auditioned for the part of Mr. Darin Dether. Different journalists from varied newspapers crowded outside the WB lot, craning to look for Pendrell. Ever since the word broke out that their beloved media darling Harry Pendrell was teaming up with longtime producer Fox Mulder, their tongues started wagging and butts itching. Mr. Mulder was a respectable producer in Hollywood--- he had made a name for himself when he co- produced Growing Pains and All in the Family [he quit before the shows made their days--- he was always a movie man], including the numerous movies that he had graced over the years. Imagine their surprise when WB announced this new 'untitled' film that will be released late next year. Starring an unknown, Dana Scully, and their beloved darling Harry Pendrell--- with Mr. Mulder. That was the week's fucking scoop. Mulder was reviewing the final draft of the script. He had dismissed Kim an hour ago, wanting to be alone while he assessed the whole film in his mind- while he envisioned the whole thing once more, as he had done over the past months. With the different ending, he wanted something more dreary--- something more dramatic, so that the production numbers [when launched] would come out as spectacular, lighting up the whole cinema and movie screens with it's own dazzling effects. He also asked Kim to throw in a scene wherein Ms. Aida would be brushing a towel over her sweat- stained neck. For that scene, he had requested [more like 'warned'] Scully that he'd have her dancing for an hour before they shoot it. He wanted her to emerge on screen with her natural flush. Admitting it quietly to himself, he had a certain Scully fetish conjured. One that had towel and sweat involved. Kim was becoming increasingly frustrated with his suggestion of that scene that she basically threw the script into his face. She shouted at him, saying that she had rewritten ACT III for that particular vision to be accommodated. Thank you. She had officially made Fox William Mulder the happiest director in WB. The only problem right now was the film's title. They cannot keep telling the press that they were working on this "yet-to-be-titled" movie, especially when they were as persistent as bears to a honeycomb. For today, he let his personal publicist take care of them, drawing out a paragraph of statements from Mr. Mulder and Mr. Pendrell that should satisfy them. Kim had given him the honors to title the movie, since it was his directorial debut. His producers were also keen on suggesting, leaving the job to him and only to him. Mulder sighed, stretching his long legs out before him on the dinky make- shift table. This was where he worked when in WB, inside a make- shift office in an old studio where he could be left alone to contemplate all day. That was when he used to produce the shows... things had changed, but Mulder's still unperturbed in that spot. When he sat at the dusty old leather chair, propped his feet on the ailing wooden table, chewed on sunflower seeds... he had heaven on earth. "Fuck," Mulder cursed as his office phone began to ring, taking with it his albeit deep concentration. Just what he needed for today: more reporters sinking into his private line- them getting his number from "unknown" sources. [Thanks a lot, Alex Kryceck.] Half of the curse made it's way into the receiver, which he eased away with another, albeit, pleasant "Hello." "Mulder, Walter here. Got news." "Shoot away, Skinman." "Does the name Lucy Doggett ring a bell somewhere?" His producer's voice was tingling from time to time, making Mulder sit up straight. Lucy Doggett? Was she a sister of his best friend or something? The name wasn't anyway familiar. "No. Does Doggett have a sister? He's an only child, right?" "Christ, Mulder," Walter groaned, crushing his breathing against the line. "Lucy Doggett--- John and Monica's got a girl." "A GIRL?" Mulder jumped to his feet, his heart doubling in size at the news. He couldn't believe it! His best party animal's got a girl! He didn't know whether he should start jumping up or down or head towards the hospital in no time. Skinner apparently had a premonition of his dilemma. "I've set up a van outside of your office," He cleared his throat to indicate that he look outside the thick blinds coating the room. Mulder moved towards the nearest window, pelting the blinds apart. Sure enough, there was a black Ford van outside, waiting for him. A driver was also there, knocking himself out on cigarettes under the heat of the sun. "That's to pass through the back gates, where the reporters wouldn't be able to run after you. Hop on in, Mulder. I'll follow afterwards." The Director was about to hang up when he remembered something- or someone. He frantically began to call Skinner's name. His friend went back on the line, sounding panicked. "Could I come and get Scully?" At that request, Walter suppressed another disrupted gritting of teeth. "I'll bring her to the hospital for you." "Be gentle with her, k?" Mulder pushed the phone down the cradle before Walter could answer, and hurried outside. ------------------------------ To be continued next week. ------------------------------ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Room #563 Los Angeles Hospital June 15, 1985 Saturday "Mi Amigo!" Monica's warm greetings met Mulder as he entered her hospital room, on one arm a large basket of stuffed pink animal toys. He removed his Ray-Ban shades, inserting them in his breast pocket. "Hey mon ami-e! How are you doing?" he returned, striding to the middle of the room. John was standing beside the hospital bed, holding a bundle of fuzzy pink blankets, and flailing little arms, cooing gently to his first daughter. Monica, surprisingly awake after almost 20 hours of labor, was all smiles and glittering eyes as she straightened up on her bed to accommodate his presence. Mulder placed the basket of toys near Monica, where she could see it. The large grin on her face told him that his present was very much appreciated. Leaning over, he kissed the woman on the cheek. "Finally, huh? That little baby's long overdue." John, who seemed to have snapped momentarily from baby cloud nine, took time to notice his best pal. "Lucy finally decided that she's done being shy. "Thanks for coming at once, Mulder." Lucy grabbed onto her Papa's index finger, wanting his touch. John laughed, giving in to smooth the baby's cheek. "Lucy?" Mulder perked, throwing a dubious glance at Monica. She shrugged. "I was too tired to argue. You have to admit, it's pretty cute." "You're mocking me, John." Mulder turned back to John and 'Lucy'. "You're mocking me for naming my own daughter 'Emily'. You just had to go on and name yours 'Lucy'." Doggett shot plastic daggers at him, rocking the baby gently in his arms. "Mine's from the TV show." "Fine. So it IS pretty cute." Monica giggled, resting a hand on her now- flat stomach. Despite the obvious fatigue in her face, she was overcoming her tiredness just to be with her family. Mulder admired that in her. Despite their obvious differences and lack of liking, she was John's pillar of strength. A woman dedicated to her husband and now, new daughter. That was when Scully entered the room, followed shortly by Walter. The Spunk was still slightly sweating from her practice- and seemed very excited to meet Lucy- since her hair was all tousled, oversized shirt shucked on, and her shoe laces weren't in perfect knots. She spotted him and he left to meet her halfway down the room. She didn't seem up to moving on her own to accost the couple and their newest addition. Her topaz- decorated irises were also unsteady, scanning the whole room over and over again. Walter went on greeting Monica and John, also taking his turn gushing about baby. The three adults were laughing when Scully turned to Mulder, as she was wiping herself dry with a long face towel. "Have you seen her?" Mulder shook his head no. "Will you see her with me?" He put his hand on the small of her back and led her towards Monica. Before they reached the bedside, he whispered in her ear. "How are you holding up?" It was a referral to her fear of hospitals. Scully's blue eyes fidgeted for the last time, then relaxed. "I'm fine. As long as I'm not the patient, I think I'll be fine." Her hands were slightly shaking, though. He could see that she was pushing a large amount of bravado for the situation, despite the fears that were nagging down on her. It was all for Monica and her new baby- obviously, it meant a lot for the Mexican woman to have Spunk there. The couple was very fond of the dancer. He wanted to hold her hand, connect it with his abdominal muscles, and make her feel the heat of his body to reassure her that he's right beside her- Scully, when unsteady on her Spunkness, usually needed his physical contact to snap back into her usual "Scully" mode. That would probably explain her endless need of feeling him beside her- nightmare or no nightmare. He's not gonna file any complaint about that fact anytime soon, but holding her hand right now would probably not do their relationship any better to the other's eyes. Monica and John were already half- suspicious, despite his truthful denial. Walter, well, Walter was Walter. He'll only act if the situation rose, then start pounding until there's nothing to pound anymore. Scully bent over, somewhat similar to what he had done minutes ago, to kiss Monica on the cheek. They began to speak in hushed Welsh. At one point, they began to laugh while Scully pointed down at Monica's flat stomach. Her eyes sparkled as she placed a palm on her friend's stomach, gently pressing as if in wonder. She was in complete wonder on how such a miracle would come about, no matter how science captivated her; pregnancy and birth are still miracles- defined by many religions. Or, she was missing her sister again. "Do you want to see Lucy?" Monica asked, this time in English, meaning that he was included in the offer. Scully glanced at him behind her, and he smiled. She eased her way out of the Mexican's bedside, stepping up near Mulder to follow him towards John. The new father, his face still beaming with unaccountable pride, offered Lucy to Scully. She giggled nervously, "I haven't done this before." John shrugged his shoulders, shooing them against the underside of his ears. "It's maternal instinct, Dana. Women all know how to handle babies." "And handle men, too," Walter side- tracked, leaning against the wall by John, amused smirk on his face. Hearing this, John mirrored his expression. Mulder tried hard not to take offense. It was a private joke on the men's part, noting how Scully has somewhat "tamed" the drinking/partying animal in Mulder, without even trying at all. He argued that it was more so because of his dedication to directing, but they just shushed him with another subject. It was a topic that they think they had covered. Scully nervously held her arms out, and John placed Lucy in them. The baby molded into her chest, recognizing the warmth of a woman. She held the baby close to her, dipping her head low and marveling silently at the little girl's beauty. Mulder drew close, peering at the new human being over her shoulder. The baby had John's eyes, definitely, but Monica's hair and soft features. She'd be a beautiful lady someday, with pink lips and tanned skin- speaking Spanish, turning heads with her grace and womanliness. "Wow... she's so pretty," Scully whispered, gazing up to meet Mulder's eyes. He thought she had an alarming amount of cloudiness in her eyes, but she turned head back before he could contemplate it. "She's like you, mi dama roja," Monica said, as John sat on the corner of the bed, taking her hand in his. "Just as I have wanted." Scully blushed, cradling the baby closer to her. "Eich ycread o cwmwl, Lucy." Her words were so soft that Mulder was the only one who heard it. The other three people were now excitedly talking about something he didn't want to sink into. Mulder tipped closer to her, resting his chin on her shoulder. His breath on her neck almost made the young woman jump, but she relaxed when he casually placed a hand on her hip, feeling tension there for no reason at all. Making sure that he wasn't imagining what her vibes were, Mulder caught her face in his two fingers and turned it slightly towards him so he could see her eyes, so he could read her eyes. Thank God their backs were turned from the others and they were too busy fiddling with jokes that they didn't notice the displays Mulder was engaging in. Her eyes were shaky, cloudy, large dollops of tears forming at the corners. For a moment, he desperately wanted to kiss the tears away, however, that wouldn't do any good. When he offered his care openly, Scully would always melt like quicksand into his arms, Spunk unclasping and Scully- girl launching. He didn't want her to *melt* right in front of their friends. Other than that, his hand on her hip, his smiles, or any other physicality they share seem to strengthen her. It was either of those things--- never settling in the middle ground. Complicated, that's what it was. "Hey, what's wrong?" he gently probed, curling his fingers around her thin bone. Scully cooed to the baby, not answering him. After a heartbeat, she did answer him. "I'm fine, Mulder." Only, it wasn't much of an answer. That's Scully officially turning to Spunk- mode. He stepped back, just in time, as the others launched their searing attention at Scully. She returned the baby to John's arms reluctantly, pressing a soft kiss on Lucy's forehead. Pulling back, she blinked several times. -------------------------- He was laughing aloud, kicking around his bare feet against the damp green grass, clutching his stomach to tame the pain laughter was poking it with. Tears started to stream down his cheeks from his insanity, from laughing hard--- and the funniest thing about it was he cannot even remember the damn joke. Lifting his head from the shards of grass, he saw Scully hovering over him. Her eyes were peeled with ecstatic happiness; chin length hair creeping down from the top of her head, and lips puckered post- giggling. Her beauty, in its rawest form right then and there- she was without her usual face powder, paying homage to the light sprinkle of freckles on her face- was enough to send Mulder away. Far away, a place where he could stay forever, a place where he could be left in peace- where he could just look at her. "You are so beautiful," he said, voicing his thoughts. Reaching out to touch her cheek, his other hand went down to cup her spine, drawing her closer to him. "Oh, you do not know beautiful." Her voice was still full of mirth, of unmarred giddiness that was not familiar to her- or him. This was a different woman, a different Scully. She was so pure, like an angel, with halo and translucent skin defining her perfectly. His eyes hurt to look at her, at her purest form. God, what was happening? He couldn't be home--- this couldn't be Scully, Spunk the woman so full of... "You think too much, Mulder." Scully closed the gap between them and pressed a kiss on his forehead. This took Mulder by surprise; she had never attempted to kiss him on any living, breathing part of his body. He had kissed her many, many times- but other than occasional hugs, she never graced him like this. God. Mulder's mind raced against the clock. Why are you doing this to me? "You believe God has something to do with this?" An eyebrow arched, as her hand found the hollow of her clavicle, where her golden cross was settling. Mulder didn't know what to say. It was as if Scully could read his mind, every word, every thought, every conception. He didn't know whether he should be scared or amazed. She bent over once again and rested her head on Mulder's heart, listening intently to the reckoning beats. Inhaling deeply, she caressed the skin under his nape. Mulder couldn't resist her... not when she's like this to him, not when it felt as good as heaven. "Do you know me at all, Mulder?" He wanted to laugh again, to remember the damn joke that made him laugh like crazy in the first place and laugh like death until the tears sting his eyes. Anything at all, anything to stop himself from answering her question. Scully's hand lingered on his lips, taking him once again in surprise. She pressed lightly on his mouth, feeling each curve and slope. Mulder closed his eyes, not really wanting to dwell on the sensations she was giving him. "You don't," she answered for him, slowly reiterating the words as if she was reading them directly from his mind. "You give me everything and you don't know me at all." "You don't let me know you," he said back, gently pushing away her hand from his face and resting it on his clavicle, a few inches from her white face. "Do you want to know me? Know if I am as beautiful as you think I am?" Her tone of innocence played in Mulder's mind like little gremlins, scaring the shit out of him. How could she say that? Scully was beautiful, and that's speaking small of it. She giggled, the sound so pleasing to his ears that he wanted to hear more of it. "I appreciate your admiration, Mulder. I really do." "Then tell me how could I know you." He picked himself up, ushering her with him as he sat. Her eyes were wide and mysterious, vast depths of topaz oceans as he pulled her onto his lap. An arm went around his neck, and he nuzzled the flesh underneath her ear, whisking into his lungs that wonderful Scully scent. "Tell me how I could... I want to, Scully. Let me." She kissed his cheek, probably the only part she could reach in their current position. The wet of her upper lip met his earlobe, almost making him jump yet again. "You already are trying." "How am I trying? Tell me something, tell me something that'll make me see, please." Mulder pressed himself tighter against her warm body, finding there the real heaven, the real salvation. How could she feel this good? Was it even legal to feel this good with a woman twice his age? God--- Jesus H. Christ. Give him a sign and he'd know when to stop. He'd stop and he'd leave her alone, just give him a fucking sign to stop and he would. Because if this started, he wouldn't be able to stop it. No, he couldn't and wouldn't. If it's any indication, Scully's soft breasts crushed on his chest, taking most of his oxygen supply, and *will* to not get into a hard- on. That wasn't really much of his choice, actually, but he could try. And she was sitting on his lap. God, he's gonna try against trying. "There's nothing to be said." Scully lifted her hand up once again and pressed it on his heart. For a moment, he was so struck by her suggestion that he could only hear his own heart beat in his ear, as if her hand was a bullhorn that transmitted the sound throughout the whole place. A single word tore through Mulder's mind. No. "We both stood yesterday, on separate stages. There's no one stopping us from dancing together today," she hushed, her mouth dangerously close to his. "You are knowing me, little by little, ...you are." "No, Scully... not you. I can't... I can't..." Mulder stuttered, drifting away from her tempting mouth and burying himself in her neck. He couldn't do this. Not her, of all people. He couldn't. "You do not know beautiful. I want you to know beautiful. *You* are beautiful." "No, please... don't... do this to me..." "I'm-" "No, Scully, DON'T," he pushed, almost spitting the words out. He lifted his head from her neck, and gasped. His arms were empty, devoid of Scully. She was gone. Just like that. Gone--- without a trace, only for her lingering scent on his nose, and the leftover taste of her fingertips that she rubbed on his lips. Gone. Screams awakened him, and in its still- zombie mode, his mind made him jump out of his bed and exit the confines of his room. Once outside, he began to snap into reality. Mulder's ears strained for the drowned- out sounds of painful shouts, and he immediately recognized it. He had been hearing it for 2 months tops, and he could recognize that sound of desperation a hundred miles from her. Her--- Scully. Mulder ran down the stairs, almost tripping on his feet as he struggled against the dark. He narrowly missed the priceless Incan vase decorating his table top when he was pierced by another pained scream from the guest room. It sounded too painful this time, almost cathartic for her. He was frightened, his heart beat triple- time, he was more than frightened for her this time--- it hadn't been this loud or bad before. Finally, he reached her room, pushed the door aside, and burst in. Scully was squirming on her bed, clutching the covers around her painfully. Sweat soaked her from head to toe, dotting her forehead and neck--- icicles in her nightmare's wake. Her face was also pale-and as he stood there, taking it all in- he noticed a deceptive trickle of blood. Not from her nose this time, but from her lips. She has been biting into them too hard. Taking action, Mulder ran to her side, collapsing on his knees. He held her by the shoulders and started shaking her, to rip her out of her oblivion. He honestly didn't know what to do first- wake her up, wipe the blood from her chin, or call 911. This was getting too serious for just him to handle. "Scully!" he shouted, shaking harder when she wasn't responding. "Scully! Wake up! Scully please wake up!" His voice was bordering begging, seeing that his rattling wasn't doing anything better. She kept thrashing from side to side, within his grasp, in extreme and terrible pain. Great God, Mulder's confused brain thought, what's happening to her? Another jarring from him, this time so hard that her head bounced up and down on the wet pillows, snapped her from her dream. Scully gasped, as if she was unhooked from a nightmare respirator and was suddenly ushered into a new world without any warning. Her eyes scanned the rest of her room with outright fear, finally settling to his form. A moment passed, with terror reigning in her as she studied his outline. Mulder almost panicked, finding no amount of recognition in her. She didn't seem to know it was him. "Mul--- der?" It was a shaky indication, but enough for him to be assured. He nodded slowly, as if communicating with a one- year old who was learning the vocabulary for the first time. Reaching out to wipe a trace of sweat from her chin, he can't help shivering. Unabashed dread was making itself fit inside the confines of his emotions. "Yes, it's me, Scully... you're safe. You're here and you're safe," he conveyed, saying the words as slowly as possible, still unsure whether she could comprehend or not. "No. mo 'n ddihangol!" she partially screamed; hitching another ragged breath. Mulder shook his head this time, taking her head between his hands gently, silent pleading for her to look at him. "I don't understand you, Scully---" "Chyfnertha 'm , blesio , e s yn cerdded at d ata!" Her voice was rising, taking a steep crescendo that frightened the shit out of Mulder. She was speaking in Welsh- uncomprehending, mundane, demented Welsh. Unconsciously, he swiped a trickle of blood from her chin. Mulder racked his brain for some Welsh words that he had learned from her over the past weeks as Scully rambled on and on in sticky syllables, and from the best of his ear, he could make out repeating paragraphs. He had to try, had to try to make her understand him. Firmly planting her head between his palms, this time, he forced her to stare into his eyes. "No..." he uttered, trying to remember the next word. Speak was siarad, Mulder's electric brain donned. "Siared..." It was inadequate Welsh, but Scully simmered down, in a weird sense understanding him, *finally*. Encouraged, he continued, feeling for scattered Welsh phrases in the same dark that surrounded them. And the last word- Welsh was Cymraeg. "No siared Simraegg." Mulder finished. She stared back at him as if he had pronounced alien language right out of freaking outer space. Mulder licked his lips, swallowing another gargantuan of flip- flopping emotions. "I don't speak Welsh, Scully- Dana, I don't." She licked her own chapping lips, holding their gazes together in a magnetic pull. "Cadw fi diogel?" A question, goddammitt--- Mulder exhaled steadily, keeping himself calm. He had to pry her out of her subconscious mumblings of Welsh to know what was going on, to kno--- "Keep me safe, Mulder?" Hearing her speaking the English language made Mulder let out a stifled cry of joy, and as an answer to that, he shoved her right into his arms, cradling her closer. "Yes, that's what I'm here for. I'm gonna keep you safe." That was her ultimate surrender. Without another word, Scully landed right onto his lap, closing in on his neck, pressing her wet forehead under his chin. Mulder gathered her close, slipping one hand under her knees and the other secured around her waist. "I'm going to bring you upstairs, to my room, Scully--- I'll sleep on the couch-" "No, don't. Keep me safe, please." There was no sense in arguing this. He very well knew that it meant Scully would be sleeping with him on his bed. That simple course of action, somehow, made her feel safe--- from whatever she wanted to be safe from. Mulder would nurture that need, - there was no sense in arguing about that this evening. He began to whisper some instructions into Scully's ear as he prepared himself to stand up with her weight- telling her as gingerly as possible to wipe her wounded mouth on his shirt- and with that, he stood up. Her added weight, no matter how light she was, still made him stand wobbly and uncertain, but Mulder quickly adjusted. Before the next minute struck, Mulder was carrying Scully up the stairs, mindful of each step in the dark, holding her firmly in his grasp. -------------------- "Scully, listen to me, you've soaked your clothes, so I- you have to take 'em off or else you'll get sick. I'll give you one of my t- shirts and---" Spunk, on his king- sized bed, was now gently collapsing into sub consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered with each word he was saying, her tongue again caressing her broken lip. Mulder tried to somehow wake her up to get her to change clothes, but Scully was fast loosening her grip on wakefulness, and soon she was snoring softly on his blankets. Studying the situation at hand, there was no other choice but for him to change her clothes himself. With that knowledge, he gave himself a little jolt to alert him from another aphrodisiac worry. He didn't give himself time to ponder on that, settling at once for one of his oversized t- shirts inside the drawers. He didn't turn on the lights; scared enough that Scully might react violently towards the brightness. Admitting it to himself secretly, though, he didn't want to see the exact amount of blood she had on her pajama top--- or on his own white shirt. He'd have to change attire too before climbing in the bed. With her. Mulder bit his lip, not as forceful as Scully did with hers, but enough to stop his overactive brain from neurosis. Goddamn shit, he'll go fucking crazy if he thought about this night. Placing the t- shirt on the foot of the bed, he let himself relax first before turning Scully towards him. His fingers were noticeably shaking as he began to unbutton her pajama top. When he reached the middle button- nearest her stomach- he was surprised to find no underwear covering her breasts. Blood rushed to Mulder's northern and southern poles at the same time. This cannot be happening. She didn't wear a bra. Of all the nights she wouldn't wear a bra--- she didn't wear one tonight. Of all the nights... There went his bullshit grammar. Willing himself to close his eyes, he proceeded with the task through half- mast eyelids. Still, that was enough for him to see the hard pink nipples that were pushing through the fabric of the thin pajamas. Porcelain, rounded skin held by coral- tipped womanly bosoms... Mulder braced himself as gravity slid one part of the fabric downwards, giving him the biggest peek of all--- her bare breast right in front of him. Shit. His mind raced, stretching out from its nap and slyly grinning at him. She's 20 and he's pushing 40 and he's feeling all the blood in the damn fucking groin and he's gotta stop this damn thing that he's doing because she's too damn beautiful... Scully's eyes flew open, and like an awakened rag doll, she scampered away from him--- towards the headboard. Fear coated her every movement as she attempted to button her pajama top- with small success. Surprised by this and sensing the emanating terror within her, he sat down on his bed, keeping distance from her. "Scully, It's me, Mulder. I'm undressing you because you were out cold. If I didn't change your clothes, you'll have a fever. The air conditioning..." "Peidio!" she screamed, huddling into the corner even more, reducing herself to an impossibly small shivering ball. Mulder stole a moment to steady himself. Welsh, she's going to *Welsh* again. How could he understand her like this? It became an unbearable dance of dim helplessness. He pleaded repeatedly for her understand while she spurted curt words at him- as if he was another person that she greatly feared and hated at the same time. "No, I can't speak Welsh--- siared..." "Atal!" "Scully, Dana, listen to me! I can't speak Welsh! It's me, Fox Mulder!" "Aros!" "Snap out of it! You're safe here, I'm not going to hurt you!" "...Os gwelwch yn dda! Mother ewyllys cosbi chi!" "No... no... I'm not going to hurt you! Are you looking for your Mother? She's not here- I don't know where..." She abruptly held her small cross necklace with her shaking fingers, eyes wide and teary. He didn't notice that she was wearing it until that moment. "Chi eisiau hwn?!?" More frantic motions on the cross, this time almost pulling it from her neck. Alarmed that she could hurt herself, Mulder kneeled on all fours, crawling inch by inch towards her. He stopped when she closed her eyes and ripped the cross from her neck, the golden chain leaving red scratches on her white skin. She held it out to him, dropping it on the mattress between them. The broken chain landed near his knees, but he didn't make any motion of retrieving it. "Gadael!" Another rough word, making Mulder tilt his head back to her face, another shock waiting for him. It wasn't enough for her mouth to bleed- something else just had to go wrong. Her nose was shining red, an onslaught of another hemorrhage. "Christ, Scully, you're bleeding... your..." Those words had the desired effect, and with wonder, Scully touched the skin under her patrician nose. Blood colored her fingertips, as she watched the crimson substance gleam in the moonlight. Mulder remained still, almost forgetting how to breathe. He allowed her to take her time, to get rid of her delusions. He didn't need a PHD in languages to understand through her demeanor that she's in another time, another space- far from him. He thanked the heavens when a sense of sanity and recognition filled Scully's eyes as she stared back at him. Tears were mingling with those emotions, but she was fine now. Shaky, teary- eyed, bleeding... but fine. "Oh, Mulder... I'm sorry..." He crawled forward to take her back into his arms for the second time that night. He cradled her between his crossed legs, and she fit perfectly, clinging onto him as if he was life and death. Whispering soothing words, Mulder tilted her head upwards to stop her bleeding. "Don't talk, it's all fine. Relax, relax." She did as he asked, until the bleeding stopped. When that was taken care of, Mulder surveyed the enormous amounts of splattered blood on her shirt and his. That reality made Mulder nauseous. Maybe he'd ask a doctor tomorrow to come and check on Scully. Someone had to tend to the scratches on her neck and the wound on her lip. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm so sorry." He kissed the top of her head, the closest part to his lips. "It's okay, Scully. Do you want to talk about it?" "No... I- I'm sorry." "Shush, don't keep saying 'sorry'. You didn't do anything wrong." "Everything's wrong here." She laughed sadly- almost hauntingly to his ears. She gestured towards her askew - buttoned pajama top, to the bloodstains on it, to those on his shirt, on the rumpled sheets, and with a sob, to the broken cross necklace near her feet. Mulder picked it up for her, holding it in his hand towards her face. "I'll get it fixed for you tomorrow, first thing on my list in the morning, okay? I want you to rest tonight- get a clear head. I'll call in sick for both of us tomorrow and we'll blame that on Jenny." Despite everything that had happened, Scully managed to laugh- a genuine string of "Ha's". Mulder kissed her for the last time on the head, before asking her to change clothes and to put some antiseptics on her neck's red cuts. He needed to change himself and the cross had to be placed in a safe box for tomorrow. When everything was more or less 'right' for them, Scully slipped under the covers, leaving space for him. He hesitated at first, but she pulled him to the bed with one of her death grips and he had no choice but to sink in. Scully settled herself in his arms, front to front, one rather undermining position. Her head found a spot on his chest, her legs twining with his. Mulder watched her fit her small body on his larger one with fascination, and that fascination did him in. Within minutes, his breathing slowed down and he entered a limbo that his Scully dream version personally set up for him. ------------------------------ To be continued in Epilogue. ------------------------------ EPILOGUE: Mulder Manor Beverly Hills, Los Angeles June 16, 1985 Sunday Mulder was hugging something... it definitely wasn't a pillow, it was something more tender, not a blanket- something firmer, not Scully... Red lights blinked awake in Mulder's ever shifting mind. *Not* Scully?!? He opened his eyes to a layer of soft white flesh peeking from cotton shorts and a thick wool shirt. That layer of white flesh was where his nose was currently situated, as if he were a puppy searching for something delicious. This was delicious, no doubt, and through his semi- zombie state, Mulder tightened his arm around wherever it was around. The red lights in his mind mellowed down to greens. A voice above him wheezed out. "Fuck, Mulder, if you hug me any tighter, you're gonna kill me." His grip around Scully relaxed, but he didn't let go. It felt too good, to hold her like that, to have his face buried in her lower back and to feel her flat stomach heaving in and out under his bicep. "Whatcha doin'?" he slurred, his breath on her bare skin sending goose bumps across her body. "I'm... I'm filing your expense report for the month of June, sifting through stuff... I've called in sick for both of us this morning." "Filing my expense reports? This *morning*? Scully... on the bed?" What he really wanted to tell her was that she should still be resting [thanks to his still muddled brain, it didn't come out that way]--- last night wasn't just a normal *nightmare* occurrence for her. That certainly had to be traumatic, even on his psychology- egged brain radar. That was certainly the first time she spit Welsh at him and thought him to be another figure. A rustling of papers, being tacked to a neat bundle, reached his ear. "Yes, this morning. I need to get my mind back on track... and at least when the end of June comes, there wouldn't be much scrambling, don't you think?" She was sifting through littered pages as she conversed with him, incredibly patient with his physical contact. "I didn't really want to leave you here this morning... so umm, I decided to do this right here... and you've certainly made yourself comfy." True, comfy against her skin, hugging her like a discontented lover hungry for more of her flesh. Mulder shifted, suddenly uneasy. He didn't want Scully noticing the semi- erect state of Mulder Jr., right? He pulled his hand and head away from her enticing warmth, splashing his head on the silky pillows where *it* should be. He made also sure that there was a pillow ready to rest in between his legs when he did that. Scully seemed alarmed by his moving away. She followed his body with a careful eye while absently taking the papers and ball pen in her grasp. "Hey, I wasn't really complaining. It's ok," she said softly, just enough for him to hear it and consider it as an invitation. "Nah, I'm fine, Scully. Who did you talk to in WB?" Seeing that there wasn't a chance in hell that Mulder would return to her, she slowly sifted through the papers once again, once in a while stopping to underline paragraphs with her red marker. "Walter... he said it was ok, we should drink a lot of water to ease the indigestion... and be back tomorrow." "You know it's a Sunday, right?" "Yeah, it is. We do work on a Sunday anyway." "Yeah, we do. But... do you want to go somewhere today? Church?" A snicker and more underlining with that red pen. "Mulder, I'm warning you." "Sorry," he apologized, digging in his heels on the bed. He stretched out his long limbs; feeling for some bones that needed cracking. Ah, now that was one of heaven's clouds right on him. The small exercise made his head clearer and sheathed last night's woes away- temporarily, that was, but it'll do. "How are you doing? Your lip?" Scully turned to him and pointed at the soft pillowing of red on her face. The wound, secured in dried blood from last night, was pooled in glistening petroleum jelly. That was also the first time Mulder noticed that Scully was wearing a green turtleneck to hide the marks on her neck. Sitting up, Mulder pushed the thick cotton down until he could see her clavicle, until the nasty red marks were visible to him. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, so he turned her slightly once again so he could see the biggest graze of all--- where the chain broke, just below the end of her hair roots. Scully sat patiently as he inspected her, occasionally rolling her eyes when he winced at what he was seeing. He was overreacting, of course, what harm could a necklace do? Sure, a little blood and a few scratches--- nothing that wouldn't be healed in a few days. He wanted to pull at her strings, truth out. "Whatcha put on them?" "Iodine, antiseptic. It'll heal in at most three days, Mulder." "Do you want me to call a Doctor to give you his professional advice?" "No, I don't need a doctor. I'm fine, better than ever, actually." She smiled to prove her statement, only wincing when her wounded lip was stretched. Mulder raised an eyebrow of disapproval. To change the subject from last night, Scully bounded off the bed. The papers moved in the direction of her body's wake, but he reflexively caught them with one hand. Scully searched for her slippers, finding them half- hidden under the bed's long dressing. "Hey, I've made us breakfast--- do you want to eat? I could bring your food here." She's probably only coaxing him to forget about calling a doctor, but he's an easily coaxed man: he'll fall for it--- the offer's too fucking good to be ignored. "I'm getting royal treatment. I'm not going to argue with that. Sure." Before he knew it, Scully was out of the room, skidding through the stairs... with her slippers making squeaky sounds on the fine wood. Now alone, Mulder yawned heavily, scratching his stomach. His attention fixated on the mountains of papers Scully had deposited on the bed while he was asleep, grimacing at the enormous amount he had spent for The Four Queens hotel back in Las Vegas, also taking note of the Doctor's fee--- when he gotten a little enthusiastic with the gin and was bonked by the damn glass. He had to admit that the apartment he had gotten for him and Scully was more or less a steal, and she wasn't at all splurging when he allowed her to buy a new set of clothes. If she was Diana, she would've bought all of Gucci without feeling guilty. Scully was able to make herself pretty within budget. Gracias to Monica, too. Through the mountain of receipts, Mulder spotted a yellowing piece of recycled paper underneath it all. He picked it up gently, wary that the brittle threads could break anytime. There was writing on it, scripted and captioned "Danced Yesterday". The words hit him like a brick suddenly, from somewhere he can't make sense of. It was stapled to a photograph, and with piqued interest, Mulder squinted his eyes to see through the sepia. It was a picture of Scully--- or was it Scully? The photograph had old smudges from fingerprints, water, and some unnamed natural damages. Scratched at one side; yellowing from old age. If it was Scully in the picture- the woman was an exact carbon copy of her- and she appeared so innocent in it... so beautiful, with sun- kissed lilies rolling in her red hair. Her stare at the camera was so intense that Mulder felt a pulling, felt a beckoning to... give in to something his emotions were swirling in. There were also some writing at one corner, but it was too smeared off for him to read.... "Mulder, w- what are you... doing with that?" Scully's voice shattered his resolve and he dropped the paper in front of his knees. Lifting his head up to meet her eyes, he found Scully holding his tray of breakfast--- stance steady, but her irises lilting. Immediately, he understood that she was nervous about his discovery- his discovery of her obviously personal paraphernalia. "I'm so sorry, Scully... I saw it lying there and I wasn't thinking-" She neared him on the bed, resting the tray of food on Diana's former vanity table. She sat down beside him, touching his shoulder lightly to assure him that there's no trouble, and picked up the stapled pieces of her past. She cradled them on one palm, touching the seared ends with much affection. "This is my mother, her name's Margaret Scully." Mulder didn't know what to say. The woman in the photograph looked so much like Scully--- almost a Xerox copy of the Spunk. If he didn't know better, he'd say that Dana Scully was created solely from an egg cell, from the genes of her own mother without any natural processes. It seemed like it, with their similarities. His silence allowed Scully the courage to continue. "They say that she is so much like me--- my Mother also loved dancing. She took dancing classes over and over again every year, finding herself getting better and better." "She *is* literally so much like you, Scully... hell, I thought she *was* you." Spunk smiled at his comment, still not tearing her eyes from the photograph. "She spoke Welsh with so much charisma, with so much love... she inherited grandma and grandpa's love for the language, and she used Welsh... with laughter dancing in her eyes. I believed that I was born to a goddess, you see... I believed that I was born to Aphrodite herself." Her tongue reflexively snaked out to lick the hardening blood on her wound. "You know how kids are, believing that their parents are some kind of greater god. I was like that." "That's normal, Scully." "I know," she sighed, this time turning to the attached yellowing piece of pad paper. "Everyone alive in Milford Haven thought I was her. They call me 'Margaret' on the streets, and when I don't turn they would grab me by the shoulder and ask me where I have been, I would laugh, and introduce myself as 'Dana'. They are disappointed, but they quickly resolve it with compliments on how I resemble her so much." "What's that?" He pointed at the paper. Scully held it up for him to see the words written on it. "Unlike me, my Mother was more patient with the guitar. This is a song she wrote... for a special someone. I tore it from her diary before I left Wales." "Stealing, Scully?" Mulder teased to lighten the mood. She shook her head with a small wispy grin. "No, not really. Here, read it." She offered it to him. Mulder accepted the paper, in the process, also pulling Scully into his body. He missed her womanly warmth already, and he was going to resolve that problem himself. She laughed at his attempt, struggling against his stronger grip, but to no avail. She landed on his lap, her head pillowing on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. There was still a reasonable amount of twisting, and to settle her down, Mulder held her stomach close to him. She loosened in his grip, taking slow breaths as she sank into his arms, eyes closing. Mulder kissed the tip of her nose, and then stuck his cheek to her forehead as he read the song. "Tell me what you are thinking this very moment, tell me why your eyes twinkle for every other laughter that drives over your lips, tell me why you cry whenever you look at the shiny surface of that broken glass, tell me why a million crosses dance in front of you- but you only swallow one, tell me why you are you? You tip- toe on physical touches, double- over body- heat, cross your fingers on success, sway through my kisses, you dance your life away... you dance and forget that you stood yester..." Scully moved her head so that she could see his expression; but their present position- her eyes hidden under his slight stubble- made it impossible for her. So she asked, instead. "Why are you stopping?" Mulder rested his lips on her forehead, thinking hard. The words were so familiar, so damn fucking familiar that each stroke of the poem- or song- was striking a chord in his heart. He knew those phrases--- those very, very familiar phrases. "I don't know, Scully. This seems... to- to have met my acquaintance before." "Acquaintance?" If she wasn't tucked under his chin, he'll be seeing that crooked auburn eyebrow again. "Yeah... I don't really know. Maybe I'm imagining, but... do you remember the chords of this song, Scully?" "I could play it on the guitar. Do you have one?" "Yes, I do," Mulder said, scanning the rest of the poem. All of it was striking something in him, a hidden part of his subconscious beckoning that beneath all this; laid something more. A hand found the creases of his forehead. "You think too much, Mulder," Scully remarked, easing the lines of frustration on his forehead. Then it hit him. The dream. He was laughing about a joke he couldn't remember. Scully appeared before him and she was so beautiful that it hurt to look at her. He told her just that, and she rebuffed him, saying that he... Scully, she said those words, and he could remember it. He could remember them... "We both stood yesterday, on separate stages. There's no one stopping us from dancing together today." "Mulder?" A more alarmed voice now. Scully disentangled herself from his limbs and sat on her ankles to face him. He snapped out of his oblivion, staring straight into crystal- like blue eyes. She reached over to caress his rough cheek. "You know what?" he pronounced slowly, unsure of what was running through his mind. "What?" "I... think we stumbled upon the perfect title and team song for our movie." Scully let out a startled giggle, girly and childish in nature, quickly doing him in shitty situation was as absurd as it got and here he was, finding the perfect title for the movie. He laughed together with her, flying quilts and pillows, diving to envelop Scully in a big bear hug. She didn't resist, landing on top of him, her legs splayed on the edges of his torso. Still laughing, she bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. It should take him by surprise, really, he just received his first kiss from Spunk, but it didn't. And he laughed even more, turning around so he could pin Scully and tickle her. God, he was so fucking happy like this, like this with her. And he had no idea why. ------------------------------ End of Spunk BOOK I. ------------------------------ "Danced Yesterday" Tell me what you are thinking this very moment, Tell me why your eyes twinkle for every other laughter that drives over your lips, Tell me why you cry whenever you look at the shiny surface of that broken glass, Tell me why a million crosses dance in front of you- but you only swallow one, Tell me why you are you? You tip- toe on physical touches, Double- over body- heat, Cross your fingers on success, Sway through my kisses, You dance your life away. You dance and forget that you stood yesterday. Will you pleasure me for a drink? Will you allow me to touch the rim of your glass and swirl my fingertips over the porcelain entrails? Will you let me taste your sweetness? Swirl it around my tongue, Crush it through my teeth, And swallow the whole of you? Will you let me store your flavor inside the unreachable part of me? Will you let me know you? You tossed the chair at me, Beat through the air of pleasing sounds, Nodded at the darkness, Winked and kept your other eye closed, You waste your life away. You waste it and forget that you didn't have it yesterday. Let me show you yourself. Let me take your hand and show you that it's still warm, Let me kiss you and let you feel your grasp through my tongue, Let me feel your heart through mine, Let me have you. I want to breathe you. I want to breathe you in, forgetting that we both died sometime yesterday. NOTES: This poem/song has to be the main theme of Spunk. That's why I made it BOOK II's title. ------------------------------