This chapter contains sexually explicit material.

And this is it, folks: previously unpublished Spunk material from here on. Enjoy!

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE:

Outside Warner Brother Studios
Los Angeles
March 10, 1986
Monday

"They told me I have until April 20 to finish postproduction. The premiere's set in June."

"It's going much faster than the usual postproduction process. Are you sure you can do this?"

"Yes, I think I can." Mulder ran a hand through his coarse hair, wincing when the ridges of his fingers felt the dryness of his scalp. Added stress made him forget that he had himself to take care of lately. Squinting his eyes as he looked up towards the enraged sun, he continued his self-confidence booster statements: "I have Walter with me, John's sacrificing most of his new-family time for this movie, and … even if Kersh's already gone, I could work on those second unit shots mysef."

"You look haggard, Mulder," Byers remarked softly, shuffling his feet on the curb, unsurely pushing the words out of his throat. It had been sometime since they last conversed like this, but it was true: when all else failed, Mulder DID turn to Byers for some help. The short, brown-haired man had answers for every single question Mulder could raise about himself and the advices his friend gave him always helped him, no matter how much Mulder resisted them at first.

"You're squeezing so much of yourself for this movie … you know, racing against time just to beat MGM and Krycek out of the loophole. How about Spunk? How's she doing?"

Honestly, Mulder hadn't physically been with Scully for three days straight now. She slept in the recording studio to wrap things up for the theme song with the Bee Gees, while he also slept in Warner Brothers during the past week. He called her at least thrice a day - wanting to hear her voice more often, at the same time being cautious so as not to arouse any suspicions from their colleagues.
But Scully would be wrapping up the song tonight and he had asked Skinner to take over their editing process for the next few days so that he could be with her. He made a very gracious alibi: he needed some time off - time off in his own house where he could wash his hair with HIS shampoo, not some dinky hand-me-downs from the Big Bosses. They didn't know that Scully would be going home from work tonight and that they'd be spending some much-needed time together, too.

Of course, Byers knew none of that either, since they had vowed that they would never speak of their relationship to others, so he gave his friend a quick nod and a patient smile. "Scully's fine. We're tolerate each other more nowadays, but we're both very busy so that may be why we're tolerant. We rarely see one another around the house." He chuckled that one out, not helping himself. His inner voice mocked him, shouting, Really now? You sleep in one bed and you rarely see one another?

Well, it's kind of true. They had not been together for three days. And his need was incredibly insistent.

Pushing thoughts of Scully out of his brain before Byers noticed something fishy; he wheezed air out of his lungs. "I'm going home tonight, though. I've have had enough of dozing off in sleeping bags right here. I'm done for, going to take a nice shower and just … relax."

"That's good to hear. How's Emily?"

"We saw each other yesterday. She's going to her doctor tomorrow for a check-up. She looks great – beautiful and huge, but she's happy. I offered to go with her but she declined," Mulder sighed deeply, and then, his head snapped up when a car passed by the road in front of them, cautious that it might be the paparazzi. The outbursts of reporters had been horrendous lately and this was actually the first time he was able to sneak outside the studio to be able to talk to Byers. "Umm, she wanted me to concentrate on the movie."

"Are you going to meet her today? I could drive you to the hospital." Byers gestured towards his van, parked at the opposite side of the street. Mulder had previously offered to meet him in McDonalds where they can divulge lunch, but the man refused, saying that the Director had too many concerns to even take a step away from WB.

"No. I'm staying here until 6 PM tonight. And then I'm going home. I need to go home. There's something about sleeping in my own bed." And beside Scully, too. Mulder scratched an imaginary itch on his nose to hide the smile that was tugging on the sides of his lips.

"Okay." Byers grinned, drawing forward and patting on his forearm - a gesture that reminded him so much of his Father's. Maybe that's the main reason why he had to have these once-a-month serious conversations with Byers - the man had the talent to keep Mulder in check, as his Father-figure of some sorts, someone he could rely on when everything's going to hell. Unlike Scully, Byers could never make him feel BETTER, but at least he though clearer after talking with his friend.
Unfortunately, he couldn't tell his friend about his latest relationship with the Spunk. Mulder wasn't sure he was ready to be on the receiving end of his friend's unbearable reaction.

"Thanks, Byers."

"You're welcome, Mulder. Anytime."

It was a matter of trust: he could still be Atlas and handle the weight of the world on his shoulders without seeing Scully because he knew she'd be there when he needed her to be there. It was a matter of loyalty: he knew that she'd be there because she loved him. And it was a matter of the heart: she loved him because she simply did.
That evening though, all his reigning Spunk rules flew out of the door before he laid a hand on the latch.

Once he entered the Manor, he was only able to lock the door behind him before being pelted by straining kisses, frantic hugs, and garbled whispers. Scully wrapped her arms around his neck, desperately trying to elevate her small stature in order to reach Mulder's lips without any second to spare. He immediately responded, bending his back to give them their much- needed reunion. They were new lovers: still caught in the heat of the revelry; still patting the ground for where they should stand. They needed all the time in the world. The world was quite stingy.

His tongue swiped across Scully's and he didn't keep his groan of pleasure from her, letting it vibrate into her throat. Pulling from her magnetic lips, he was able to whisper, "Missed you," before plunging back again.

Scully chose not to answer him verbally, opting to just show him how much by wrapping her legs around his waist. His hands slid down from her hips and down to her buttocks, to keep her to him. He wanted to feel her skin, wanted his nerve endings to be awakened by her, wanted to be surrounded by her.

There wasn't enough time - there wasn't enough patience present - and before he knew it, his pants were already discarded into a pile of heap behind him, intimately twined with Scully's clothing. It was just like that - her hands all over him and removing whatever kept their skin apart and his hands blindly groping her body – and suddenly, they were all alone in the world. The world was theirs and it had no more reason to be parsimonious.

In his last gasping breath of semblance, Mulder removed his mouth from Scully's and gently tugged her to the stair's direction. "C'mon, we can't do this here. Up there," he panted out, swimming his fingers into her soft, curly hair. He stared into her eyes for the first time in three days and it felt like a century since he had looked at her this way. Goddammitt, he did miss her so damn fucking bad.

Blue eyes flickered indignantly. "No here. Now."

Hazel eyes ignited in post-electrocution and lust took over the dark green pasture. No one needed to be told twice. He's an obedient lover.

Without breaking eye contact, Scully allowed Mulder to let her body slide down to the floor, only flinching once when her bare back met with the cold porcelain tiles. He stopped for a moment, heaving hard, waiting for her to find a comfortable position. He wanted to reach behind and grab any piece of clothing to let her lay down on, but Scully refused to let him go. When a smile found her swollen, pink lips, Mulder removed his hands from her shoulder blades and settled it on her hips.

"Did you miss me?" His voice sounded suspiciously like that ailing first grader, but Scully didn't seem to mind when she gave a small nod despite her aroused state.

Bending his head down to her cleavage, he inhaled her scent - suspiciously missing of baby powder, replaced with musky sweat and he didn't know which aroused him more: the musky female sweat or her knees bending and spreading open for him. Just for him.
He honestly wanted to taste every inch of her - to rediscover again the planes of her body, to see if his bite marks on her inner thighs were still there, to at least taste where that musky sweat extends to, and fuck, he wanted to take his time in the world, but unfortunately, Scully had other ideas. Spunk was never meant to be patient. What she wanted, she'd get.

She crossed her ankles behind him, right over his buttocks, and pushed her inner thighs forward to his aching groin, making sure that he felt the contact atop his cock. And yeah, he sure did: it made him see stray stars all over his living room.

Mulder tried to pull away, to get a moment wherein he could worship her, but Scully pulled his head down to her and kissed him again. Sloppy, ecstatic, and delicious. Tasting of iced tea, coffee, and longing. Pure longing.
That final second when he hovered above her and rubbed his cock against her clit, entering Scully was his destiny - his ultimate deity. Quickly, she opened a condom with her hands (where it came from, he wasn't sure and didn't care) and shoved it down his shaft. Her manhandling almost hurt, until she guided him into her.

She inhaled sharply when she felt his cock push through her walls, tensing all over for a reason he couldn't understand. From her clavicle, he transferred his hands on her inner thighs, pushing them down to a comfortable level where they weren't squeezing his sides and they weren't squeezing her inner vaginal walls. He wanted her to relax.

Once he had sheathed himself in Scully's warmth, the world at last faded and decided to tap dance for a different audience. They were finally alone. They could finally be together. Scully sighed; curving her lips into a lazy smile and took Mulder by his hair, lifting his face from hers.

"Your hair … you haven't shampooed them for a while, huh?"

How in the world she noticed that small detail in their current position was something that's lost to him. And in that moment, he was instantly aroused by it.

"No, didn't get the chance," Mulder replied, his hips moving into that instinctive beat that he enjoyed and Scully adored: thrust, circle, pull out, thrust, circle, pull out. Just for kicks, when he would see Scully enjoying that rhythm, he would alternate the course and she'd jerk his head to remind him what she wanted. Then he'd laugh and kiss her. She'd forgive him in no time.

And yes, Mr. Washington, he was able to tame the Amazon. But the Amazon tamed him first.

Then the point would come - there would be dancing Scullys all around him and they would all be wearing these sheer, colorful lingerie, doing their sexy mambo just for him - and he'd explode into nothingness, groaning his heart out to this small woman underneath him and she'd be too busy with her own climax to groan back. Those were the snapshots of his life he'd always treasure and he'd always keep them in the safest vaults of his heart.

Mulder sniffed at Scully's shoulder, trying to catch his breath. In the hazy notion of his fogged brain, he knew his weight was crushing her, but his body was still too heavy to move. She was patient, as usual, waiting for him to recover.

Finding strength, he dug his elbows on the floor beside her breasts, his eyes still closed when he pressed a kiss on her sweaty forehead. "And how was your day, Ms. Scully?"

He found her laughing, both of them finding the situation ridiculous. They were grown adults! They should have had enough control.

But no. After three days, here they were - a few steps from the front door, naked, still connected to each other, sweaty. And he wanted to do it all over again. Maybe this time, upstairs.

"It's better now, Mr. Mulder," Scully professed, her British accent giving her answer a lazy twang. His weight was poking her down onto the hard floor, but other than pushing him away, she embraced him tighter.

A few hours and numerous times of lovemaking later, they had maneuvered themselves in the master's bedroom successfully, only with a few mistakes on the way up the stairs (they tried to kiss their way up to the room, but only were rewarded by tumbling down three flights asses down).

Scully was drifting in and out of consciousness, trying her best to keep awake, seeing that her lover was still up. But during her final battle, she surrendered to the quiet lull of Frank Sinatra in the background while he spread her red hair around the pillowcase, letting her cheek rest on his chest.

The first time he felt secure was in his Father's arms, when he was three years old. It was after he tripped on the sidewalk, landing him backwards on the open road. There he was, young and as frightened as a deer, staring face-to-face at a roaring truck that seemed to be out of control. His Dad grabbed him just in time, hauling him out of the truck's face and into his strong arms. There should be a second time, and even a hundredth time, wherein he felt such security, but nothing came as vivid as that moment with Scully in their bed. Her soft breathing on his chest, her hand enclosed in his grip, her bare leg over his waist, them covered in one blanket.

All was fine with the world.

Enough thinking, his mind beeped, and he agreed easily enough. All his fatigue disappeared. There were more important matters he should sink into. Literally.

Mulder shifted to his side, facing Scully's front. Her head dropped from his shoulder, easing gently onto the pillow.

He grumbled his disapproval of the quilt that covered her nakedness, slowly inching it from her intertwined arms and successfully pulling it down to her protruding hip bones. Her bone structures were aghast against the thin, white layers of her skin.

Was she this thin when she was young? Had she always been graced with this enviable figure? She wasn't tall and she wasn't as striking as those women in Guess ads, but she had these fine lips, tantalizing blue eyes, a figure that dancing trimmed, and of course, her Spunkness.
Scully would look great in anything, but he believed that she appeared best when she's like this: wearing only her own skin. He could clearly see the light sprinkle of freckles over her nose bridge, wantonly gaining up on her cheeks, and then spreading like wildfire over her shoulders. They disappear immediately around her chest, deliciously dipping down to her cleavage. Full breasts line up on her front, easing with every breath she took. The curve of her waist, the flatness of her stomach - a testament of her unrelenting love of dancing - and of course, her woman's flesh that was housed in between her thighs. One of his favorite Scully parts. Did anyone adore Scully like this before? Did anyone give her as much attention as he was giving her right now?
Easing his hand down from her hipbones and to her stomach, he traced a faint scar underneath her belly button. Judging from the way it merged with her skin and it's faintness, it must've been from a bike ride from her early childhood or Scully climbing up the tree to prove to her brothers her strength as a woman. What if it was from a terrible accident? How would he react to that?

His index finger traced that scar over and over again; amazed that Scully's skin could house such an imperfection. She was porcelain to Mulder, unmarred by the harshness of life. When she came to him, that drunken night in Lone Glitter, she was dropped from heaven into his waiting arms.

Eyes that had been dormant a second earlier were now fluttering awake, together with a delectable smile that eased his thoughts into a locked music box.

Scully placed a hand over his own, unwittingly pushing his attention away from her scar. "Go to sleep, Mulder. You haven't gotten enough sleep the past few days."

Grogginess was still her best friend and he didn't want them to be enemies. When Scully's all tired and sleepy, it gave him more leverage. She couldn't argue with him. She couldn't tell him off. She couldn't even touch him. It's him touching her and adoring her. That's the way it should always be.

"I'm fine." He removed his hand from her grasp and instead caressed her cheek. "How 'bout you?"

"Sleepy, knackered so … but if you want to talk about anything that's bothering you, I'm not that tired." Scully blinked several times, physically and mentally preparing herself for his answer. But Mulder just shook his head, knowing that it was the better option.

He wanted to talk about many things actually - he wanted to ask her about her past, he wanted to ask her some of the questions that his mind raised while he explored her body silently, he wanted to know a bit about what she's keeping from him. It wasn't a big issue between them: Scully kept something from Mulder and he saw it whenever he looked into her eyes. If ever he thought about trying to discover what it was, he'd always remember the fright that radiated from her soul that traumatic evening when she had the worst of her nightmares, and he'd stop himself. If that was the cost of Scully digging up her past just for him, then he'd give her more time.
He was impatient and was famous for it, and he knew that it's only his love for this woman that's holding him back from asking her. Scully meant the world to him and he couldn't risk losing her.

Anyway, what more could he ask for? What's the past when he had her present and future? There were more things that needed their attention. He could forget about that incessant nagging at the back of his brain for a while.

"Mulder," Scully started, worry tracing each syllable. "Is something wrong? You seem distracted. I'm here and I'm not that tired." She stumbled over her last words, repeating them over to make sure he understood her. She was the teacher again; he the primary school pupil.

He opened his mouth to tell her about what's bothering him, when the phone attacked the serenity of Frank Sinatra's voice and tranquility of the night.

Instinctively, Scully lifted her head up from the pillow, darting her eyes around the room as if she was jarred from Wonderland. Mulder groaned aloud, urging himself out of the bed before Scully found a way to do that herself.

In the background, Sinatra droned on, not even protesting at this interruption.

"It could be a prank phone -"

"No, it could be Emily." Mulder jerked himself from the bed, taking some time to shake his head and then started walking towards the door. He grimaced as the air conditioning met with his bare, slick flesh.

"Mulder, you're naked," Scully called out, her voice slurring with her sleepiness. He reflexively looked back, just in time to catch his boxers right on his face. Scully giggled her girly laugh once again, making him smile droopily while he did some impromptu acrobatics to get the boxers on.

Reaching the den was uneventful, except for the fact that he didn't realize how tired he was until he bounded off the bedroom and down to the stairs. His knees almost gave out under him when he forced them to jump two steps at a time.

Before he realized it, he already had the phone pressed onto his slight stubble, whispering a ragged "Hello" into the receiver.

"Mr. Mulder? This is Jenny."

Hearing his housekeeper's voice made him stand up straighter against the desk. His brain did the necessary connections and before he knew it, he was as alert as ever.

"Jenny? How's Emily? Is she fine? Is something wrong?"

"Mr. Mulder, Mr. Spender asked me to call you. He didn't want to leave Ms. Emily's bedside tonight. But please do come here in the hospital at once. I think there's something wrong."

"Jenny," Mulder sternly said, even if there was a slight quiver in his tone, "Tell me what's wrong. What do you understand about my daughter's condition?"

The kind, middle-aged woman relented for a second, before admitting into the phone, "Mr. Mulder … Emily's baby is dead. And her health is in danger."

Frank Sinatra's cassette tape clicked to an end.

The phone dropped from Mulder's fingertips, landing on the carpeted floor with a muffled thud, with Jenny left shouting his name frantically from the other line. At the same time, a single startled sob crept out of Mulder's throat.

"Mulder, please do slow down."

He didn't want to slow down, so he purposely ignored Scully's plea.

Scully tightened her faltering grip on his bicep, pulling him backwards to her. Mulder shrugged her hand away, his mind set on reaching the elevator before his mind and heart crashed in on him.

A doctor accidentally bumped into him, propelling him to the wall. The scrambling doctor lifted his hands up and mouthed a small 'sorry' before taking more careful strides towards the busy Emergency Room. Apparently, almost half of Los Angeles had their crisis to deal with.
At his right, a woman gently huddled on the bench. She flipped through a Time magazine, licking her lips nervously while self-consciously looking over her shoulder into one of the hospital rooms. Opposite her, an overweight woman was arguing with her doctor about the current state of her diet. The doctor was handling the situation suavely, but Mulder could see in his eyes how much he wanted to give himself a much-needed break from all the chaos.

Mulder closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head. That doctor wasn't alone.

"Mulder, please," Scully called from behind him, trying her best to keep up with him. She wasn't hesitant about dressing up within 15 minutes to join him to the hospital, but she was cautious about not pushing herself too much. She was taking her time to adjust to her fear while trying to adjust to his own fears, too. "Please …" she paused, as if not knowing what she's pleading for anymore, then continued, "stop. You are going to strain yourself."

"I can't stop, Scully. My daughter's …" He found himself out of breath, but forged on to the elevator. Never mind trying to explain. There would be time for it later on.

He landed in front of the elevator doors, pushing the UP incessantly. Finally, Scully reached him, drawing her breath in and tucking unruly hair behind her ears.

"Look, I understand that you cannot stop." She blinked the weariness and barely concealed fear from her eyes, running her tongue over her dry lips. Mulder rested his shoulder on the nearest wall, watching Spunk intently. She looked down at her feet, at his feet, then back up at his face. "But at least let me catch up with you."

He wanted to look her in the eye, to read what she meant by that, to see what she wanted him to see, but he had enough thoughts in his mind to even think about anything else. Mulder just nodded mutely, throwing his forlorn gaze at the slight dip of her shirt's neckline.

"Promise me that, Mulder."

"Okay." It wasn't exactly a promise, but it was enough for her. It was enough to ensure her that he wouldn't shut down in on her in this drastic situation.

The elevator whistled a "ping!" to signal their arrival. As the people inside made room for them, Mulder gestured for Scully to enter and placed a hand on the small of her back, ushering her into the elevator before he stepped in.

Emily's hospital room was dark, morbid - an expected scene for the situation at hand. Outside on a bench, Jenny knitted furiously, trying to ignore the commotion inside the room. Inside was another story.

Jeffrey Spender was at his wife's bedside, tightly grasping Emily's hand and facing the predicament with an armored face. He was an army man and was trained to specifically mask his emotions. At that moment, Mulder wanted to squeeze him like a pulp to get him to cry - like he unabashedly did when he saw his daughter's condition.
On the bed, Emily was hooked to a sea of wires and beeping machines. Dark rings settled underneath her eyes, her lips chapped and dry, her skin lackluster, one hand over her still swollen stomach. She was only asleep, not necessarily anesthetized, but in a state of necessitated relaxation.

One look at his baby did Mulder in. He landed on his daughter's bedside, sobbing incoherently as Scully hushed him, directing him to cry on her chest.

Finally, when he regained himself, Jeff began to explain in a slow monotone what had happened to Emily: "She noticed yesterday that something was wrong. She told me that the baby hasn't been kicking for almost three days and she's worried about its health. I didn't think it was serious, so we waited until her check-up dates because it was only a few days away. When the doc … checked on the ultrasound … we found out that … the baby has been dead for a maximum of four days," Jeffrey choked out, caressing his wife's hand in a gesture of strength.

Mulder sat down on a stray chair inside the room, with Scully at his side. She was standing uneasily and looking fairly worried herself, eyes darting from Mulder to Emily.

Jeff continued, his eyes only on Emily and her ragged face. "When we rushed her into the ER, no one could tell us what brought this on. Believe me in on this, Dad - but I've never hurt Emily, she never smoked or did drugs, she didn't get sick, she didn't …" A lone tear spilled from his right eye and he wiped it before it could even materialize. "There's no logical explanation. Now they have to induce labor or else there's a high risk of sepsis, infection."

"The-the baby's already matured. She's already nine months … how could this have had happened?" Mulder demanded, his voice reaching an intensity he didn't know it had. Scully placed a hand on his tense shoulders, a silent plea for him to calm down.

Nevertheless, this woke Emily up, her long brown lashes fluttering tiredly at her father. For a moment, it seemed that she forgot where she was and her brain took time to recognize the surroundings. After a minute, recognition flooded her eyes, together with a kind of sadness that Mulder had never seen in her before. God … he never wanted to see that in his daughter again.

"Hey Dad," she softly called out, then noticing Scully, "Hey Dana."

Mulder didn't even have the strength to return the greeting. But for the sake of giving the room some spirit, he forced a smile on his lips. Wrenched and yanked. He didn't even hear what Scully responded back to Emily.

Emily shifted under the layers of blankets covering her frame, whisking away the crisscrossing plastic threads that were hanging from her right arm, grumbling silently something to her husband about him needing to rest and about her having her Dad by her side.

"Daddy, tell Jeff that you'll take care of me now. He needs to go and get some sleep. He's been up for the whole night -" She sadly tapped her fingertips over her swollen stomach. "I really would want to talk to Daddy too, Jeff. Alone."

Jeffrey soughed heavily, as if heaving a carton full of elephants from his chest, pressing a kiss on Emily's hand. "I can't leave you here, Em." Seeing that this had not convinced her whatsoever, he lifted his head up to Mulder's direction. "Please tell her that I need to stay here. Please."

The last thing Mulder wanted was to be torn between two certainties.

"Jeff, go on and get a good shower and then you can come back here with a sleeping bag. And while you're at it …" Mulder reluctantly rested a hand over Scully's on his shoulder, squeezing it and then pulling it away from him. The Spunk crinkled her brows in expectation, waiting for his next announcement. "Please do drive Scully home to the Manor. She needs her rest, too."

"No," Scully protested, her voice rising, "I'm staying here with you."

"No," he repeated in a dull monotone that didn't want anymore of the argument she wanted to raise. "You go home, Scully. Please."

Too many "pleases" in one day. Too many emotions for a day. His body would never kill him when he gets older: it would be his heart that would do the finishing job.

Standing up from the chair, he walked outside with Scully behind him, leaving his daughter and her husband alone for the meantime to talk about issues that obviously needed to be discussed. According to what he had known, Emily had been asleep for the hour's length that she was rushed into the hospital.

Once outside, Mulder gripped Scully's cold hand and led her to a sharp right, where no one from Emily's hospital room could see them. Jenny was still too busy with her knitting to investigate where the lovers went and that was what he just needed.
Scully's red lips were pouting unconsciously as he settled her on the wall, where he enclosed her nervous body in a bear hug. Seeing the net of sentiments within her eyes, Mulder brushed a kiss over her forehead, tucking another wayward strand of red hair behind her ear so that he could see her beautiful face without any obstructions.

"I'm sorry for asking you to leave. I have to … Scully, please do understand the situation." From her ear, his hand settled on her cheek, cupping the pale bundle of flesh and caressing her with his thumb.

She nodded like a one-year-old trying to comprehend why her Mother had to divorce her Father. "I do understand, Mulder." She paused, dropping her gaze from his eyes and taking the hand from her cheek into her own, intertwining their fingers together. "Could I come back here? Is that okay?"

"If you could … if you want to. If you can't, I'm going to call you every fucking hour of the fucking day."

"Good."

It was inevitably his turn to ask, "Is that okay?"

"Good enough." Her index finger twitched against his own, digging a stale hole in his aorta. Not in any condition for further arrangements, Mulder lifted Scully's hand to his lips, kissing her momentarily. Then he dropped their hands to their sides, releasing the twining and breaking eye contact.

He wished that all could be fine with the world as it was a few hours ago. All he had in his arms was a spunky redhead that took none of his stubborn bullheadedness, but at the same time gave him everything he needed, wanted. All the things he was required to juggle was passing through his hand accordingly, not slipping, not sliding, and that was fine. It was all good.
Until a crystal ball decided to detach itself from the mesmerizing circle of his juggling, crashing down onto the floor and breaking into tiny pieces even before he could salvage it.

Mulder patiently waited by Emily's bedside immediately after Jeff and Scully left. Taking his son-in-law's place on his daughter's bedside, the Director took his daughter's white hand into his gruffer palms, cradling it with his life. There's no way he's going to leave the hospital right now. No way.

Emily's operation was about to happen in three hours. Usually, in detected stillborn fetuses, the operations happen at once; however, in his daughter's condition, the Doctors found out that she had low sugar. So they had to give her enough nourishment first before inducing labor. At least, that's what the medical jargon sounded like to Mulder. All he wanted to know was that his Emily would be fine. Save for the emotional and mental trauma of losing her baby even before she even held it in her arms.

Mulder was drifting in and out of fitful little naps, resting his heavy head on Emily's bedside, and was in the process of completing a five-minute one when the hand he was holding jerked. Almost immediately, his head was up and he was asking his daughter gently if she needed anything. Emily shook her head against the pillow, dislocating the strands of hair that had been stagnant for hours. "No, I don't need anything, Dad. What time is it?"

He glanced down at his wristwatch, "8 AM, honey. Go to sleep, you need it."

Emily purposely played deaf to his request, running her eyes over the dark hospital room curiously, trying once again to remind herself where she was and what she would have to face soon.

"Honey," Mulder tried again, and was gradually surprised when he felt Emily's hand slip from his grasp.

"It's unfair, isn't it?" she garbled out, easing that freed hand on her swollen belly, feeling out the contours of the rounded shape, occasionally pressing, feeling, the dead fetus within. "I wanted a child. I wanted a boy; I wanted him to look like Jeffrey - with dark brown hair and an athletic physique. I wanted him to have your sense of humor, your stubbornness … I wanted him to have your heart." A single tear broke free from his daughter's eye. Mulder lifted a finger and smoothened it away, swallowing to keep said heart from swelling into his throat.

"You could always try for another, Em."

"You think I have the strength to try, Dad?" She lifted her hand from her belly, as if wanting to slap the protrusion hard to show her anger at the situation towards herself, but stopped as Mulder's fingertips found her curly hair. Her voice mellowed down, "All I wanted was a family - a perfect family. Unlike ours."

Mulder's eyes bulged from its sockets, giving away his shock. That statement dug at his insides, unexpectedly branding up all the hurt he was feeling for the situation. That was something he didn't expect from Emily during that moment; actually, during any moment they have together. It just wasn't something they ever talked about. He thought they were happy together as dad and daughter. He thought it was as simple as that and she understood that there was never any love between him and her mother.
His tone was shaky as he replied, "Emily, you know my situation with your mother. Believe me, Hon … I tried to remedy it. I tried to love her and I tried to give her everything I had. It just wasn't enough. When two people aren't meant for each other …"

"… they are just aren't meant for each other. Yeah, I remember that. I used to tell my friends that whenever they asked about you and Mom."

As of right now, their conversation was getting too candid for his liking. "I don't think we should talk about this right now. You only have two hours before surgery. I don't want you upset."

"I want to talk, Dad. Don't deny this from me." Similar eyes pierced him, smoldering his body into nothingness, sliding from Emily and down to the floor into a pool of black goo.

His face etched no emotion, not wanting to give away his feelings about the topic, not wanting to give Emily all the pain and the hurt. But inside him, it felt like a heart attack: digging, torturing, bleeding.

"Okay, talk," he slowly conveyed, removing his limbs from his daughter and crossing it in front of his chest. "About what?"

Emily slowly blinked her long lashes, curving her lips into the saddest smile he had ever seen on her. It wasn't like the smile she gave him when she lost her wallet during first grade, unlike the frown she gave him when she broke up with her first boyfriend, or the guilty expression she had when she admitted her lost of virginity. No, it was different. Very different.

"You never wanted me. You and Mom just happened to fuck and I came along. Dad, I wanted this child - I wanted him so much I was persuading Jeff to install the nursery during my first trimester. It just isn't fair, Dad."

Mulder let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"When I was reasonable enough, I understood that there wasn't any love between you and Mom. You know what you looked like every time I see you two together? You looked tortured. You were literally suffocating. Right then and there, I knew. And it wasn't something to be proud of, believe me. I was so … jealous of my friends, jealous of their perfect family… but I kept it all in because I love you Dad. And I love Mom. Adding problems to the ones we already had wouldn't do any good. So I got used to it."

"Emily," he started, only to be cut off by her hand on his forearm.

"You think the divorce didn't kill me, Dad? It did. Just because it meant that my masquerade of perfection was going to end … for our family. And I poured my heart into my studies. Then Jeff came along and I knew that he would give me the life I never had. He isn't really THAT rich - as rich as you are - but he loves me. I love him. I wanted to give that to our child. I want to have many children, like you did. I want them to grow up knowing that their parents loved each other. I wanted normality. I … still do."

Lost for words, Mulder pondered for a moment while Emily watched the sun's rays peek through the blinds. He detached his heart from his body, once again setting it onto his arm, sputtering blood everywhere. He'd rather have it out in the open than have it damage his other organs.

"I'm sorry."

What else could a Father say?

He hastily swiped at the tears on his cheeks, surprised that he had started crying.

Emily only nodded, and when he adjusted his eyes to the brightness that was starting to cave into the room, he saw that she also was crying. Tears traced her hollow cheeks, covering his Emily in a dizzy salute of hurt.

And the heart on his sleeve began to bleed harder, realizing that it would take a long time before he'd be able to see THE Emily he raised and gotten to know. A very long time.

Bill Mulder, if presented with a contract from the devil that ensured perfection for Fox's future, would've signed it in a heartbeat. Bill's goal became Mulder's goal in life: to get married with a woman so perfect others would cringe in envy when they were together, children - many of them - running around his mansion and all of them being wealthily showered with attention and a stable job at home. He always wanted to be a writer, but it seemed that he was better at ordering and charming people around. Out of those three that his Father wanted for him, he had only accomplished one. And it was not really meeting up with his long-term goal of getting the kind of job he originally wanted.
What did he end up with? An only child who's right now in the operating room, feigning nightmares while her dead baby was being cut out of her stomach. A directing job that was taking up most of him time. An ex-wife he hated beyond hate … and the only good part of it: a spunky twenty-one-year-old as his lover. Someone he knew yet he didn't really know.

He never realized how much Scully kept from him until after that conversation he had with Emily. It was a wake-up call: an annoying alarm clock telling him to jerk out of his "being in love" reverie.

If his daughter - his best friend - was able to keep these feelings from her own father … what more could Scully keep from him? He didn't know a thing about her past. He had no idea where she went to school, who was her first boyfriend, to whom did she give her virginity to, why did she REALLY leave Wales, why she didn't pursue medicine, why she fell in love with him and why she kept on writing those letters for her sister when she never even received a single reply. Maybe Byers was right when he told Mulder that he should be wary about Scully's past. It's haunting her and it must be the reason why she's hurting like this or keeping things from him.

His friend's words echoed like stinging bat shrieks in his head, and he forced to bury his head down into his hands. Too much worries and emotions … too little time. If he was a lot more limber, he could've stuck his head between his legs and squeezed his inner thighs hard to stop all the howling. The psychologist in him was telling him that this wasn't the best way to answer his problems, but the Mulder in him was telling him that this would do for now. For now, at least.

"Mulder?"

Scully's familiar heat patted his shoulder blade. He reflexively jerked back, almost landing his ass down on the floor in utter surprise. Once he had regained himself, he stared back at Scully with wide green eyes, mirroring her expression.

She looked a lot better than when they left the Manor, although not at all well rested than he was. She tied her frizzy hair in a tight bun, which was framing her face with a ballerina's grace. Minimal make-up, the ones that she put on when she wasn't shooting, but was enough to hide her freckles and thick eye bags, which in turn enhanced her blue eyes and plumped up her luscious red lips. Opening her mouth to say something, she unconsciously pulled on a loose thread on her violet sweater. "Hi," she whispered aloud, as if divulging the secret location of an Egyptian Mummy's tomb. "How's … Emily doing?"

Mulder clenched his jaw momentarily, running a hand through his hair - now effectively oily and coarse, as he expected it to be. "She went inside the operating room about an hour ago. They told me that it would take about three to four hours, depending on the situation."

"And you're planning to stay here for the rest of those three to four hours?"

"Yes." His answer was firm and indignant, even if his physical features were betraying him. Scully gave him a short shake of her head to disapprove.

"Mulder, you need to rest. You have been up and going for the past few days …"

"Scully," he unintentionally raised the treble of his voice, drawing sharp blue horizons from his lover's eyes. "She's my daughter, okay? I know what I'm doing."

She opened her mouth to divulge that statement, but at once closed it.

A minute of intense silence was shared between them. Mulder never swayed his ground, studying Scully's suddenly bewildered features with steel nerves he didn't expect his body to possess at its present condition. He continued to study her as her eyes roamed around the quiet corridors, as if reminding herself that she was in a hospital, a place that she perennially hated.
Recovering her stance, Scully licked her dry lips nervously.

"I … understand that perfectly, but you … I'm just concerned about you."

Her sentences fluctuated, grains of sand through his dry palm, and just by that, he knew exactly that something was wrong. Within that short duration of time, Scully had formulated something incriminating in her mind and these thoughts had easily slipped on her façade and onto him. He once told himself that this unique ability of his, of being able to read this particular woman, should scare him shitless. It was during the start of their relationship … before they were even lovers. When everything was still new. Crystal. Innocent.

It was only then, right at that moment, that actual ability was scaring him. Shitless.

Mulder stared down at his feet, studying the anxiously interlaced knots of his shoes. "If you need to tell me something, Scully, now would be a good time."

From his feet, his gaze traveled onto the perfect ribbons of Scully's white rubber shoes. It had obviously been with her for years, yet she still insisted on wearing them everyday that she could. One small foot shuffled over the other, scratching dangerously against the loop of their flawless arcs. Of course, what should he expect? Scully was the keeper of all secrets. She kept secrets like precious sacks of gold. This was probably not different from the many times Scully had kept something from him.

Mulder breathed in, not minding if his impatience was heard out in the open. "Scully -"

"Do I remind you of Emily?"

Whoa there! Hold your fucking horses …

That wasn't certainly expected! At all!

Mulder snapped his head up, shocked beyond belief. "E-Excuse me?"

Scully's stare was steady on him, jaw clenched tight, hands interlaced behind her back, eyes sad but strong. "Do I remind you of Emily?" then she added, to soften up the prior inquiry, "You wanted to know what was wrong. There."

There? There? Was that even there? That was OUT of here. WAY out of the league!

"God, no! Of course not!" Mulder jumped on his feet, waving his arms friskily around the stale air. Scully impassively inhaled the remnants of that stale air.

"What are you talking about? Are you insane?" Mulder grabbed her shoulders, but before he could, Scully successfully kept herself out of his reach.

She gritted her teeth, settling on the nearest wall, a few feet from him, contorting her emotions into a fiery ball. "No, I'm not. I was just curious."

"Curious?" he exclaimed, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice, and then lowered it when he remembered where they were. "Is this what hospitals do to you? You suddenly turn into this, this weird lady! This happened the last time we were in one or have you conveniently erased that from your wonderful memory that doesn't seem to remember anything BEFORE coming to America?" When the last word was out, he bit his lip so hard it stung like an injection's prick. He certainly didn't mean that one.

"Don't push your luck, Mulder. Our relationship now does not change the way you treat my arse."

"I don't, I didn't -" He was lost for words, grappling on a thin vine for dear life, panicking when Scully threw him a disgusted look and turned around, arching her shoulders and leaving behind a trail of fumes towards the elevator.

"Scully … do-DON'T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME RIGHT NOW!"

Bravo, Mr. Mulder. Was that the best you can do?

Fortunately, Scully paused. She waited for his next words like a steady rock, still with her back to him, clenching her hands into thin fists.

Mulder swallowed hard. This couldn't be happening, right? They were not really having this fight right?

"Scully … I …. We …. Wh …. Why?"

Two steps were deducted from their distance. His feet were false compasses, hoping to reach her before everything else crumbled apart.

She moved her head a little to the right, connecting her chin with her shoulder. "You have this unending habit of pushing me away whenever you seem to need me the most, Mulder. I'm … quite sick and tired of it."

Okay. Wrong answer. If they were in Jeopardy, they would have lost the million dollar question.

"No, Scully! I'm not the one pushing you away - you are! You keep doing this … 'I'm safe in my own damn place limbo' and I'M sick and tired of it! I want to know why you asked that fucking question because I very well deserve the answer!"

"It wouldn't be fair to both of us."

Scrap the jeopardy game. If they were in the FBI, they would have rendered their superiors into unending fits. They couldn't even connect one puzzle to another in their conversation.

Mulder swallowed three more steps, rendering them only a feet apart. He could feel the anger from Scully's veins, the intensity of her Spunkness, the sheer feistiness of her whole persona resonating into a visible aura. These were dangerous waters already. Too hot for him to jump into and submit himself.
He watched the curls of her red hair, constantly reminding himself to take it slow. This was still Scully - a woman who had done everything on her own. If someone told her to sway her hips this way, she'd tell that someone 'fuck you' and sway it how she wanted.

"What do you mean it wouldn't be fair? I don't understand you."

"I told you before … in Las Vegas, that you knowing my past will not be fair to both of us. I still hold onto that right now. It won't be fair to you. Or to me."

"How can you say that?" Mulder finally closed their gap, bringing his arms around her and pressing his lips under her earlobe. Gooseflesh met his breath, but she ignored him. She still held onto her fists; still kept her face from him.

"It isn't fair to me," he almost sobbed. "I keep telling you all these things and you don't tell me anything back. I feel as if I see all these emotions in your eyes and yet I can't define all of them. I want to know you, Scully. And yes, I am selfish: your heart or body isn't enough. I need to have all of you."

"What makes you think that I know all of you, Mulder? We're already here and you still are pushing me away. I really want to help, I really do, but whenever I offer my help you have this habit of hating me."

"I don't hate you," he argued, tightening his hold around her. Scully gasped, and he didn't care if she was shocked by this or running out of breath. "I will NEVER hate you. And I don't do that. YOU do that."

"Let me go, Mulder." Scully tried to move her arms, but Mulder shook his head, only further strengthening his hold.

"I said let me go."

"No."

"This … conversation isn't going to end unless you let me go. We're arguing on different planes here. We're not going to find a middle point."

"I'm not letting you go."

"Yes, YOU ARE."

As if commanded by her voice, his hands tired out and he had no choice but to release her.

Scully sucked in air deeply, releasing her fists, and finally facing him. He was surprised to find tears streaming down her cheeks.

Mulder reflexively reached out to wipe them, but once again, Scully backed away. Her hands shot up, to hold him away. "We need some time apart. I'm going to call Byers and let him bring your overnight bag here."

He ran his tongue over his lips nervously. He didn't like the sudden shift in her tone. "You're not backing out on me now. You're not going to run out on this one."

Another tear appeared on the corner of her eye. "I don't know you at all, Mulder. If I did, very well, then I wouldn't have asked that question." She sadly blinked more tears away, gasping, "Maybe that's our middle ground."

"That isn't fair," he blurted out, feeling his eyes also watering. This was all his fault. If he didn't dare ask her or push her into …

"Don't berate yourself. It always isn't is."

A shiver ran through his spine, and Scully finally started wiping her cheeks with the cuffs of her blouse, turning her back from him and walking towards the elevator. He scrutinized her as she pressed the down button, as she boarded the lift, as the door closed, this time letting her leave.

END OF CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

What do you think so far? Thanks to everyone who reviewed, as always! I'm only two chapters before the end (*does a happy dance, despite the revival rumors*)!