CHAPTER THREE: Strength of Will

"Hold on, hold on to yourself...
For this is gonna hurt like hell.
Hold on, hold on to yourself...
You know that only time can tell.
What is it in me that refuses to believe?
This isn't easier than the real thing.

My love, you know you are my best friend,
You know that I'd do anything for you
and my love,
Let nothing come between us, my love for
you is strong and true.

Am I in heaven here or am I?
At the crossroads I am standing..."

- Hold on by Sarah Mclachlan

There were not many opportunities that he had bought flowers for women he admired – not even for his own mother. In all honesty, Mulder abhorred the task of going through the thousand and one arrangements of daisies, roses, lilies just to pick the one that would stand out to a particular woman.

Scully never needed flowers from him to prove that what they had was real. His words and actions were enough: his tongue on her clavicle or his fingers on the silky skin of her cheek. Of course, sometimes, he indulged. There were times when he brought her flowers to the hospital when she had cancer or during the unfortunate times that their cases landed one of them inside a Bureau-paid private room, but that was it. However, there was that one time that he did buy her flowers for purely romantic purposes. Funny, since it was not really necessary.

They had a fight then, Mulder remembered. He wanted Scully to conduct an autopsy on a mutilated Californian tourist in DC on a Sunday morning, while she wasn't even finished writing her field reports for Monday.

Mulder traced his finger on a delicate white rose nestled within the display stand, and he pinched its soft petal. It was sporadic, this decision to buy flowers,and when the cottage façade caught his eye, he thought that it might make him feel better about himself or the situation. He immediately parked in front of the shop before he could talk himself out of the idea. The whiff of the pseudo-botanical garden inside the shop intoxicated his senses at once, and it somberly reminded him of a scent he once slept and woke up with.

She was so angry then when he entered her apartment with so much confidence in his badass stride. Scully shattered that grand entrance when she shouted that he "took her for granted" and he "didn't care about her professional goals!"

That wasn't true. He cared a lot, maybe too much. He only sometimes forgot to show it.

She stormed past him that evening and left him speechless in her wake. He acknowledged that it was his fault (somewhat) so he had to apologize – a task both of them dread when it came up from time to time. It was even worse at that time, since the apology had to cover both professional and personal bases.

He got her three dozen white roses with a single red rose in the middle of the humongous arrangement. He obviously overdid it. Though it felt worth it because an hour after he was about to leave his apartment to go to hers and give her his present, she was already at his door, poised to knock. She apologized to him before she could even enter his place and all he could do was to point at the roses on his couch and tell her, "I was about to do the same thing. Only … with a slight difference."

Scully laughed hard and they kissed. He knew it then when he held her flush against his body – she didn't need a material proof of the way he felt for her. What they shared together was proof enough.

Nevertheless, she whispered, "Thank you for the flowers, Mulder," against his lips before he claimed hers.

What happened after that … well, Mulder couldn't allow himself to think about it, or else he would have a painfully obvious hard-on and the lady behind the counter would surely notice, especially since she had been eyeing him the whole time since he entered the shop.

Mulder released the white rose and allowed his heart to unclench from the pain. He distracted himself with choosing which ones to buy. Red or white roses? They have blue ones. They actually paint roses now.

But Scully wasn't like any other girl he had ever met or been with before. She was confident in his love for her, but never did take it for granted, either. She made him feel real, insane, complete, everything … for him, she was the only woman he ever wanted.

"What will you take, laddy boy?" the bleached-blonde lady behind the counter cried out in a seductive gasp. Mulder grinned politely at her, ignoring the scream in his mind of buy flowers and leave. Buy flowers and leave.

"I'll take a dozen red roses, please."

The lady scooted over and gathered (what he hoped) the finest red roses from the bunch. She made sure that Mulder saw her gently shaking her shapely ass in the air and he tucked away his head in turn, finding something else fascinating with the daisies at the far end of the room. Soon, he was paying for the flowers by the counter and was silently admiring the tiny bow that wrapped around the roses. She will love it, he convinced himself, she has to.

Times sure had changed. Mulder was buying flowers and actually pleading that she would like them. That was freaky.

Mulder was about to pay for the roses when something at the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Oh, hail England!

Sunflower Seeds.

"I'll have two of those, too," he told the lady, pointing at the small packs as a little boy would to a new set of toy cars. After he paid for all of them, he eagerly took his purchases out of there. He would have to start screaming in amok if the woman licked her lips and batted her eyelashes at him one more time.

When Mulder was back inside his rented car, he quickly opened a pack of sunflower seeds and started cracking a few between his teeth as if he hadn't tasted one in years. He was so fucking nervous. He couldn't think straight anymore … no, wait, he should relax; he should inhale and exhale. Breathe in and out.

He suddenly looked at the bouquet of roses he placed on the passenger seat and wondered if she would appreciate them. Would she? After what he had done to her?

Mulder felt ridiculous. He held his breath.

What am I doing with these?

"What are you going to do now, Mulder?"

A familiar shaky voice shook Mulder of his self-pity party. He pulled his head from his hands and noticed his wet palms. He had been crying. And there was a jackhammer going off inside his head and heart.

"Are you going to tell her the truth?" This statement was from another voice, but this time it was more calm and collected.

Mulder still didn't answer. He just stared at his palms as if he had only realized he was crying in front of the three stooges, of all people.

He was suddenly afraid. Gazing up, he found the Lone Gunmen peering at him through the dark lighting of their headquarters. The piles of computer spare parts and newspapers contrasted with the brightly-painted walls and blocked the sunlight from the windows.

Byers was able to procure some pertinent data to prove Mulder's fears. He had broken down afterwards with an unnamed dread he had never felt before. His friends allowed him space, thinking that if they let him release his anguish, he would be more cooperative afterwards. It seemed as if they had failed.

Frohike removed his grayish-brown cap from his head and settled it above his chest. "You could do what Jeremy Cromwell told you to do. Tell Scully the truth and book her a flight to Egypt, Switzerland, Sweden, China … wherever!"

"I-it's not that easy, Frohike," Mulder replied, finally finding his voice and wincing when it sounded pathetic to his ears.

"Why not?" Langly demanded, flipping his blonde hair away from his face. "Scully would not hold it against you."

"It's not that easy anymore, because …"

"Because what, Mulder?" Byers lightly asked, kneeling in front of him. He pointed a clenched fist at the others as a warning for them to keep their mouths shut.

"Scully and I … we're …"

"You're married, aren't you?"

"FROHIKE!" Langly and Byers shouted in unison, looking at him with dagger-like eyes. The small Gunmen made a motion that indicated him zipping his mouth in reply.

"It's almost like that. Scully and I ARE together."

Frohike looked away in mock pain and made little gasping sounds of shock, motioning for Langly to comfort him. Langly complied exasperatedly and patted Frohike on the back while rolling his eyes.

Byers, as usual, the one left behind to handle the situation. He sighed loudly at his peers and turned to Mulder. "This makes it all complicated now, doesn't it?"

"Yes. She'll never let me face this threat alone. She'd hate to feel vulnerable. She'd …" Hate me, but he couldn't say it out loud. Another tear escaped his eye and he hastily wiped it away. "Scully would want to face those rebels with me and there is no question that she would die. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't lose her. That's the reason why I never told her what Jeremy Cromwell had told me. Instead, I said that he was schizophrenic and wanted attention from the FBI." She didn't buy it, but another case came by and she was too busy doing autopsies she forgot all about it, much to his relief. "When Cromwell died two days after, the exact number of hours he had given me as proof, I needed more information. I need to know how she could survive."

"You know what you have to do, Mulder. There may be no other way. We could try and help you the best we know how … but what you originally intended to do, I don't think I like the sound of that," Byers reasoned out, his voice growing softer as he ended his statement. At this point, Frohike 'regained' consciousness and perked his ears up.

"What plan is that?" Frohike interjected.

"Mulder has a plan worked out already. He told me over a secure line when I called him to inform him of the circumstances regarding Cromwell's death."

"What's the damn plan?" Frohike once more demanded.

"Pain; extreme and excruciating pain."

Langly and Frohike immediately didn't like the sound of it. Frohike grumbled. Even if Mulder had stolen Scully away from him, the Agent was still one of their best friends, and seeing their best friend in pain wouldn't really atoll for the one he falsely professed. He would rather see Mulder and Scully together than see one of them in anguish. He knew that they were meant for each other.

"I wouldn't let you do that, Mulder," Frohike declared, also kneeling beside Byers. He hesitated before putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I don't think pain could save her. It might, in turn, destroy both of you."

"What if it COULD save her, Melvin?"

Oh no, Frohike thought. When Mulder called them by their first names, it meant that he was closer to making a decision than they originally had anticipated.

"No, hot shot, don't do this to yourself …" Langly protested, standing behind the two Gunmen who also wore faces of pure worry.

Mulder hastily wiped his face again, then stood up from the chair. His face showed nothing – not pain, not determination – just nothing. His eyes were glassy; his mouth tight. The Gunmen all shivered. This wasn't the Mulder they knew ever since Scully came. This was the Mulder they met when he was alone and desperate …

"Book a flight for Scully in a pseudonym, Byers. Charge it on me anonymously."

"Where to, Mulder?"

"To the UK. Oxford."

"Wh-what will you do to her?" Frohike had to rephrase his question when he realized how ridiculous it sounded. "What will you tell her?"

"I'll tell her that I'll stop these new breed of rebels. That I don't want her to end up as another dead body for the Shadow Government's statistic. That she needed to live because I needed to live."

A wave or relief washed over the Gunmen. "Really?" Langly wanted to clarify.

Mulder's face broke, and they knew it. He wasn't going to tell her the truth. He was going to lie to his best friend, his lover, his partner, his Scully.

The Agent couldn't meet their eyes as he gathered his briefcase and coat in his arms. They were silenced in their dismay. All of them wanted to do something to stop Mulder – anything just to shake him out of it, but then again, they knew him. Mulder could never be talked out of anything he was hell bent on doing. They were not Scully, and even she sometimes failed in that department.

Before Mulder left their apartment, he glanced back.

"I know what I'm doing, guys. Thanks for your help."

Closing the metal door behind him, a loud buzzing sound came out of their alarm. It was so shrill and loud. It pierced his eardrum painfully …

BEEP!

BEEP!

Mulder moved his head to one side, then to the other. He peeked at the huge red trailer truck behind him, opened his window, and waved an apology.

He needed to concentrate on the road if he ever wanted to reach his destination on time … or if he ever wanted to reach his destination in the first place.

He stepped on the pedal and the car accelerated faster than the twenty he had unwittingly maintained a while ago. He didn't even realize he was already driving.

Just from a simple decision that took a life of its own, just from a single betrayal … that was probably the most painful day of his entire life.

Oh, Christ. Maybe he should include tonight for a runner-up.

With his speed reaching a good steady sixty, Mulder glanced at the roses on the passenger seat and touched them carefully. Their soft texture was almost as soft as her skin in the morning.

He pulled his hand away and settled it on the wheel. The flowers could help ease the unfamiliar tension between them. He was not sure if she was still the same woman he had grown to love over the years; if time had healed her anger for him, or if she still was angry at him.

Times sure had changed.

Another sunflower seed cracked between his teeth and damp husks were thrown into the plastic bag that was opened on the space in between the driver's and passenger's seats.

END OF CHAPTER THREE

A/N: Thanks for the feedback! The lack of italics to signal the flashbacks were intentional – I wanted to blur the present with the past as I had originally posted it before in the old TXF boards. I realized that it could get quite confusing so I italicized the lines that signaled the shift between present to past or vice versa. Hope it helps!

Oh, and are you guys ready for Chapter Four? (with an evil grin)