CHAPTER TWO:

#42 Cawey Apartment Complex, Los Angeles
March 7, 1987
Thursday

Mulder ran his fingers through his coarse hair. He did not have time to shampoo his brown locks today. Emily hogged the shower the moment he woke up until the moment after he ate breakfast. He banged on the door, pleadingly telling her that he needed to get his shampoo so he could shower at the other bathroom, but all he got was a good snubbing from his daughter. It was a wonderful way to start the day.

He studied the steel door entrance before him, looking nervously at the number "42" that was drilled in front of his nose. This was where Frohike told him to go, where Spunk supposedly lived. As he had previously guessed, it was one of those rundown apartment complexes – this time, near a 7Eleven shop that had been mugged three times last month alone. This was no place for a feisty, petite, and dare he said it again, pretty redhead.

He half-knocked/half-scratched on the steel door. It emitted a, "GO FUCK SOMEBODY ELSE'S DOOR!"

At least he knew he was not knocking on the wrong door.

"Scully, it's me. It's Fox Mulder. I- I don't want to –" He was not going to say it. He was not going to say it when he had not even shampooed his fucking hair for a day. Ah shit, he said it! Christ, at least she was not hearing it! "I want to talk to you."

This time around, there were no tense moments. The door opened easily and she was on the other side of the frame, studying him with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. A few suds of toothpaste dribbled down her chin, and some more on her oversized t-shirt that had the words "BOY TOY" on them. Of course, Madonna.

Scully removed the toothbrush from her mouth and hit it behind her back. He thought she swallowed some of those suds, especially since she looked so startled that he was actually standing in front of her – all spick and span – and there she was, barely even prepared to show the world her face.

Through her still suds-filled mouth, she said, "Find somewhere to sit. I'll go wash up."

She quickly bounded over to where the bathroom was as Mulder entered the apartment. He was surprised that the whole shabby place was clean. It was quite pleasant, truth be told, contrary to what he maliciously expected. Scully even had the dirtiest corners of the room decorated with golden lilies. She stacked them onto plastic coke containers, and surrounded each flower with yellow carnations. The dark shade of the room's blue wallpaper was brightened up with those small cans of flowers.

He also saw that she kept everything in order. There was a bookshelf right in front of him and another surprise – the books were even arranged alphabetically! Frohike did not mention anything about Spunk being a control freak.

Then he remembered Scully repeatedly retying her shoe laces the first time they met. Not only was she a control freak, but she was also a perfectionist. Even Spunk detail-obsessed Frohike missed that one.

He had already made himself comfortable on the loveseat when Scully came out of the bathroom holding a green towel to her face.

"Good morning, Mr. Mulder. What do you want to talk about?"

He should be surprised that she did not apologize for her previous morning greeting or her appearance, but he was not. He was starting to get used to all this spunk. "Scully, have you had time to think about my offer?"

Scully tilted her head back, savoring the feel of the soft towel on her temples. "Yes, I guess I have."

Mulder watched her intently as she gingerly pelted her neck over and over again with that towel. She was captivating when she did that. Her eyes were half-lidded from complete satisfaction and stray tendrils of shoulder-length hair were being ruffled by the air coming from the air conditioning unit a few meters behind her.

If she agreed to this project, he would have to add a scene that involved her doing that exact thing with a towel in the movie.

"Umm, well?" he prodded.

Scully stopped what she was doing and faced him. "I wouldn't lose anything if I said yes, would I?"

His legs reacted immediately and he jumped off of the couch. He could not believe it! "That's a yes, right?"

Spunk smiled without revealing her teeth. "Yes, it is."

Ah, now business was rolling. Mulder walked over to Scully and held out a hand. "So, is it a deal?"

She looked at his hand, and then at his face. That was weird.

"Umm, Scully?"

"What is our deal? First," she cleared. Mulder tucked his outstretched hand into his pocket and nodded. Okay, fine, that made sense.

"I'll take care of you while this movie is in process. I know you don't want a career, but I have to promote you. So next week, I'll be flying you to Vegas. The movie starts shooting within two months, so you'll have enough time to rehearse a good dance number for Vegas for a month tops. After that, you could fly back here in Los Angeles to do the movie," he articulated carefully, each word perfectly memorized in his head.

She still did not seem satisfied, though. She appeared more satisfied with the towel than with what he just proposed to her.

"Okay," he tried again, "so I'll take care of your expenses. You can live in an apartment across –"

"I don't want another apartment," she countered too quickly. Mulder shifted his head towards her direction.

"What?" He scanned the small room they were in. The tabloids will have a field day with this! "You can't live in here while I'm creating your public image. I know a perfectly beautiful apartment across my house that overlooks the –"

"Your house?" she repeated, her eyes twinkling. His gut was hitting him on the head, telling him that he was not supposed to like how those endless blues were twinkling at that moment.

"Yeah, of course I have a house. What do you think was I, anyway? A mushroom that sprouted around town when I see potentials like you?" He sounded defiant for he had to admit … he was nervous about that sparkle in her eyes.

He never quit while he was ahead. Yeah, right.

"It's not like that …" Scully trailed off. He would take that as an apology. She did not seem like the kind who outright apologized. "It's just that – wait, do you have a gym?"

Mulder scratched his head, felt his hair, then placed his hand back into his pocket. He did not want to be constantly reminded that he did not shampoo today. "The Beverly Hills clubhouse is just a few blocks away –"

"How about a basement?"

"Basement? Of course I have a basement," Mulder retorted. This was getting weirder and weirder, indeed.

"Perfect!" Scully headed back into the toilet. He waited while pondering what was so perfect about him having a basement.

When she came out, she was carrying that trusty backpack of hers on one hand and her toiletries in the other. "You can wait for me in your car, Mulder."

Mulder jerked back, surprised by her announcement. Wait a minute – did they even reach the end of their agreement? Jesus H. Christ!

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Scully!" He held his two hands up before her. She stopped in her tracks, not even the least bit perplexed by all his commotion. Mulder cleared his throat, for he was certainly a lot perplexed. "What's perfect? What are you doing? What about your apartment?"

"I'm staying at your house," she deadpanned.

Mulder groaned loudly. Impossible. This. Woman. Was. Impossible!

"Scully... you can't stay at my house. You wouldn't... it wouldn't be professional for me to bring home my movie stars -"

"Are you married?" she piped up. Seriously, when she asked that, he felt attacked.

"Divorced."

"Kids?"

"Yes- one, Emily. She's 21 years old and she's getting married soon," Mulder replied, feeling helpless. How did the British say that? Halpless? Maybe she would understand him better if he talked with her accent.

"Good. See? No one will notice. I'm staying at your house," she happily finalized, moving over to the next thing she'll be stuffing inside her backpack.

Mulder blocked her way again. Scully huffed, annoyed at him.

"You can't stay at my place, Scully. I can find you your own home, if you want- you can't stay at my house. If I want to build up your career, you need to get a clean image."

She was obviously ticked off by the idea of a clean image, because the next thing he knew, she was already right into his face.

"I DON'T HAVE a clean image- and I DON'T NEED one!"

Fine. Statement made. Input accessed. Spunk processed.

"C'mon, Scully... what do you want from my house? Why do you want to stay at my place?" He chased after her, picking up the small pieces of paper she scattered when she angrily snatched a book from the shelf. She swirled around so suddenly to face him that it almost threw him off-balance.

"BECAUSE I'm not used to living alone, okay? I AM NOT inclined to living alone in a DAMN apartment and I GET nightmares, okay? The only reason I'm IN this dump is 'coz I have no FUCKING choice!" She threw the book at him. Mulder caught it with his two hands, dropping the yellow pieces of paper on his feet like confetti.

Oh.

"Ok, O- kay. I'm sorry if that was brought up," Mulder stammered. Scully took in a deep breath, shifting her shoulders lightly when she saw the mess that her outrage caused. She proceeded to her packing, though, and paid no more attention to him.

Mulder tapped the book on his hand nervously. Great. Perfect. This was going splendidly.

"If that's what you want, Scully... we have a spare room. You can stay there."

Her face brightened up. "And the basement?"

"What do you want to do with the basement?" Stab him in the back and bury him there? She could be a female serial killer, for all he knew. He cleared his throat to purposely leave those thoughts OUT of the sentence.

"I need to practice. I practice my dance everyday from 3 to 8 PM."

Shit. This girl was seriously dancing her ass off.

"Sure. You can have the basement all to yourself within those hours," he surrendered, handing over the book to her. Instead of accepting it, though, she held her hand out to him.

"Deal?"

Mulder gritted his teeth."You'reonlystayingatmyhouseuntilthemovie'sfinished- Deal." He took her hand and shook it hard before she could even protest. Her eyes widened.
"And you have to go by the rules, too."

Her wide blue eyes narrowed at him. He thought she was going to protest more, but she mouthed a "Fine" at him and forcefully jerked the book away from his hands.

He never backed out of a challenge. Never did, never would.

"Who the hell is she, Dad?" That was the afternoon greeting he got from his daughter. Emily was positioned at the top of the stairs by the banister, staring at him as if he was an alien from Mars that had popped its head inside the Manor. Hi, Emily, I come in peace.

Mulder casually made sure that Scully was busy unpacking her things in the guest bedroom before he climbed the stairs two steps at a time towards his daughter. Emily waited for him patiently, chewing on her index fingernail (a habit of hers that he had tried to stop a long, long time ago- and he liked to think he was somewhat successful since she was recently wavering). He reached her side panting. He leaned on the banister to support his body.

"She's... she's Dana Scully... the Spunk girl I was talking about..." he wheezed. Emily nodded, peering at Scully over Mulder's shoulder who was hauling a carton of books into the room. His daughter turned back to him, appearing alarmed.

"Dad," she whispered, "What is she doing here? Isn't this against the rules?"

Mulder finally caught his breath and straightened up a little to meet his daughter eye- to- eye. "Are there any rules involved in this, honey?"

Her hazel eyes flickered. She tossed a long brunette curl away from her chest and over her bony shoulder. "C'mon, Dad, you know what I mean. The press is going to have a field day when they try to find out where she lives. How old is she?" Emily uttered without any pauses. Mulder wrinkled his forehead.

His daughter was not going to like his answer.

"Umm... she's 20, Emily."

"Oh, shit," Emily blurted out, darting another glance at Scully. At that moment, the pint- sized redhead was bringing in her lilies and carnations. Mulder pointed out to her (back in the apartment) that he would get her all the lilies and carnations she wanted that were TWICE the size of those she already had, but Scully just ignored him. He found it weird for her to bring every single piece of flower into his house. He hoped that she was not going to decorate them all over his living room.

"Dad, I'm a year older than she is!" Emily's voice quivered as she said that. "That makes me feel... OLD."

Mulder nodded, still watching Scully. He resisted the urge to say, If that makes you feel old, honey, how do you think that makes ME feel?
It was no time for his insecurities to kick in and throw a temper tantrum.

"She's British, honey. She arrived here in the US a month and a half ago, so as you can see, she needs a lot of guidance. Scully's-"

"-Scully?" Emily butted in. Mulder tore his scrutiny away from Spunk.

"Yes, Scully- she wants to keep it that way. Spunk." He included the infamous nickname to explain the last name basis.

"Oh, Spunk," Emily repeated, and then followed her father's gaze on Scully.

"She's headstrong, Em, so I suggest that you be patient with her. She promised me that she'll be nicest to you, and nice to me."

"That, that doesn't sound promising at all," Emily critically supplied. Mulder nodded again.

"I know, Em, but that's the best that I can do." He sighed. This was going to be the hardest arrangement he had ever lived in. Probably, if all things would not end well, it could be worst than his previous arrangement with his ex- wife, Diana. That was hell, complete with fire bursting torches. He wondered what this arrangement could be likened to.

"Dad... you told me that there are no rules involved with future directors living in the same house with their future stars..." Emily waited for a sign for her to go on.

Mulder gave her a careless wave.

"But Dad, what if... what are you going to tell the press? This is going to blow up, sooner or later once you start working on your movie."

He clasped his fingers together, leaning against the banister. Right. Of course, Emily always perceived the future. That was her most endearing trait. And why, through all odds and challenges, she was his best friend. She was the only person in the world he could trust completely.

"We'll take care of that later, Emily. What's important is that Scully's already in our hands. We got to her before anyone else did."

Emily considered that with a finger to her lip. When she was fairly satisfied with his answer, she mimicked his position on the banister. Their heads were so close, he couldn't resist resting his on her shoulder. He was a tired, tired bastard. Talking, arguing, and yeah, fighting with Scully took most of his energy. A challenge. Sure.

"She kicks your butt, huh?" It wasn't exactly the discovery of the decade.

"She makes it a loser's butt. She's a fantastic dancer- one of the best, I believe. I guess that makes it worth it. I'm going finish this movie even if my butt's all nerve and bone."

Emily anchored a hand on his other shoulder. She felt sorry for her Dad. "How come she has to stay here? There's a beautiful apartment across our-"

"Scully told me that she doesn't like being alone." He spoke in a hushed tone, making sure that the redhead was inside her room before he answered his daughter. He left out the part about the nightmares. Emily didn't need to hear about that.

"Oh," she replied. "If that's the case... I'm going to help you work this out."

Mulder smiled. He kissed Emily on the forehead fondly. "She's only staying here until the movie's finished, Em."

His daughter gave him her "sugar" grin, a special smile she reserved for her father. "Dad, by that time, I'm long gone," she reminded him, and his expression remained constant.

He didn't want his own daughter to see how affected he was about her marriage. He didn't want himself walking around with a name tag that said "selfish"- and anyway, even if he did, no one could blame him. His daughter was his only possession. Ever since his relationship with Diana deteriorated years ago, Emily had been at his side for better or for worse. It wasn't a big surprise when Emily chose his custody over her mother's. They were tighter than two peas in a pod.

"Yeah, of course." He almost didn't get half of that sentence out of his mouth.

Below them, Scully stepped out of her room, holding a folded carton. She stared up at them, and seeing Emily, she grinned. It was the first time Mulder saw her grin. And Christ, it was fantastic. It was all her lilies and carnations in one whole package. She looked young when she smiled- not too serious, not too angsty, not too old.

He didn't realize that Emily was already striking up a conversation with the young woman. He felt his daughter's elbow on his rib.
"Dad will be with you, Scully-"

"-Dana," Scully corrected. Mulder's eyes widened.

Emily discreetly glanced at her father. "Uhh, yeah, Dana. Jenny made her fabulous secret sauce with the steak. You should taste that." She motioned to Mulder. "You should eat too, Dad. You haven't had lunch, yet." She kissed him on the cheek, and whispered, "Jeff is gonna pick me up. I'll be out of here 4 on the dot, ok?"

Mulder didn't have any reactions left in him. He nodded weakly, and proceeded to meet with Dana downstairs for lunch.

Scully sliced another big chunk of steak and dabbed it with Jenny's super secret (fabulous, too, he should not forget that) sauce. Mulder watched in utter fascination as she consumed it in one large bite. It was already her second serving of those large slabs of steak, and Mulder knew that he was going to be wearing one of those big slobs on his face if he kept staring at her like he was doing at that very moment.

Even with that possible consequence, he still kept staring. It always enthralled him at how skinny women always had the fastest of all metabolisms. Scully was a dancer, so she must be a healthy eater to compensate for all those pounds she burned every hour she danced to the ground. He, himself, watched his calorie intake like a crazy hawk to make sure that he was keeping his body fit. He exercised, like her, but unlike her, he could not eat two thick slices of steak in one sitting.

Mulder swiftly went back to his food when Scully was distracted from the steak. As an excuse, he picked up his glass of juice.

"You were watching me," she noted. Mulder almost choked on his grape juice. Shit, and it had only been a few hours since Spunk moved into his home. He could not even think of living with her every day for the next whole year. Shit.

He recovered after forcing himself to concentrate on swallowing the juice. She was still waiting for his answer when he took another shaky sip of his drink.

"Yes," Mulder answered. He learned over the two days that he had been encountering this woman that the best way to deal with her was to be outright honest.

Scully emitted something out of her throat that sounded like a, "hmm", before offering him some of Jenny's super secret sauce. It was strategically positioned right in front of her. She figured he wanted some of it.

He didn't figure that out. He shook his head.

"If you don't want more sauce, then why were you watching me?"

Mulder forced his lips to form a smile and then took some of that fabulous super secret Jenny sauce. Scully handed it to him eagerly. The question that was supposed to be asked was never asked, for none of them wanted to ask it in the first place.

"Yes, yes, Walter. I understand what you're telling me. She's here."

Mulder propped his feet up on the coffee table. He stretched his arms out on the lazy boy, accidentally pulling the phone from his ear. He forgot that one of his fingers was entwined with the cord. Mulder pushed himself up and put the phone back to his ear. His producer, at the other end, was calling his name out over and over again.

"Yeah- Yeah, I'm here!" Mulder piped up.

"We have casting agents for jobs like these, Mulder. Directors don't do the casting," Walter Skinner reminded him. As if he needed reminding. He had been working side- by- side with a director for as long as he could remember. He knew that the Director took it lightly until the real shooting process started. But this was his first damn movie. He wanted to be as involved as possible to make it happen- to keep it real.

"Yeah, Walter, still she's perfect. I'm telling you. Come here tomorrow; bring the rest of the gang. They'll fall in love with her. I'll let her dance in front of you people." Sometimes, his sentence structure would not fall in synch. Maybe that was the reason he never became a scriptwriter. That was his first real goal way back in high school, until he landed a producing job for a TV series. The rest was history.

"One by one, Mulder," Walter cleared. "I'll take the gang there? Explain to me the nature of your relationship with this woman."

"She's-" Mulder grimaced as the realization of Walter's words struck him. Shooting had not even started and someone was already speculating. "I met her only yesterday, Walter! Yes, she's living here in our house- but that's purely for professional reasons."

"There's an enchanting apartment across your hous-"

"Fuck, I know that already! This wasn't my liking, this was what she wanted, and I only aim to please!" Mulder burst out. He had enough of that apartment across his house crap. "I'm going to make her the lead of the movie, whether you people like it or not. I'm telling you, she's perfect! She has the body, the looks, the hei- well, not really the height, but she's perfect! And she has the attitude, I tell you."

"What kind of attitude?"

"They don't call her Spunk back in Lone for nothing," he whispered into the phone, as if he was divulging the whereabouts of a secret tomb of an Egyptian Pharaoh.

"British, huh?" Walter filled in for him. Mulder raised an eyebrow.

"Perfect. Do I have to spell that out for you, Walt? P- E- R- F- E- C- T."

"Understood the word the first time you said it."

"Of course you did." But of course, Walter did not. His producer always kept pushing and pushing until he could not push anymore. That was one thing they had in common- they both could not quit. Mulder could not quit while he was ahead. Walter simply could not quit.
Maybe that was why they worked so well with each other.

"Why is she staying there again?" Walter asked. Mulder rested his head on his own shoulder. Here came Walter's selective amnesia.

"Because she wants to. It's part of our deal. I offered her that 'fantastic apartment' across my house, but she declined. She told me that she isn't used to living alone, and since I officially discovered her, I said OK. I should take care of her, if she's going to be in the business after this. Scully's only staying here until the movie's finished."

"You had a deal?" Apparently, the sentences that followed the word 'deal' didn't matter to his producer.

"Yes. It wasn't written, if you are interested. It's just a deal - we shook hands and had the deal."

"Do you want to write it down? I could type something for you."

"No need Walter. Just ready the studio's contract - specifically for only one movie." Mulder reclined back on the lazy boy, making sure that he did not have the phone's chord stuck to his fingers. He cradled the receiver in between his head and shoulder, and then stretched his arms over his head. It had been a very long day.

He heard some frenzied scattering of papers at the other end of the line. "You talk like you own Warner Brothers, Mulder," his producer remarked, then sounds of paper shredding followed.

"I worked long enough with Warner Brothers. I partly own that studio," Mulder retorted. A yawn escaped him, and he didn't bother keeping it from the other end. "I need to rest. Been a long day."

"Sure. I'll call you tomorrow morning. The contract will be ready by then."

Mulder thanked Walter, then placed the phone back into its cradle.

He was about to climb the stairs when he heard his name from the living room.

"Yeah?" He stopped climbing. It was Scully.

She was clad only in a sweat- soaked blue jersey bikini and leg warmers. A thick film of moisture covered her face, and she was doing that towel- thing again. Her frizzy auburn hair was tied behind her in a neat bun this time- but that neat bun did not stop some loose strands to plaster all over her forehead. And contrary to the paleness that she always wore, this time, a faint pink was glowing all over her skin.
Mulder made a mental note to himself: he would make her dance for three hours straight, before they would shoot a scene. She needed that natural flush. She looked incredible with it.

Scully inhaled before talking. "Are you going to rest?"

Mulder nodded, "Is there any problem?" He noticed the grandfather clock that was resting in the middle of the room. It read only 7:45 PM. She wasn't even supposed to be out of the basement at this time. "You finished earlier than you told me."

"Yeah." Scully hung the towel over her shoulders. "Where do you sleep?"

There was something about Spunk that would always surprise or scare him. Her inquisitiveness, he surmised, would forever be one of them. She asked questions out of the blue, not really minding what the other person's reaction would be and not really caring if the other person would mind.

It was a great thing he asked Scully to be nicest to Emily. If he was right about this woman, she's contrary to his own daughter: Emily was all sugar. She was, specifically, the ones coating those swirling lollipops that glisten with too much caramel. A little spice here and there, but that was what his daughter was made of. She cursed, but hey, everyone did. She was not perfect and that was never a problem. She was perfect enough for her father.
Scully, well, Scully was different. She was the hard candy underneath - all spice and no sugar.

"I'm..." Mulder pointed towards the left hallway. "Right here. Two doors after the first one. Across mine is Emily's."

She flipped her hand out from under her fluffy towel. Creases started appearing on the sweaty entrails of her forehead. She was acting peculiar. Worried.

"Oh," she coughed out. Before Mulder could even think about her sudden change in mood, she spoke again. "Is Emily coming home anytime soon?"

Mulder closed his eyes, leaned his neck back against his hand, twisted it around to some irregular angles, before answering her question. "Yes. She's with her fiancé Jeffrey. She's in good hands, Scully." He opened his eyes, finding her blinking at him as if he just hit a truck going 100 mph. He had been officially an alien and a drunk driver in one day. He had enough. "I need to rest some, okay? You can get something to eat in the fridge. Jenny will clean it up." He turned his back to her before she could ask any more questions.

Maybe he heard her, or maybe it was a figment of his tired imagination, but he thought he heard an affirmative, "Okay. Sorry if I bothered you," from the lady.

Yeah, right. As if the "Spunk" will even dare to apologize to him.

END OF CHAPTER TWO

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It is very interesting that this fanfic is still archived in some existing X-Files websites. The truth is out there, indeed.

That being said, I am editing each chapter carefully, so hopefully, you read these new versions rather than the older ones. Not that those embarrass me, but there are a lot of changes I am incorporating within each chapter to make the overall story better.

Thank you so much for the favorites, follows, and review. More reviews, perhaps?