CHAPTER SIX:

#318
Four Queens Hotel
Las Vegas
March 15, 1985
Friday

The last thing he ever considered, when he had set his mind on Vegas, was to witness a one- woman fashion show.

Maybe Mulder should have done something to prepare himself for this.

Scully walked in his hotel room for the nth time (he didn't want to count - if he had, he might have been shipped to the mental in no time), this time wearing a polka- dotted sleeveless t- shirt that framed her petite form graciously. The knee- cut matching black and white polka pants gave the illusion that she was at least 2 inches higher, and if she paired that outfit with the black clunky heels she wore together with the blue Alpine- era skirt, those two inches would become a reality.

Mulder smiled appreciatively, as he had been doing for the past hour. Scully grimaced at his expression.

Before he could wonder why, she pitched the subject first. "You don't like this one."

Mulder raised his eyebrows perceptively, resting his chin on his knees. He was curled up like a little ball on the foot of the bed, still in his pajamas, while Scully had been in and out of her extensive new wardrobe. He suggested that maybe the fashion show should involve another woman, like Monica (however the Doggetts were gone early this morning - Mulder had no idea where to - so there he was).

Maybe the mental hospital was not such a bad idea.

"No... I didn't say that I didn't like it!"

"Then why are you smiling like, like that? Do I look bad in dots?"

"Scully," Mulder bit his lip in frustration. He hoped she would stop assuming things before he could even make a statement. "You look great in anything. I'm smiling because I like that one."

"So you like it," she said, running her palms over the smooth fabric crease over her outer thighs. "What's wrong with it?"

He tapped on his big toe, guarding his answer. "It's too... happy?" He should've rephrased his question with "Is my answer right?" Because that was how he sounded to himself.

Scully scrunched her face up, pulling her lower lip toward her nose. She was now officially a frustrated teenager.

"Fuck," she cursed, not meaning a single alphabet of that word. He knew as much as she knew it: she loved dressing up, creating a private fashion show, and annoying him about this. He deserved it, anyhow, since he kept the audition surprise for a whole day from her since he made the phone call. He told her two days ago. On the right time track, the audition is this afternoon, and if things would go well, Scully would be rehearsing for her opening part tomorrow.
What he got other than this fashion show punishment? After divulging the big "surprise," she screamed right into his face that "NOW I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH BLOODY TIME TO PRACTICE! YOU BASTARD!"

You're welcome, Spunk.

When she calmed down, he received her - get this - second apology. It knocked the fucking stuffing out of him when she approached him and cradled his hand into hers, telling him that she appreciated his help and everything he had been doing for her. Mulder was too dazed about her apology and all the works to even reply.

He thought it was over.

Scully squeezed her temples, placing a light hand on her hip. "Should I go back to the blue skirt? I think I should wear denim, because I'll be changing into my dancing clothes, which isn't really much in the fashion statement -"

Mulder helplessly crossed his heels together. "Why don't you wear that ... that navy blue split- shoulder shirt with your Levis? It'll look great. Add your black leather boots in? At least you'll have some height and some age."

Scully considered it, conjuring up a clear image in her brain. A grin grew slowly out her lips when the image proved to be okay by her standards. "You're right ... you're pretty good, Mulder. We should do this more often!"

She was already skipping happily back to her side when Mulder's mouth opened to protest about "doing it more often." He would hang himself upside down first if they had do this more often.

It was obvious that she considered him not as a director or a caretaker but as a girlfriend - in all the same aspects. Mulder groaned. Look what he has reduced himself into: A 20 year old woman's girlfriend.

The phone chose that very revealing moment to ring itself off the hook. Mulder checked over the conjoining door, making sure that Scully was not going to answer it herself, and picked the phone up.

"Hello?"

"Dad! Hey, it's Em!" His daughter's peppery- sugar voice lightened up Mulder's mood.

"Hey honey! How are you?"

"Fine. How's Vegas? Hit the slots lately? How's your head?"

Mulder laughed. "I'm okay, Emily. Been fine and had it on screwed right since yesterday. It's only Scully who's been pestering me to stay in bed ... I've been so good that the day after I was actually-"

"I was not pestering you, Mulder!" Scully shouted from the other side. He rolled his eyes at Spunk's proclamation. Yeah, right.

"Was that her, Dad?" Emily's voice was tending, unsure. A flash from all the speculations of a relationship tore through him.

"Yes, Honey. Umm, she's staying in a conjoining room. Right now, I'm being forced to a fashion show of her new wardrobe. It's dreadful, I'm telling you."

"Why Daddy," his daughter exclaimed, amused. "You never even allowed me to give you a fashion show! Is this Spunk woman that precious to you?"

"Precious?!" he choked that one out. "C'mon, honey, you're kidding me. She forced me. If she had a gun, she'll be holding it against my temple right now."

"Right," Emily teased. He wanted to raise a dispute at that, but he remembered other important matters.

"Why did you call, Emily? Is there any problem?"

"Not really, Daddy ... I have a question for you, though. Did you deposit $5000 in your bank account?"

Mulder tossed and turned his brain over. Not that he could remember. "No. Why, is there something wrong?"

There were vast sounds of new wave music filtering the background. Emily had been a big fan of every new wave band that debuted into the music biz, and it was mostly the reason for their disagreements. He hated new wave; really, there was no doubt about that. His daughter had a penchant for blasting it in her stereo (a birthday gift from him; fate holds him by the neck that way) every single day.

She had calmed down with the new wave party the past few days ... more because she was always outside with her fiancé than to give him some mercy. If he even got some mercy, he sure did not feel it because of their manor's newest occupant.

Aside from the music, a rustling of papers was also present in her background. "There had been an ... anonymous deposit of money in your name. I've asked the bank to look it up, but they came out with nothing - that's nothing they could tell me, outside confidentiality. They did say that this deposit was a restricted matter - state the damn palpable - that the person who submitted the money could be inside the bank himself or a highly-secured account … most probably from Switzerland. That's the only information they had for me."

Mulder shrugged, "I'll take care of it once I go home."

"Be home next week, Dad," Emily reminded him gently.

Mulder scratched his head, settling himself down on the bed. "Why?" He was sure full of questions today.

"Oh, quit shoveling around. We're supposed to plan the wedding with Jeffrey's parents and Mom."

Mom.

Mulder could not help shutting his eyes painfully at the word and the memories it brought. Life was already too complicated for him: his challenges as a first- time director, with this Spunk issue, with his daughter's wedding … and now, he had to meet with Diana next week. For him, the woman was marked in his book as an epitome of hell.

As usual, he would risk his sanity if it means making his daughter happy. She wanted her mother involved in this, so fine. He would go. He was no chicken shit. He only hated the idea of sitting face-to-face with Diana again. She brought with her foul memories of a forced marriage, normal + Diana = happy equation, and that he spent a lengthy span of his life in the clutches of someone he never really loved. He was the kind of man who did not want to be reminded of his traumatic past.

"Sure. I'll be there. By that time, if all goes great here, Scully would probably be in and out of the dance studio." He tried to sound perky to keep his daughter's hopes up.

It must have worked, because Emily was chirpier than a while ago.

They talked a little bit more, telling each other of what had happened while they were apart, conversing like their normal selves, until a car honk from Emily's background crashed through their conversation. Emily excused herself, shouted a "Wait a minute!"to the car, and told Mulder that it was Jeffrey picking her up. He told his good- bye's and I love you's, afterwards dropping the phone back into the cradle. His daughter promised him that she would further analyze the mysterious bank deposit once more before he came back to LA.

That was basically one of Emily's jobs in his life - she ensured herself as her father's sort- of manager and accountant ever since she was conscious enough of money and its importance to their lives. She fixed his payroll papers, checked on his bank accounts, and kept the whole house in one piece. He once referred to her as his "surrogate" home keeper. That was even during his marriage with Diana.

Without Emily, he would literally be paralyzed. He would have to relearn everything once again, starting from how to do the groceries for his own home to how to make an expense report for Warner Brothers.

He should have listened to Byers. The mild- mannered man had told him a thousand times that he should not depend too much on his daughter. He should not dedicate his whole life to her like a mere mortal would to a deity. He should have listened. What would the mere mortal do when he lost his deity?

Mulder still needed to figure that out.

He was staring at a blank spot on the telephone, finding something interesting in the space on that particular spot, when Scully tapped him on the shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"You are either very worried about the audition this afternoon - which I'm sure you are not - or very jealous of your daughter's marriage."

Jealous? Jealous?! Him?

"Jealous?!" he sputtered, coughing out disdain at Scully's word. "Why would I be jealous of my daughter's fiancé?"

"No." She shook her head, like a teacher to a very dense pupil in kindergarten. "I don't mean it that way... I mean that you are jealous of her marriage. She'll be taken away from you." Then quietly, that he almost did not hear if it wasn't only for the solemnity of their surroundings, "I could see that she is your life."

He was wrong about the teacher- pupil thing. He was the grade- one school book once again. With bright fruit pictures, each page dictating which fruit was orange and which fruit was apple over and over again.

Either that, or she must be psychic.

There was no doubt about what she read in those oversized books, so he didn't think about lying. "Yes. She is my life. Emily keeps me real."

She smiled without showing any teeth, telling him without any words that she understood. "I admire your love for her. You must be a wonderful father."

"I hope Emily thinks like you do," he partly agreed. No father could really admit that they were that wonderful, as Scully was telling him, without thinking about some mistakes. He had done his best, laid out more than 200% of his parental skills for his girl because he believed that Emily will be the only child he would ever have. After Diana, his faith for love, marriage and all that jazz was not even a centimeter long. He loved children - everyone knew how often he discussed having a dozen of his own flesh and blood crawling around the Mulder Manor - but Diana saw it oppositely. One child, and she was spent and done. No more.

They never attempted after Emily.

It was one of the reasons why he was bitter about Diana. Maybe he shouldn't be - she endured the painful C- section when she gave birth to Emily - but no one could really blame him, either. He couldn't even blame himself when it came to that topic.

Scully rested a hand on his shoulder, the same place she tapped a while ago. Mulder studied her fingers on his skin.

"I'm sure that she does, Mulder. I see it in the way you treat each other."

He gazed up, studying her face, her red lips, her endless blue eyes. It was now an unpredictable obsession on his part to see the difference within her baby blues. With every expression, with every anger or spasm her emotions made, he would try to stare into her eyes to see the difference. He saw more in her eyes than in her body language – or in her words, even.

This time, he saw longing. A strange kind of longing.

He wanted to know about her. He wanted to know about her past - where she studied, how she could dance like she could, how she developed that feisty attitude, how she became as she was now. Twenty years was hardly enough time to mold a woman like her.

His mouth was wide open to ask a question - any question at all to pry into this complicated woman. Selfishly said, but he couldn't think of any word that would fit what he was about to do other "pry."

Mulder's planned "prying" was cut off by Scully withdrawing her hand from his shoulder, and the appearance of her other hand from her Levis' pocket. It suddenly made him understand that she was wearing what he had advised. The result of it on her was astounding. With minor adjustments on her hair (a bun, probably, would suit her best), she was a regular Rita Hayworth, with a feisty attitude intact. He breathed in, admiring her unabashedly. She was a very beautiful young woman. Any man would be happy to have her in his arms.

"Would you please put this on me?"

It was a golden cross pendant, chained delicately. Mulder hooked his thumb on one end and tenderly removed it from her palm. He studied the shiny surface of the little cross between his fingers, marveling at its simple beauty - or what it meant to Scully.

"You are a Catholic." He was stating the obvious, obviously obvious.

Scully nodded lightly, dismantling some auburn tendrils from behind her ears. "I was born and raised one, Mulder."

"Really? That's interesting. I've heard that our clan was half- Jewish, but no one really practiced." He patted the space beside him, and she sat down, her back to him. She collected her fluffy frock on one side, turning her head to her left to see what he was doing as she did so. Her chin touched her shoulder. Mulder was fumbling with the lock. No wonder she wanted him to put it on her. It had one of those locks that were tubbornly hard to open.

"My Mother owned that necklace. She gave it to me when I was two," Scully explained to break the silence. When he was finally done, Mulder placed the necklace on her neck. It settled a few centimeters from her collarbone. To make sure that it was perfectly suited on her, Mulder replaced her face from her shoulder with his own, resting his chin where she used to rest hers awhile ago. He studied it against her porcelain skin, blinking profusely as it shined with twice the luster than it had when she was not wearing it.

Mulder locked the necklace with one twist and dropped his hands on the bed. He kept his head on her shoulder, breathing in her scent. She smelled of baby powder ... of strawberries and cucumber. Of the hotel, the mustiness of the bed sheets and a faint touch of his own cologne.

Scully's breath doubled, stiffening as goose bumps invaded the porcelain silkiness of her neck - where his breath was positioned - and it snapped him out of his illusion. Mulder removed his head from her shoulder, rose up from the bed, and stepped back from her until his thinking could be cleared.

It was like a drug, crack, MJs from college. Her scent was indescribable.

"You - you should change, Mulder." Scully bent her head down, avoiding his eyes. He understood why: she was blushing. He could also feel a faint heat from his cheeks. This was not going to happen. She was roughly 20 years his junior; and this was not supposed to be happening between them. No unrequited/unwanted tension should occur. She was his star, and he her director. It should permanently stay that way.

Mulder swallowed, closing his eyes briefly as he did. "Yeah. I should."

Scully was expressionless as she followed his request. Before Mulder knew it, Scully was closing the conjoining door, leaving him behind.

He clenched his molars together, and banished nthe memory of her scent in his brain.

It was crazy. Crazy. Crazy. He IS crazy. A certified nutcase.

Mulder ran a hand through his hair and headed towards the bathroom. Icy cold water would shake all his craziness out of his system.

They met with Jerry Jayson outside his apartment studio. It was behind the totality of the Vegas strip, hidden from the night clubs and the chaos with strong chain- link fences that were monitored daily by body guards. The man made good money from being the Folies Bergere's AD and choreographer. Probably more than what Mulder made from producing films for Warner Brothers.

The patio, where he and Scully were asked to wait in, was decorated with imported and obviously very expensive varieties of flowers - ranging from Birds of Paradises to Scully's personal favorites of golden lilies. There were also visibly audible sounds of birds, probably from a soundtrack that the man found somewhere during his excursions abroad. According to John (who decided to abandon the par-tay; leaving with his wife just that afternoon), the man took a vacation for three years from directing the Folies Bergere, and with the money he earned over the time he had allotted for the show, he was able to travel the whole world. His place was decorated with bits and pieces of his souvenirs: a native urn from Indonesia, a golden Buddha from China, some Eiffel tower paperweights near the pots of flowers, a Dream catcher from Vancouver. It was littered all over the front porch - and that was ONLY the front porch.

Mulder was making trying to make himself comfortable on the bouncy wood of the lawn chair, scared that if he moved an inch, he would hear a cracking sound on his ass.

Scully was fiddling with the lilies, examining all of the identical flowers with keenness that made Mulder want to buy her a whole boutique of them. First, it was her insistence to keep her 7- eleven flowers inside her bedroom and now it was this endless fascination with every size or shape they had.

"He is a very good gardener," Scully noted, cradling a lily in her palm gently. Her finger outlined the delicate petals and she bent her head to breathe in the scent.

Mulder smirked. Scully sometimes would forget that she was pretending to be 10 years older and her naive stance would burst open uncontrollably.

"He has very good gardeners. He pays them good, too."

Scully dispelled her hold on the flower, turning her head to glare at him. An icy, familiar glare. That would count as the 7th time for the whole day.

Mulder, with his immediate and also familiar reaction, snubbed her and shifted in his seat. A groan from the creaky chair made Mulder scrunch his face up. He wondered how much it would cost if he broke one of these. It probably was antique. It looked, sounded, and felt like it.

"AH! Mr. Mulder!"

At the sound of the greeting, Mulder quickly rose to his feet, mighty glad to leave the seat behind. Hearing it too, Scully shoved her hands into her jeans' pockets, appearing like a little girl whose hand was caught fumbling around in a candy store.

Mr. Jerry Jayson was a man who had a tasteful zest for clothes. That was what came running through Mulder's mind as he shook the choreographer's hand, getting a feeble handshake in return.

Mr. Jayson smiled appreciatively at him, tucking in a flower-embroidered scarf against his neck (it collided PERFECTLY with the present colors he was already wearing: neon green, neon orange, and neon yellow). He then proceeded to Scully, who also shook his hand. The only difference probably was that he held onto Scully's a lot longer.

"Why, Mr. Mulder!" Mr. Jayson's eyes danced as he studied Scully from head to foot. Under the scrutiny, the dancer's cheeks blushed. "You didn't tell me that she was this pretty."

Mulder shrugged as he regarded the encounter. He did not know whether he should break the handshake off or if he should get going with the real program. "Uh, yeah... she is something, isn't she?"

"Something is an understatement." Jayson finally disconnected their hands, and he turned to Mulder. "She is more than a something."

Not knowing what to reply, Mulder stole a glance at Scully, who was looking back at him with eyes that flashed SOS. Mr. Jayson's intense admiration was rendering Scully in an embarrassing position. As Mulder had known before that she was not used to being complimented. If you throw a comment or two at her, she blushed ferociously and would shy away.

Mulder moved closer to where the two was and lightly patted Scully's back.

"Should we start, Mr. Jayson?"

Jayson flashed them both a toothy, generous grin. A silver molar peeked at Mulder through the man's pink gums. "You could come in while Ms. Scully dresses into something more danceable." Jayson's pink fingernails pointed towards the entrance of his home. The steel door was emblazoned in bubblegum blue finish, reminding Mulder of his 5-year-old shorts, the one he would never let his Mother wash.

"I am still entertaining a friend, Mr. Mulder. Will you mind waiting? You could wait in the ballroom. "

Mulder's eyes met Scully's. She nodded.

"Sure. It's fine."

Jayson was pleased with that answer. He showed it by flipping his chestnut hair against the wind. "It'll only take a few minutes. C'mon."

The man entered his house, explaining his eccentric designs that honestly, for Mulder, wasn't at all worth listening to.

Bending over under the patio table, he picked up Scully's backpack, and hauled it on his shoulder. Scully waited for him before leading the way, carefully taking the steps that Mr. Jayson took. Mulder followed close, with his hand firm on the small of her back.

The outside of Mr. Jerry Jayson's house was called eccentric. The inside was called pure insanity. Green leafy vines hung in rope- like tendrils fashion from the roof, some tangling with the ceiling fan, and some long enough to reach the floor. Fake stuffed animals lined one wall, and the other with jarred "shrunken heads."
When they stepped inside, Scully paused in silence, trying to decipher the whole design. With her reaction, Mulder also stopped. They both tried to see through the room's limited amount of sunlight, while their host sauntered to the middle of the room, flying his arms all around the designs.

It was a crime to call the place insane. The correct word is "freaky."

"I loved the jungles of the Amazon. I came back to the place thrice over the last year, and since I am now dedicated to the Folies Bergere, I decided that if I cannot go the jungle - then I should bring the jungle to me." Mr. Jayson swept his eyes proudly over the whole vicinity, as Mulder and Scully struggled to take their first steps inside. For all they know, there might be an Anaconda lurking somewhere.

"The dressing room is right here." Jayson danced his hips to a door filled with vines on one corner. "Don't worry," he quickly had the initiative to add, studying the wary looks on both their faces. "It's normally decorated. Follow my direction for the ballroom, Mr. Mulder. I'll be in there for her audition. "

Jerry left before they could reply.

Mulder handed the backpack to Spunk, who was seemingly unsure about entering the dressing room alone. Seeing this, he took the responsibility of opening the door and inspecting the place. When he was sure that Jayson was telling them the truth, he stepped back to let her see that the inside was normal. Scully thanked him for his effort.

"Do you want me to stay out here and wait for you?" he offered. Scully tossed her bag from one arm to another.

"Your call, not mine." She entered the room, switching open a light and the exhaust fan. Mulder closed the door behind her, afterwards resting his back on it. He would wait. Jerry Jayson's jungle euphoria and the fact that eh could get lost in the house really did not give him much choice.

There were sounds of struggle inside the dressing room during the whole 5 minutes that he was standing outside, his hands tucked firmly under his chest. Mulder licked his lips wet, glancing at his wristwatch, then to where Jerry disappeared a while ago.

But, to his ultimate utter shock, the artistic choreographer did not appear from it - a familiar, tall, and handsome asshole did.

Alex Krycek.

Mulder straightened up, his jaw tightening. Fantastic. So this was Jerry Jayson's guest that needed some entertaining. If Krycek needed more entertaining, he could gladly give it to him - one of the left, one on the right. Both black and blue afterwards.

"Why, Mulder. Fox Mulder." Alex's voice reeked of sick witticism, making Mulder's blood boil underneath his nerve endings.

"Alex Krycek. It has been good time since the last." That is, since the last time his whole life was almost jeopardized by this insistent motherfucker. What happened between them that held like an anvil around Mulder's neck? Nothing, really. Alex Krycek simply backstabbed him to his superiors, almost got him fired from Warner Brothers, and tried seducing - and turning against him - his own personal assistant. If Walter and John did not double check on what was happening inside WB, then Mulder could right now be a busboy in Burger King.

Krycek snickered, taking a Rayban from his lapel, and shoved it up over his nose. "Yes, it had been. What brings you here?"

Ah, the incessant villain. The antagonist, always that he was. At that particular moment, Mulder had the sudden urge to lock the dressing room, to keep Scully in there, to make sure that Alex would not see her - or discover Spunk's talents.

After being fired from WB for his deeds, Alex was taken in by MGM. Even if his reputation followed him like a deadly venom, the asshole still was a great producer. The past years after their bout in WB, the two giant companies had silently waged them in on a mini-WWIII: they were both big- shot producers given a chance to direct their first movie. Mulder was offered the directing job earlier than Alex. As for now, Alex still did not have a script, let alone a plot - but he wanted it as extravagant as Mulder wanted his own dance movie. He was a few steps ahead of the bastard; however, Alex's breath was just behind his neck. Needless to say, if he saw what Scully could do, he would do virtually anything that he could to steal her from WB. And from him.

"What BRINGS you here?" he countered. There is nothing in this whole world that would make him reveal the real reason he was here unless he knows the snake's first.

Alex tucked his hands into his pockets, stopping a few meters away from him. "Gazing around; seeing who I could include in my movie."

Mulder laughed at that. "Sure. You don't even have a script yet."

"So do you," Alex pointed out. Mulder kept his eyes in a steady slit.

"I'll be getting the final draft next week. The story was already discussed, and the plots are already clear. Unlike-" He was cut off by a soft knock against the door behind him.

Mulder gazed poison darts at Alex, unsure of what he should do. Scully's already signed with WB. He should not be afraid.

The moments that passed to and fro from Alex, Mulder, the door, and Scully at the other side was tenser than the one he shared with Spunk back at Lone Glitter. Alex was raising a defiant eyebrow at him, waiting for Mulder to step away and allow the lady at the other side to exit.

"Mulder? Get out of the way. You're blocking me," came out Scully's voice. With that audible to Krycek's ears, the snake's expression changed into something Mulder never expected: recognition. He could still read the asshole like yesterday and there was no doubt that Alex knew Scully's timbre. They somehow met each other BEFORE he came along.

Feeling somewhat defeated and confused, Mulder moved out of the way, allowing Scully to exit. When she did - clad in her usual black midriff, bikini, and leg warmers - Mulder watched her eyes adjust to a saucer's size at the sight of Alex Krycek before her.

Mulder bit his lip forcefully, almost tasting blood. They know each other. They fucking know each other.

That knowledge made him feel like a big, big idiot.

"So this is what you're trying to keep from me. Your big star. The lead in Fox Mulder's debut movie... Dana Scully." Alex gave Mulder a funny look that only sealed the way he felt.

Scully did not know what to do. She opened her mouth to say something to Krycek, but closed it, turning to him. He wanted to read what was going on in her brain, to read her eyes, but he missed it purposely. This wasn't the time to discuss something like this.

Mulder held her by the elbow and gently pulled her towards the direction where Alex came from. "You should go and audition, Scully. I'll be there in a while."

She glanced at Krycek, before leaning in and whispering, "Aren't you going to watch? You are supposed to watch, right?"

Mulder knitted his eyebrows together as he noticed Krycek's expression at their interaction. The right word was insulting. "I'll try to catch it. I have other things to take care of. You do your best. Good luck."

From her elbow, his hand transferred to her lower back. He pushed her to the right direction. Scully didn't protest anymore; she headed to the ballroom, clearly relieved to avoid the conflict between the two men.

Now alone, Mulder crossed his arms again. He would not want to result to something that'll require them. "How did you know her, Alex? You two clearly know each other way before I met her."

"No, the question is, Mulder," Alex replied, too fast, "how did you get her?"

Then, it dawned on him. Krycek had seen Scully dance. He had seen her before she was even in Lone Glitter, had probably offered her a career and contract for MGM. The rat probably offered Scully more than what he did offer. Why she took Mulder's proposition, he had no idea, and he would have to add that to the things they have to discuss one-on-one. For now, he would enjoy that realization.

Mulder shook his head, smiling smugly. "Through the Lone Glitter."

"The three musketeers, your faithful advocates," Alex said, smirking. "A hard catch. I must say that I'm impressed with your stamina. You never did know how to quit."

The director followed Alex's statement with a level gaze. Krycek shuffled around the living room, creating imaginary spaces in between their conversation to intimidate him. Not that it worked - he was using the pride of having Scully as his armor.

When Krycek had finished moving around the room, with Mulder still standing in the same place, the rat turned to him with the same expression he was wearing. "You offered her money? A career - as if she'll comply with that? You offered her..." There was a slight dip in his voice as he said the word: "Yourself?"

That was it. The total last draw. Mulder lunged forward and took Alex firmly by the collar, keeping his knuckles together to make sure that the man was feeling the constraint beautifully.

"Take that back, you asshole. I'm not like you. A shitty man who'll whore himself just to get what he wants. I respect Scully, and she respects me."

"You look at her funny," Alex remarked, and it took all of Mulder's resolve not to bruise that perfect chin of his.

"I admire the woman. I admire her talent. I admire her attitude. You want a sample of what I've learned from her?" Mulder waved a fist in the vacant air between them. A flash of fear came to Krycek's face, slightly paling his lips. It seemed that other than knowing each other, Krycek also had a taste of the recognized Spunk.

"Fuck you, Mulder. Let me go." Those words were croaked out as Alex hopelessly pulled himself from Mulder. The director held on, not intending to let go until the man before him pales his face to death. He once came close to killing this man with a ten- inch knife. If it was not for Langly who stopped him, he would've done what he was supposed to do.

He's not letting go this time - knife or no knife.

"Mulder?" The unsure accented female voice behind him caught him unguarded. Alex's eyes flickered from his face to Scully at his rear. The damn bastard was saved, yet again.

"What's going on in here?" Her voice was now just below his ear; he could feel her unsteady, panting breaths underneath his nodes.

Mulder eyed Krycek, who was squirming as the paleness threatened the deftly coward man. The director gritted his teeth, loosening his hold on Alex's collar inch by inch. "We were just finished, Scully."

Once the man was freed, Alex resumed to his ratty- ness, straightening his clothes and elevating an eyebrow at Mulder. As Mulder knew Alex, you could threaten him and the hard- knocked man would definitely get scared shitless, but the SOB would walk away with more schemes up his sleeve. The man would intimidate you until you snap and finally kill him. One of these days, Alex might actually push Mulder to doing that.

Krycek both gave them a funny salute, and cautiously stepped back from the pair. "Good day. Mulder," The funny salute towards him, "And Ms. Dana Scully." The bastard regained the steps he took forward and was about to take Scully's hand in his when Mulder swatted his arm away.

"Go away, Krycek. Don't even think of touching her."

Alex pursued his lips, and at Mulder's words, opted for the same funny salute for Scully. He backed away again, maintaining some good ground, before leaving the living room, shutting Jerry Jayson's creaky front door behind him.

Once that was settled, Mulder turned to Scully. She had her cheeks flushed once again, and her green towel was ruffled on her right shoulder. Tiny rivulets of sweat were coming down her forehead, passing through her brow and to her eyes that spelled nervous to Mulder word- per-word.

Even if he were itching to ask her all about the Alex Krycek incident BEFORE him, he took the good graces of returning her question. "What's going on? How did it go?"

"Good." She wasn't smiling, though, even if Mulder knew that she wanted to. He did grin with the news. "Mr. Jayson wants you inside the ballroom. He said he wants you to sign a contract."

Mulder at once headed towards the room Scully indicated, brushing against her wet arm as he snaked his way out of her melting gaze. She had that interrogating appeal to her - if she wanted crap out of him, she could get it out of him: crap and shit all in one piece.

"Mulder," her voice was tiny and far away as he heard it. He stopped, staring directly in front of him, not daring to turn and fall under her melting gaze once more.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Later," was his only answer. It was enough for her to shut up and follow Mulder into the ballroom.

They should be happy since Mr. Jayson more than loved Scully: the man ALSO adored Mulder for being able to get her in his movie and commended him for a wonderful talent. Mr. Jayson even told them that he was mighty glad that the new director happened upon Spunk before he called John to suggest someone from his crew.

When Scully cooled off with Parisian iced tea and redressed in her casual clothes, Mulder signed a contract that stated Mr. Jayson's approval of Scully being an opening act for the May 6 performance of the Folies Bergere in the Tropicana. If all things went well, Mr. Jayson promised a 3-year contract with the dance show. What that was, was more than he had expected from that afternoon.

However, when they stepped into the car, tension on a live-wire cable reigned their silence. None of them wanted to do the honors of opening up the topic of Alex Krycek.

Mulder honked at a red ford van that was snaking his way around the intersection. Oh, fine- snake. More things to remind him of his rat bastard nemesis. He honked again, a succession of painful bleeps.

Scully pressed her palms up on her ear, clamping them tightly together, as if wanting to crush her head in between. "JESUS CHRIST!" she shouted above the galloping noise he was making. "STOP THAT!"

He did, settling his hands firmly on the steering wheel. A truck passed by their side, and the scruffy driver gave him the middle finger. Mulder ignored it.

"What's wrong with you?" Scully cried out, and he half expected her to kick the dash board with the whine her voice had. "If you are upset about Mr. Krycek, then you should talk to me and not sulk like a big baby!"

Big baby. E- yeah, he was sure a big baby. With frills and idiot-like baby bottles. Idiot.

"Fine," Mulder dared, stepping on the pedals as the stoplight flashed a red. He anchored the car with the emergency break and steadily took a deep, calming breath. "How did you meet him?"

Scully ran her tongue across her lower teeth, probably thinking whether she should cut down the chase and shit all over him or answer his question. When she refused to face him, she was done choosing. "I was in and out some roadside bars before I settled in Lone Glitter. Umm, I happened upon a bar called -"

"Gentle Touch?" Mulder supplied. That was Alex's favorite drinking bar. He actually had seven VIP cards there.

Scully quizzically smoothed her crimped hair against her sideburns. "Yeah. He made an appointment with me, offering me drinks and a contract with MGM studios." She suddenly found the window interesting, studying the static cars beside them. "I gave him the same response I first gave you. It doesn't... matter, you know. I'm with your studio now."

The green light flashed and Mulder released the emergency break, accelerating as he spoke. "I know that, Scully. However, you should've told me about this. Alex Krycek had always been a big threat to Warner Brothers- in or out of it."

"It doesn't matter, I'm telling you. I'm already signed with your studio." The window muffled her voice. Mulder impatiently tapped on the wheel, whizzing through tricky drivers.

"Yes, but it matters..." He checked himself before he could spill it out. He should not involve his star in personal feuds.

Scully sighed, breaking away from the window. "It matters to you, doesn't it? You had a- a... you have friction with him. Tell me about it."

So much for not involving her.

Mulder hesitated. He wouldn't dare do that to her, or to himself. Krycek was another story, one that he had tucked under his armpit and filed it under "BAD." The guy was a freaking menace to his own life and he almost lost this life because of the bastard.

Scully rolled her eyes, turning her body towards him this time, adjusting the seat belt so that it accommodated her new position. "C'mon. This is my business. You cannot deny that information from me. You were protective of me when he tried to take my hand and when I was leaving the dressing room. If I am supposed to be guarded about this man, tell me the reasons why."

She was right. If he was acting like an ass around Krycek - and it was because of Scully - she should know the reason why. Mulder resigned, beeping coolly at another dazed vehicle.

"Alex used to be one of my closest friends way back in college. He was the good one, because John and I were always smoking crack, Alex was the dorm boy. His nose was always in books and you would never think that he would turn into something inhuman." Scully chuckled at his comment. Mulder did too, and then continued. "Alex was - hands down - a nice, honest to goodness friend. Until he was forced by his drunkard of a father to live with him in New York for almost a decade. We didn't see him again until the late 1970's. He was officially a changed man, then."

"Did he become like his father?" Scully tucked her legs away from him. Mulder shook his head.

"No. He became worse than his father. But he was still our friend, so John and I got him a job in Warner Brothers. I was a producer, John was a producer, and Alex - with his wits and marvelous ideas - quickly rose to that position too.

"When the talks about giving me a shot in directing started 4 years ago, Alex was distraught. He felt that he needed that opportunity, he felt as if he deserved it. So he did everything imaginable to get it."

"What you mean 'everything imaginable'?"

"Everything imaginable. He backstabbed me with lies - telling our superiors that I spoke bitterly about them. He has the power of speech. He could easily aggravate you or liquefy you into his charms. The big bosses were angered, and they ordered me a forced vacation.

"Then, when I was out of WB, he seduced my personal assistan - Marita Covarrubia - to get all my files and turn against me. That was when Walter and John stepped in and took care of things. They gathered enough proof of the bastard's lies and shoved it into the big bosses' faces. Rather than getting me fired, THEY fired him."

Scully considered all of that, curling a strand of hair in her index finger. "If, that is his conduct in Hollywood... then why is he in MGM?"

Mulder turned right, following them to a bumper- to- bumper traffic. Ah, Vegas. "You cannot deny his smarts and charms, Scully. They are even giving him a directing debut."

"Yes, I know that," she whispered, almost under ear shot. Mulder did not look at her as he asked his next question:

"What did he offer you?"

"Basically... what you offered me." Scully hid a little smile. "Only twice as much."

Mulder closed one eye, on the side that she couldn't see. She could've at least been a little less blunt about this.

"So... what was the difference between his offer and mine?"

"You mean why I took your offer over his?" She raised one auburn eyebrow. Mulder did not say anything. She accepted that as a yes.

"Mr. Krycek didn't ask me what I was really dreaming about," her hand touched his arm lightly, surprising Mulder. "And... he didn't offer to drive me home because someone might dare to harm me that night." She smiled - one of her fantastic smiles that melted something inside Mulder. The one consisting of all lilies and carnations.

"He's not a stupid guy, Scully. He knew when to quit."

"I'm kinda glad you didn't." She kept the smile as her hand moved towards his hand on the steering wheel. Her touch was warm over his skin. He watched as she molded her palm over the back of his hand, finding it fascinating that the smallness of her fingers fit the concaves of his knuckles.

"Look, no matter how silly this may seem... I am signed with Warner Brothers now. I am under your care. Figuratively - figuratively," There was a large emphasis on the word as her hands twitched over his. "I am yours." She stretched her lower lip when she realized that the words were somehow off- key. "As - as much as I am Warner Brothers'."

When the cars started moving, Scully kept her hand back to herself and Mulder went back to his driving. Nothing more needed to be said. She said it all.

Scully's right. She was already his. Scully was his. He was not going to start a fight about that. Spunk Rule #4 was to never doubt whatever came out of Scully's mouth, anyway. Spunk Rule #5 was also formed that day: never let Alex Krycek - or anyone for that matter - get close to Scully. He needed her until his movie's finished. He needed her for that break. And she needed him for her dancing.

END OF CHAPTER SIX