CHAPTER TWENTY:

Studio 220
Warner Brothers Studios
Los Angeles
July 29, 1985
Monday

"Here's what I want you to do, Pendrell." Mulder tiredly moved towards the couch, breathing deeply before sitting down on it, long legs splayed before (what felt like) his tortured body. Pendrell, in his Mr. DD (the crew's pet name for Pendrell's character) attire of winter boots and dark green bonnet, hovered on anxiously behind the director; his dark brown eyes lighting up with curiosity.

Mulder began to scratch his stomach, acting as if he was bored. Then little by little, he yawned, one finger pointing at the waiting camera a few meters from them to tell the actor that the yawn will be captured frame-by-frame. To further explain this, he continued, "We want the audience to capture your boredom - to capture your loneliness in your apartment." With the same finger, he pointed at Scully, who was currently clad in her 'house' clothes (a jumper with a polka- dotted undershirt). "Then she comes in, your eyes brighten, literally, Pendrell." Mulder blinked his own eyes widely, making Scully stifle a chuckle. Mulder turned to shoot her a smirk, which she ignored.

Returning to Pendrell, Mulder held a grin steadily. "There are supposed to be no words, okay? I want this to be as silent as possible, because in this pivotal scene, we're not going to use any musical background - one advantage for our musical director, Dan Snow, and yeah, harder for you two."

From his peripheral again, Scully crossed her arms, holding her skeptical gaze steady at Mulder, as if telling him face- to- face (or face- to- forehead), yeah, right.

It was his time to ignore her as he smirked at Pendrell. "I want you to be surprised when she comes to you. This is spontaneous. There are no warnings that Ms. Aida's about to fucking split your life into two. She comes to you," Mulder moved towards Scully, eyes still on his actor. He stood in front of her, gesturing at her position. "Walks towards you," this time, he took tiny steps towards the suddenly flushing young man, "on that couch, and she devours you."

"Devour?" Pendrell croaked, neck and face now instantly red.

Behind the large camera and lights, he saw Walter and Kersh, his director of photography, give each other knowing looks. This was another reaction that Mulder had to ignore. Really, literally ignore.

"Christ, Pendrell, you know that there are at least twenty pages of kissing scenes in this movie. Don't let this fuck you up." He cowered closer to him, massaging his temples.
They had been shooting non- stop for ten hours and Mulder had been on his feet and awake throughout the whole night and up until this morning. He hadn't sat down in four hours, hadn't touched food for six hours, and hadn't drank anything other than energy drinks for five hours. Physical exertions on this project were already beating him square on the back, and it would only take one more screw-up on Pendrell's part (he had been screwing up the same scene for six successive takes now; he always had the tendency to flush whenever Scully entered the set). And these actors weren't the one who haven't had a decent amount of sleep for days now. It was him.

Walter stepped in at that moment, patting Pendrell in between his shoulder blades to stop the kid from worrying about Mulder. At the back of all this, Scully was also peering in, suddenly concerned about the director.

The bald producer squeezed Mulder's shoulder. "Give it a rest. You've been up more than anyone else in here. Kersh and I can process the Northern Texas location while you're resting."

"No, I want to finish this scene," he stubbornly replied, shaking his head to stop the painful ticking from developing into a major headache.

Walter leaned in so that no one else would hear. "This isn't a good scene to sleep to."

"Fuck you, Skinman. Don't tease me today." There was leer in his voice though, even if his words were contrary to his tone. He found it amusing that his crew found his relationship with Scully amusing, somewhat. They touched a lot during work, of course, that including meals together and talking to each other privately in Scully's dressing room or his office during breaks. They get kidded a lot about this, even if everyone's sure that nothing was going on between them.

Sometimes, he thought that he was the only one who saw the humor of the endless teasing from the crew. As expected, Pendrell didn't seem to like it flat out. Scully, well, he couldn't get any reaction from her on these kinds of issues. Typically.

"Mulder, Mr. Skinner's right." Abruptly, the sharp British accent was centimeters away from his ear. "You should rest. You look knackered." Aptly put. Mr. Skinner was lifting his crooked nose triumphantly in the air. Anyone who was anybody in the Danced Yesterday production knew of Scully's effect on him. He could never, ever resist her. For some weird and mysterious reason, he just couldn't.

She had some insight on this fact herself - and rather than scaring Mulder, it made him appreciate his weakness towards her even more. She only used these powers of hers when it was strictly necessary. Better wardrobes ensembles for Ms. Aida were as selfish as she could get.

"Fine," Mulder surrendered, dropping his hands on his knees to stretch his back. "Tell Marita to announce a four-hour break, Walter. Tell me after those fucking four hours how the location goes."

Walter nodded, and then started barking his orders around the set. The crowd surrounding them dispersed, leaving him, Scully, and Pendrell on site.

Harry approached them cautiously, striding more to Scully's side. "Hey, you want to go and hang out with the others? See them practice their dance?"

Mulder kept himself on his knees, closing his eyes to stop himself from spitting a side-comment. The kid sounded too damn desperate.

Scully placed a hand on his lower back, "No thanks, Harry. I want to stay with Mulder."

The director lifted his torso up, accidentally brushing his nose against Pendrell's chest. He muttered a 'sorry' at the media baby, and turned to Scully. "Hey, I'm fine, I could take care of myself fine. You go on if you want."

He's a martyr – that was what he was. Actually, the truth of it was that he wanted Scully beside him when he rested for this fucking four-hour break. She could distract him from dwelling too much on "Scene VII" with that amazing warmth of hers.

Her effects on him were overwhelming sometimes. During the night, when he had made sure that Scully was already asleep, he would think about the nature of their relationship and why it had gone this far in the short time that they have known each other. He would remember the equation he had been calculating with his ex- wife, Emily, and John … and how despite thinking about it almost every day, he still did not find any right equation for what he shared with Scully.

He'd make himself goddamn crazy if he continued that crap.

Scully, whose hand still lingered on his lower back, pressed her palm more firmly on his skin. This made her warmth linger all over his body like an electric shock. Mulder had to bite his lip to keep himself from dragging Scully into his office and snuggling up to her.

Shit. He forgot - they weren't lovers. They didn't even have feelings for each other.

Shit.

"I want to stay, Mulder." Ah, déjà vu. Trust Scully to turn his own words against him. Maybe that was the reason why she got along fine with Emily, who was her complete opposite. They both have the gift of making Mulder eat his own foot.

Pendrell shrugged his shoulders disappointedly, in no time leaving them alone.

"You really look like shit," she whispered, sliding an arm around his waist to guide him to his office. Since they have been spending long hours inside that particular studio, Walter had requested a temporary office to be set in one corner for Mulder. Inside the make-shift plywood were two rooms: one for his personal office and store-away bedroom; another as a meeting room.

He allowed his body to partially rest some of its weight on the Spunk. She was asking for it. "Thanks," he said, and despite his weight, Scully was able to snort her 'welcome.'

They maneuvered themselves to the office without toppling. When they entered his personal room, she practically shoved him on the bunker bed. Mulder groaned as the hard pillow hit a part on his back, but Scully was too busy squeezing off his rubber shoes to hear his complains.

Two thuds echoed on the cement floor, and then her fingers were on his checkered polo shirt.

"Hey, don't -" Mulder unwittingly snapped her hands away, only making Scully even more intent on removing his shirt.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" he growled, not even constituting in his own tired mind that Scully might be taking care of him. Well, she did mention that he was tired.

She rested her two palms on his breast bone, eyeing him sharply. "I'm trying to take your shirt of so that you can sleep, Superman. Stop trying to remove my hands…" She fumbled with his shirt again, but Mulder didn't let her. He gripped her wrists tight with his remaining strength and pulled her towards him.

Scully gasped as she landed on his front, her breath flush on his right cheek. Mulder snickered, wrapping his arms around her back. She tried to fight her way out of his entrapment, but considering his physical advantage over hers, well, she was forced to surrender. Momentarily, that was.

Mulder stuck his nose into her red hair. "Hey, now I can sleep."

"Very funny, Mulder." Her words were meant to be taken as sharp as her look, but it came out as a half-sigh instead. Mulder was well aware of the fact that Scully was also susceptible to his body warmth. It was another contemplation to add in his book of Spunk equations.

And the last thing he wanted for his four hour sleeping break was a Spunk cleaning up his office. He wanted it to stay as messy as it was - with the sunflower seeds husks on the floor and the teddy-bear that he gave Scully back in Las Vegas tossed messily on his desk (she insisted on bringing it to his office, telling him that it would add more décor… minus the fact that they were almost practically sharing the damn space and that she seemed to have made that teddy bear her second fascination after the lilies). He was afraid that when he woke up, the spot would be sparkling clean.

She once attempted it. Thank God he was going to use the make-shift lavatory when she was scooping his sunflower seeds into the trash can.

The only way to prevent her from doing that was inviting her to his bed.

Did that sound crass?

Mulder sniffed Scully's thickly hair-sprayed coiffure, coughing slightly at the fumes it still emitted.

Rephrasing: The only way to prevent her from cleaning his shitty office was to get her to sleep. Where else? Of course beside him. Duh.

He was almost into dozing off when Scully shifted against his body. She propped herself up using her elbows on the single-person mattress and brushed her lips against his forehead. He smiled sleepily at the sensation of her kiss.

"Thank God I've locked the door," she toned down. "Look, Mulder, I'm going to wash my hair and make-up off while you sleep. I'll set the alarm for you."

Rather than letting her go, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, pinning her to his body. He needed her to get that quality sleep.

"No… shtay… please… you'll… clean the fuck… room. Stay and slee…p with me."

"Mulderr…" she whined, and through his half- closed eyelids, he could see her roll her eyes.

"Please? You were… were the one who convinced me… that this was…. necessary…" He yawned again, right into her shoulder. He detected a shiver from her spine, but he probably only imagined it.

Scully relented. "Fine. Let's make a deal. You'll stay awake until I'm done washing and then we sleep. Is that good?"

"Good."

His hands dropped to his sides and she left him. After a second he heard the drop of the lavatory's lock, then the relaxing sounds of water.

To keep himself awake, he sat up straight on the bed, gluing his back on the hard wall. His head was pounding as fast as his heart, the pain increasing every minute, but he knew that having Scully in his arms would be worth it. He could sleep better that way.

He didn't have to wait long before Scully exited the lavatory, a towel wrapped around her hair and her face still glistening with water. Mulder watched her as she combed her hair, wiped her face, picked up some stray sunflower seeds, straightened the teddy-bear on his desk, removed her over- sized denim jumper (the costume department will be very disappointed that their prop was partially wet), revealing cotton shorts and her polka dotted shirt - with her midriff peaking. His brain didn't process much of that, because Scully was already on his side, her face on his face, her freckles visible this time. It reminded him about something good as she pulled him down to her side and he slept on the crook of her arm, his head using her breasts partially as his pillow.
Thank God, too, that he was too tired to even get worried about that.

She smelled too good, too clean despite the long hours they were working on the set… and when her fingers sifted through his coarse hair (another consequence of those laborious ten hours), it felt more than heavenly.

He seriously could get used to this.

Mulder waited until Scully's own breathing relaxed into a steady rhythm before he practically buried his face into her shoulder, his mouth dangerously close to her left breast. This seemed to take some of her attention as she shifted to move her bosom away from him, but when his free arm wrapped around her waist, he knew that there was nothing else to worry about. Her breathing slowed down.

He thought she was already asleep, but her voice wafted through the close-quartered cell. "Mulder, have you… ever been in love after Diana?"

That was a strange question. And he didn't try to think about it. So he answered without thinking. "No. There was no such love in our marriage. I kind of gave up after… Diana."

"How could you have endured those years if you didn't love her?"

Mulder chuckled. "Emily. All for Emily…. when you get a kid, you'll know what I mean."

"How about before Diana?"

Before Diana were all child's play. A fifth grade crush on a girl named Megan. His first girlfriend: Cindy and their heavy petting inside the abandoned science laboratory after school hours. It was puppy love with sex – not even making love, just sex. He stayed with her for three years until he went to Harvard… then there was Janice and that quirky relationship. After that was another lady that's so unmentionable he's not going to mention what's her name and how she came into his life. And then… Diana.

He was not telling her that technically he hadn't really fallen in love.

He couldn't say whether he's adding a "yet" or "ever" in that sentence.

"Umm, there was this one girl I had an affair with."

"What's her name?"

"Phoebe. Phoebe… I forgot her last name. She… came in when I was in Harvard, presently a few months married to a very pregnant Diana."

Silence met his revelation. It came to him that Scully was pretty shocked that he even dared to do something as mundane as having an affair behind his pregnant wife's back. It didn't seem important at that time, since the marriage was more for convenience rather than love, but Scully saw him differently.

It paid to alter people's beliefs, sometimes.

He set on when she still kept silent, only her fingers in his hair moving. "The last time Diana and I had se… made love was under the influence of MJs, and she didn't want me touching her when she was pregnant… and I didn't want to touch her either, so here was Phoebe and she let me in on what I am missing in my married life."

"Did you love her?"

"Love? I don't know. I'm not sure," he admitted.

Phoebe gave him the most incredible sex of his limited experience, but he doubted that there was any real love in it other than infatuation. He adored Phoebe because she was not Diana. Phoebe adored him because he adored her. Scully should do the math.

"When did your affair end?"

"Emily was born three months after I met Phoebe. One look at my daughter, and I was smitten. I ended our relationship the same day."

A sound of relief came from Scully. Maybe he didn't really alter her beliefs that much. He's still super Father to her.

Long moments passed, and Mulder returned the question to Scully.

"Have YOU ever been in love?"

A laugh.

That was her initial answer. Then she cleared her throat. He didn't know if it was in disappointment or contemporary recollection.

"I think so, yes."

"When?"

"Not long ago." The fingers in his hair went down to cup the back of his neck. She turned his head to her lips so that she could kiss the tip of his oversized nose. "Go to sleep, Mulder. You only have three hours and thirty-six minutes to go."

He nodded, brushing his cheek against her arm's porcelain skin, and within minutes he surrendered to the a darkness made up of Scully's scent, falling in love, teddy bears, sunflower seeds… and lilies suspended all over a crystalline pond.

Mulder was sitting on the damp grass again, the place strangely familiar from a previous dream. He knew he was dreaming - through the way the pond slowly lifted and retracted the blanket of yellow lilies atop it, while the simmering breeze occasionally reached down to pluck one flower up. He watched this in awe, but didn't do anything about it.

Birds were singing somewhere up ahead of him and he heard footsteps drawing near to his form.

"This place is beautiful, isn't it?"

Without turning his head, Mulder continued to look at the pond; mesmerized by the lilies. "Is this where you fell in love? Is this how you told me that you fell in love not long ago?"

Scully sat down beside him, curling her legs close to her chest. She was wearing a wispy white dress that flowed to her south; when the wind hit their bodies, her hair also swayed like ribbons of molasses behind her.

He wanted to look at her, to take her in with his eyes, to see her beauty, but he was afraid that if he did, she would suddenly disappear like the last time.

"I fell in love with life, Mulder," she said, crossing her ankles together. He nodded, even if he didn't really understand what she meant.

"Are you leaving me again?"

She turned to him, eyes telling him that she was shocked by his idea. "I didn't leave you the last time."

"Then what did you do? Disappeared into thin air? Poof?" He still missed her eyes, still afraid to look, hoping that the advent of humor in his statement would make up for his fear.

"You wanted me to go. You told me that…" she drifted off, noticing suddenly his hesitation to look at her. She anchored a finger under his chin and willed him to look at her directly in the eye. Did he seriously think Scully would ignore his indifference for so long?

When he did comply, he found something in them that was different from the thousands of times he had looked into Scully's eyes.

Different…

"Why are you doing this to me?" he gasped, pulling his head away.

No. It couldn't be.

"I am not doing this. You are."

That was the last coherent word that came out of her mouth when Scully's lips descended on his. He resisted her, pushing her shoulders away in anguish, not wanting to believe the possibility. She was his best friend! How could this happen between them? What they were to each other was too precious to complicate …

Her tongue entered his lips, little by little, and he surrendered with a moan, opening his mouth wide to receive her. Too good, his mind chanted smugly, too good. There she was - on his teeth, on the ceiling of his mouth, and then on his own tongue… dancing, sweet like strawberries, heavenly…

Don't stop.

Mulder opened his eyes, his breathing ragged. There were several large dots clouding his vision, and he remembered where he was sleeping.

Much to his chagrin, his face was directly on Scully's round breasts, and the hand that was wrapped around her waist was stroking the tender flesh on her back. In his sleep, he had managed to squeeze his fingers into her shirt and those fucking fingers were now stroking her bra's clasp.

Not to mention his fucking raging erection right now.

Oh shoot, he better stop saying the f - frigging F word before…

He checked on Scully, found her asleep with a tiny smile dancing on her lips. Fortunately, she was - or else he would've been embarrassed beyond his mind if she was awake and she saw his state.

Slowly, like a cat on a tin roof, he removed his hand from her shirt, lifted his head from her chest, and crept out of the bunker bed as sleekly as possible. His erection was hovering dangerously near Scully's inner thigh (more matters to be worried about!) and he was using every bit of precaution to keep it from brushing against her legs.

Successfully done, Mulder shuffled towards the lavatory and locked the door.

The sink had a circular mirror attached to it, and that was where he found himself. He speckled his face with cold water until a circular wet spot started to appear on his chest. He continued wetting himself, his hair, his arms, cleaning himself of that fucking dream, cleaning himself of the thoughts…

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror. His chocolate brown hair were disorderly stuck to his forehead like wet paint brushes, his hazel eyes dilated, his eye bags painfully visible, lips parted and slick with his own saliva or the water.

He DID look like shit.

Another splash of water.

He looked again.

Still shit.

Another splash, this time spilling puddles onto the floor.

He looked again. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Mulder braced his hands on the wall before him, staring at his reflection, hazel-eye-to-hazel-eye.

"You aren't feeling this, you asshole. Goddamn you, you aren't feeling this."

No, he was not in love with Scully. He SHOULD not be.

Fucking shit.

Mulder splashed himself again, a strange ticking in his brain asking him if he would ever stop.

His arms were crossed as he watched Pendrell and Scully perform their first kissing scene. He hoped to God that this was their last take. There was a strange pounding in his hollow rib cage that seemed to emanate every time Scully sat down beside Harry and literally devoured him. Her lips crashed onto her co-star's and even if Pendrell's supposed to act surprised, his red cheeks tell Mulder that the man's delighted to be doing this.

Through his suggestion, the two had to show more tongue onscreen; at the same time, they had to also still their breathing so that it would look good on camera.

Scully moved her head to one side, deepening their kiss. Pendrell followed her movement, and in the script, he was supposed to smile through their kiss. The young man did as it said, holding her by her neck and crushing her against his body.

Cut. His inner self scolded. Cut the fucking scene.

Not yet. They needed at least thirty seconds of kissing on film.

Nonchalantly, Mulder stared down at his watch and silently swallowed when he saw that the thirty seconds were up.

"Cut!" he bellowed.

Scully divested her lips from Pendrell's with a pop that echoed in Mulder's brain. The director swore that he could hear a whimper from the young man's throat.

She ran towards the far end of the set, meeting with Marita. The blonde woman handed Scully a glass of water, and she drank it, sullenly finishing every drop.

Harry Pendrell must be some kisser. But God, he knew instinctively that Scully was even better.

Mulder bit the insides of his cheek. Dangerous thoughts, man. Dangerous. He shouldn't think about these things while he was on set. Or anywhere else near Scully.

"Love that scene," Mulder told Kersh, who was standing beside him. The DP agreed, leaving him momentarily alone to talk to the camera man. After a nanosecond, he returned.

"We are doing that one in. Do you want to take another break or continue on with the next scene?" The hoarse scrape of the man's vocal chords jerked Mulder from his thoughts.

Kersh had a low gruff voice that always called for attention wherever he went. Now that John was still unavailable to be Assistant Director (he will be in October), Kersh graciously offered to be second-in-command. The tall black man was a great predecessor to John: he could tame Mulder and Walter when the two couldn't quit bickering.

"What time is it?" Mulder asked, weighing the options.

"Six AM. Walter's around the corner, dozing. He said that you can have the decision on whether we'll continue or not."

"Are the crew exhausted?" He considered the others' conditions than his, since if they asked him flat-out, he would keep on going until the movie's finished. That was not possible in the real world, but in Fox Mulder's world, it was. Very.

"They've been up for two hours since the four-hour break. I think they'd like to have some coffee. Why don't you go home and we'll meet tomorrow afternoon around four PM? That's the next one on the schedule."

"Sure," he said, a little too quickly for Mr. Superman. Kersh gave him a lopsided worried reaction that said how unusual it was for Mulder to refuse an offer to continue, but the DP let this one pass.

No more words were needed to be said as his DP went on to give this new announcement to his crew. Some cheered cautiously, making sure that Mulder didn't hear their enthusiasm.

Fine, so he understood that he was working them off like Egyptian Slaves - building an imaginary pyramid with cameras, lights, and action - but he couldn't really help himself. They've worked with him for years now; they should've seen this coming even before they were assigned to this project.

He strode out of the set, his mind a fine mess, thanks to the production, his current problems, and the incessant deafening beat of his fucking heart.

Home. He wanted to go home. He would sink himself into a warm bubble bath and stay in there for hours. After that, he'd ask Jenny to bring him that chilled Chardonnay he had been keeping in the refrigerator and a plate of sunflower seeds. He would put on his Frank Sinatra record and he would doze off with the pure ecstasy of filtering sounds and wine.

Home. He was going home. He had to clear his mind; He needed to be fresh for this afternoon's shooting.

"Mulder?"

God. He moved a few steps away from the damned set and she had to follow him.

He whirled around to face her, his fury out in the open. Scully was surprised by the unusual rage in his eyes, but she dismissed it easily to the fact that Mulder had been on his feet for hours - and the three-hour nap he had with her wasn't enough to recuperate his exhaustion.

"Are we going home?"

Oh, yeah, he recalled. He LIVED with Scully.

Fuck.

"Why don't you let Marita drive you home, huh? I think I want to do something else before I go back to the Manor," he snapped, jumbling the sentences up. Scully's eyebrows crinkled; she opened her mouth to say something, but quickly closed them when Marita approached them. His blonde assistant, a good three inches higher than Scully, placed an arm around the redhead and drew her away from him.

Within his earshot, he heard Marita whisper to Scully: "Mr. Mulder's tired, Dana. Why don't I drive you home?"

Scully let herself be led away like a girl who all too commonly appeared in cliché family movies. The little girl who wanted to see Daddy but Daddy was too busy and angry over life to attend to his baby.

Mulder ran a hand over his coarse hair, shifting his knuckles over the hardened strands.

He was too angry with her because he was feeling this way. And he didn't know what he was going to do about it.

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY