CHAPTER TWENTY THREE:

Somewhere over New Mexico
September 26, 1985
Thursday

Since WB was generous enough to book the whole first-class seats of Flight 326 for the entire cast and selected crew of Danced Yesterday, everyone was in their considerably cramped cabin heavens, either sleeping or stuffing themselves with airline food. The last weeks of rehearsals, shootings, and production for the movie left everyone tired and cranky. Because of the continuous rains Los Angeles had endured for a week, it caused a time constraint in the schedule. They had to defer shooting on twelve WB outdoor lot scenes AFTER they have finished shooting in Denton, Texas. Walter already booked their flights on a particular date and Mulder didn't want any more interruptions. Their trip to Northern Texas would have to be cut short though, and after two weeks, they'd have to head back to LA for the remaining scenes. Plus, there were also some location shoots that they needed to finish back in LA.

Mulder chewed on his sunflower seeds, staring out at the cloudy skies over (what he thought was) New Mexico, wondering why in the world the monsoon rains had to strike LA when it was announced that they would be having a longer summer seasons. Now their shooting program was totally mixed up, everyone was exhausted from trying to rush their tasks, and he himself was tempted to turn things over to hell. He still had yet to try that wine and Frank Sinatra evening to relax his tortured nerves.

"Excuse me, Mr. Mulder. Do you want something else to drink?" a flight attendant politely asked him. Mulder divested his attention from the window and stared at the exotic tall woman. She was very attractive, one of those ladies who you had to get a second look at to fully appreciate the depth of her physical appearance.

Mulder found himself grinning at her as he shook his head. "No, no thank you," a quick look at her nameplate gave him an insight on her name, "Denise."

'Denise' flirtatiously flashed him her striking smile and batted her eyelashes at him. However, she was suddenly called by someone behind him. The attendant grimaced, making sure that he saw how she pouted her perfect red lips, before moving towards the needy passenger.
Mulder craned his neck to see who it was.

After the two blank seats behind him was Scully, huddled comfortably in her own cabin, eyeing the Flight Stewardess critically. She gave Denise the once-over with her piercing blue eyes, whispered what she wanted (a cup of water) and made sure that Denise was out of the first class cabin when she finally settled back onto her seat, tucking her arms uneasily inside the airline blanket.

Mulder bit into a sunflower seed, chewing gradually, tasting the saltiness on his tongue.

After a minute, he stood up from his seat. He grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds from the bundle beside him, and started towards Scully's seat.
When he reached her side, she was unaware of his presence. She was staring out the window like he was doing a while ago, the soft lines on her forehead wrinkling her perfect complexion.

"Hey," he called out, surprising Scully, her whole body tensing.

When she saw that it was him, her expression slackened. "Hey, too."

Mulder gestured at her blanket-clad form, accidentally flinging some sunflower seeds on her. Scully was propped up on the two airline seats, using the chairs as a make-shift bed. "Can I join you?" he inquired, watching as Scully grimaced at the mess he had made.

"Sure," she replied, whisking the seeds carefully off her and throwing them in the trash bag. Removing her feet from the other chair, she took a pillow from her head and placed it on the floor to rest her feet there. She had been enduring long hours of practices lately and the strain had been taking a toll on her toes.

Mulder sat down, opening the table and scattering his seeds on it. He ate a few more while sharing an uncomfortable silence with the Spunk.
THIS was all his fault. Things weren't supposed to be this awkward between them. They didn't talk like they used to anymore; they didn't laugh at each other anymore; they even stopped comforting each other.

It was all his fault; his fucking fault.

All because he had fallen in love with her.

Great going, Superman Mulder!

Scully rested her head on the wall, her hair splaying on the headrest, red contrasting sharply with the grayness. She sighed heavily, crossing her arms under the blanket.
Mulder stopped eating his seeds. He stole a glance at his companion, at her tired physique, at her eye bags, at her lonely blue eyes …

He paused.

God, he missed her so fucking much.

Swallowing a magnitude of his damn fear, he started talking. "How are you feeling?" Not exactly a good start, but it wasn't bad, too. He knew that she didn't like flying, and no matter how awful it sounded, he hoped that she was a bit panicky… at least that way, he could offer her his help. His comfort. Like the good old days.
It was like a war. He would charge and then when she was aggravated, he would retreat. When she would charge, and he was aggravated, she would retreat. It felt to him like an attraction of destruction – whatever that meant.

"I feel good," Scully replied woozily, bringing her sore feet up to her chest. She's making the ailing first-grader pose again. The one he hated seeing. The one that made her seem so small, so vulnerable.

Mulder closed his eyes momentarily, then without asking for his own better judgment, he opened his arms and pulled her into them. Scully stiffened when she felt herself being moved, but relaxed when her back met his front. Once again they were two tectonic plates that had finally found each other in the vast waters of the Atlantic.

He held her chin so that she would rest her head on his chest, as his other hand went around hold her small waist. She had been losing weight lately and he had no idea whether it was due to the practices or from extreme stress.

He's worried about her.

Mulder was too tired to think about Scully's proximity and he was thankful for that. She was positioned on a strategic location: her ass right above his lap, and he knew that if he wondered about it too much, he'd get a hard on before touchdown. So he didn't think. He just let himself enjoy her warmth, let himself miss it, let himself bask in it. She was always heaven, always someone beautiful, and she was home.

"I… I missed you," Scully murmured, her voice breaking. Jesus, it ripped his heart apart. Mulder stroked the soft flesh of her cheeks, back and forth, losing himself in this Scully-land and allowing himself to be lost. He didn't want out. He didn't want to escape. If this was Scully-land, he'd gladly stay and be her prisoner forever.

He didn't answer back, afraid that if he did, she might hear how much he did indeed miss her. She might hear something more than just miss. She might hear his love. And she might get scared of the way he needed her, of the way he loved her. He couldn't certainly have that.

So he opted for another way to tell her just how much:

"The last time I was in Denton, Texas was when Emily was only seven years old. There was a reported shoot-out in one of the clubs and the police wanted me to identify a woman that they assumed was Samantha."

"It wasn't her," Scully stated.

"Yeah, it wasn't her." Mulder hugged her tighter against him, "On my way towards the airport, I passed by a bookshop called Ouroboros."

"What does Ouroboros mean?" she asked innocently. Mulder couldn't help smiling at her un-Spunk like question.

"It is an image of a snake eating its own tail. It is devouring itself in a perfect circle. Its eyes are red in anger, as if it is angry at its own self."

"Okay. So what about this snake?"

"About the bookshop. I looked for some books that had topics that I enjoyed back in college. It was a little detour, if you may," Mulder said. "In Reformed Epistemology, it says that any statement about the truth that is also purported to be a true statement is absurd. So the snake eating its own tail is absurd because the entirety of the snake contains its own stomach, he cannot devour - let alone digest - himself."

"But you believe otherwise?"

"I believe that I am oftentimes that snake. That I self-destruct during times that I cannot express my feelings, that I oftentimes devour myself when I cannot show my heart to the world. It is a method that I believe would only hurt me, and not others. But I've come to the conclusion that I am oftentimes wrong in thinking this way. I am that absurd image of a snake eating its own tail. I'm Ouroboros, Scully. That its image is true."

He felt her nod against his chest. "I understand."

Even if he doubted that she did, he didn't ask her anymore. Mulder only hoped that his explanation was enough to ease the tension between them. It was his way of telling her his reasons for shoving her away.

Someday, maybe, he would be able to be completely honest with her.

Mulder remembered Scully's cross necklace: a small memento of this invisible war that he kept in his wallet. He brought it wherever he went. He believed that someday, he'd be able to hand it back to her.

Someday.

Scully's breaths slowed down, and before he knew it, she was asleep. Mulder shifted so that he was more comfortable in their position, since he's intending to hold her for the rest of the flight.

Someday, but not today. And then, he'd hope that he could hold her forever.

Mulder closed of one ear with a finger, struggling against the enormous noise his crew was creating in the backdrop.

"What are you saying Emily?" Mulder shouted into the receiver, pressing the phone closer to his ear.

His daughter, at the other end of the line, started stuttering. "I- I'm sorry I sound terrible. I'm a little queasy. I sent a gift there in Texas for you and I've taken Jenny with me for a while. Jeff doesn't want me working around the house while I'm pregnant."

Her shaky voice made Mulder nervous. His previous experience with pregnancy wasn't as enlightening as he wanted it to be. He started becoming Diana's husband when she was three months pregnant and all she did when he offered his assistance was snap at him.

"Are you okay, Honey?" He bent his head down, as if attempting to hide himself under the table in front of him so that he could talk to Emily in private. The birthday par-tay that his crew planned for him today was very generous of them (he didn't really expect anything from people he himself overworked the past few months), but he did want some privacy with his daughter. Unfortunately, the only living phone extension for the 'Simile Texan house location' was within the vicinity of his party.

"Yeah, I'm feeling good, Daddy. Don't you even worry about me - Jeff is doing that already. I send Jenny four times a week back at your house to check on things." He could almost hear his daughter's faint smile within her voice. "How's your party? How does it feel to be forty?"

He grimaced when he was reminded of his current age. "Same. I'm slipping further and further away from that fucking calendar."

"Cheer up, Daddy. You know what they say - life starts at your forties."

"I haven't started a life yet. That's what I'm afraid of," he kidded, ducking out of the way when Skinner waltzed with a tray of crystal champagne over his head. "Who's sending the gift here? You could've kept it; I'm going back home next month."

"Aw Daddy, I want you to have it specifically on your birthday. And… and the person who's sending it didn't actually leave me so much of a choice."

An Aerosmith song started in the background, and Mulder had to shake his head. He'd recognize that scratchy undertone of Steve Tyler's singing voice anywhere, since it seemed to be the only records playing redundantly at home. Scully was now at the boom box's control panel, as he expected. How exciting. "Who's sending it? Do I have to meet him at the airport?"

"It's… a her, Daddy. She wanted to see you… she kind of remembered when your birthday is and said that she'll personally deliver our gift - including Uncle Byers, Langley, and Frohike's gifts. I told her where you're shooting, so expect her in a few minutes."

"Is she also a surprise?" Mulder retorted, curious as to who would actually bother to deliver a pair of boxers, some XXX videos, and probably a winter sweater all the way from Los Angeles to Northern Texas.

"No, Daddy. I don't think you would like the surprise."

The sudden change in Emily's voice took Mulder by surprise. That was when he caught Walter coming towards him in the corner of his eye, the Producer's eyebrows slanting towards each other.

"Honey, is there something I should know before this all goes to hell?" He already had an inkling of who the person was, but he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. It wasn't at all possible!

"Dad," Emily's voice quivered on the phone, and then some hushing sounds came from the backdrop. He deduced that it was probably Jeffrey trying to calm down Emily's raging emotions. "I'm so sorry… but she insisted on seeing you."

Oh shit.

Mulder's fist met the hard table. It barely made any sound against Aerosmith's crooning song. Walter saw his reaction and took small steps closer to him, quietly asserting the situation at hand.

"Dammitt, Emily… Dammitt! How could you?" he demanded, running his hand through his hair nervously.

"I'm so sorry Daddy, I really am… but I couldn't stop her. She wanted to see you so badly. I'm so sorry."

Mulder didn't even say goodbye when he slammed the receiver down, his two fists now meeting with the table in a sickening thud. Walter approached him, resting a hand on the Director's sshoulder.

"She's outside, Mulder. I didn't dare ask her in. I think it is better that you talk to her outside."

Mulder shook his head forcefully. "NO. I'm not going to talk to her."

"Mulder …"

"I'M NOT going to talk to HER!" he bellowed, making some crew snap their attention to him. That was when Mulder noticed Scully standing in the doorframe that connected the living room to the dining room. She was gazing at him worriedly, her hands playing with the fine silk of her sleeveless bohemian art imprinted shirt. She probably saw the woman outside, had talked to her, and was alarmed that it was the worst person to be expected on Mulder's birthday.

"Mulder," Walter squeezed his shoulder, more as a condemnation than a comforting gesture. "Samantha's out there. She's waiting for you. You have no choice. She flew a hundred miles just to see you."

"Why the hell did she even have to come into my life right now? That woman doesn't deserve an inch of my time!"

Scully came closer, her expression worried. Walter caught her eyes, silently pleading for her to reason with Mulder. She was the only one who really could do that.

"Samantha told me that she wanted to see her big brother." Scully smiled slightly, testing the waters between them. Mulder snorted.

"This is none of your business, Scully," he barked, his stomach churning.

"I'm your friend, Mulder. It IS my business," she indignantly stated. She pushed a lock of crimped hair behind her, her British accent smothered over by the courage in her voice. "Samantha's your flesh and blood. That is one thing you cannot deny. And I believe that the mere fact of her flying all the way from LA to Texas just to see you is more than enough proof that she loves you." She closed in on the gap between them and whispered, "And I know that deep inside you, you also do love her. You are her big brother, her protector, her Superman. Go out there and be that for a moment. You both deserve the chance."

Mulder helplessly stared at Scully, throwing his hands up in defeat. If Scully told him that she wanted him to jump off a 7,890 ft. cliff this very moment, he'd be out on the phone asking for a cliff with that specific height.

Damn. Why did he have to feel too strongly about her? Why did he let her affect him so much?

Walter patted him on the back and silently thanked Scully for her successful effort. Then, it was Scully's turn to place a hand on his back and she guided him to the front door, where outside, Samantha would be waiting.

Happy fortieth birthday, Fox William Mulder.

Back when he appreciated the name "Fox" more than "Mulder," back during those unsung days of innocence, Fox would always beckon his Mom and Dad to bring him back to Quonochontaug. In that place, his heart would be ubiquitously buoyant, floating atop a string of fluffy clouds and bouncing on the colorful flowers. Later on, during the first death anniversary of his father, his Mom remarked that Fox had a special connection with their summerhouse. He was born there. Out of her own boredom during pregnancy, she formed the beauty of Quonochontaug. And Fox William - another testament to Bill and Teena's everlasting devotion and love for each other - was formed and born in that very place.

Samantha hated going to Quonochontaug. She found the place utterly boring. Whenever they arrived in that summerhouse, his younger sister would throw incredible fits that would cut their vacation short, in turn tearing poor Fox's heart apart.

He believed that Samantha hated him. She hated him like she hated those fluffy pink dresses their Mom made her wear every weekend. She hated him like she hated drinking that piping hot milk every night to ease her digestion. She hated him like she hated the world.
Out of Mulder's perfect tootsie-twirling reality, Samantha was the one that didn't twirl. She was a wrong piece of the puzzle, the wrong opposite, the wrong polar magnet.

He tried against sheer will to love her. He tried to be her big brother. When she tripped on an impromptu hiking trip down the forests of Rhode Island, Fox aided her by piggy-back style in his own arms, but she kept wailing and thumping his shoulders to put her down. Out of panic, Fox asked Samantha how he would make her walk when her ankle's all gnarly and twisted.
She only pouted and eyed him angrily. He had to walk a mile back home and a mile back down to rescue her.

Mulder had stopped trying to be 'big brother' ever since. He was ten years old. Sam was seven.

Amidst the turbulent birthday party served up for his fortieth year on earth, Mulder was outside all the festivities, his head cradled measly in his hand as he rocked his body gently back and forth.

In front of him was his so-called sister. Her brown, violet- streaked hair was messily splayed on her tanned shoulders - some ragged locks interweaved with the accumulation of necklaces around her neck. Thick make-up hid her olive skin, demented with white facial powder, and dark eyeliner that streaked down to the thickness of her eye bags. A leather trench coat completed her ensemble, holding it against her thin frame as the silent summer breeze begged her to open it. On one hand was a paper bag of his presents, something that he hadn't asked her about.

This was Samantha Mulder: the baby sister that he was supposed to protect.

Mulder blinked twice, trying to clear her image. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to be a phantom, to be someone who could will this away against all the truth in the world. He wanted the world to stop revolving so that this would never happen.

Sam attempted to smile, but failed when Mulder still resisted looking at her. Lifting the gifts, she stretched her arm out to him, the paper bag dangling from her fingers. "Here are your presents, Fox. I also have mine in there."

Her voice sounded different. Scratchy, probably from coughs and colds. Or from smoking too much pot.

Mulder accepted the gifts. After peering into the content, he pushed them aside and glared at Samantha steadily.

She took his gaze calmly, taking a step backward and elevating herself on her three-inch fuck me boots. It was the only apparel of her wardrobe that was visible to him under the trench coat's length. "How are you doing?"

He cleared his throat. Considering all things, she did fly all the way here just to see him. So maybe she deserved a little regard for that. Just a little.

"I'm fine."

That was his little regard.

Samantha landed on the balls of her feet, pressing the curb with her leather boots. The sound made a sharp tack in his ears. "That's good to hear. How's the movie?" she pursued.

Sometimes, Mulder believed that there were still some similarities between him and Sam. One of them would be the fact that they both didn't know how to quit.

Funny, wasn't it?

"Great. It's doing great."

A grimace darkened his sister's already sad face, and Mulder had to look opposite from her to preserve an inch of the decorum he's desperately holding onto. That was the same face she wore when she found out about their father's death.

The silence was suddenly too stuffy, but Mulder didn't make a move to weasel himself out of it. His stubbornness was telling him to hold onto his seat and to not jump out of the ship - iceberg or no iceberg. Samantha will have to grab that life vest for herself before he did.

However, before his sister could come up with something to dissipate the unraveling silence between them, she spotted something - or someone - behind him. Mulder, disregarding it as no one important, continued to stare solemnly at the hollow spot nearby Samantha's fidgeting fuck me ankle-length boots.

"Who's that red haired girl?"

At the words 'red haired girl,' Mulder jumped to his feet and barricaded the view from his sister. He pierced her with icy daggers, breathing heavily down at Samantha's running make-up.

"She's my leading lady for the movie. She's none of your business."

Samantha stole another glance at Scully, then her eyes skittered back at his face.

"And she is yours?"

"She is my business."

"What's her name?"

Fuck it. Samantha's too nosy to tip-toe around.

"Dana. Dana Scully."

"Nice name. She's not from around here?"

"She's from Wales. What's that to you?"

His sister retreated comically, raising her hands up to signal her backing away from him. She giggled, clapping the solid cement ground of the front porch with her pencil thin heels. "She's very worried about you… maybe about our meeting. She has been at the window during our whole conversation, peeking at us."

"She has the right to be worried," he growled, still standing like a wooden Mulder on the same spot. Sam balked, her face strangely cheerful as she opened the first two buttons of her leather trench coat, revealing red rashes that were destructively splattered on her pale flesh.

She fanned herself with her hands, finally realizing the depth of Texas' summer. "You like her, don't you?"

Mulder's wooden arc melted into an aggravated posture. Samantha still hated him after all these years - after all she had done to him, and after all he had done for her.

Talk about sibling rivalry.

"I don't have time for this, Sam. I'm fucking forty years old and we are still dancing around like we haven't been potty trained. I'm sick and tired of this - aren't you?" he demanded, voice dripping with bile.

In an instant, Mulder was back to being eighteen years old. Back in their old living room that reeked of their Mother's cinnamon perfume. Back to the day when Samantha was arrested. Back to the last days of his perfect existence in Massachusetts. Back to the last day he spoke with Sam as his sister and not as a heavy burden.

She swung her hair from her face, and for a moment, Mulder seriously misjudged her age. Despite the soft creases of laugh lines at the edges of her eyes and the corners of her mouth, she still appeared young. Well-preserved. And as angry as she was before.

"Yes I am. Why do you think am I doing this? Why do you think I flew all the way from Hawaii, to Los Angeles, to here - right now?"

Mulder bit back the rage that was rising in his throat. "Why?"

"Because I'm tired of living like a fugitive from my very own family. I'm sick and tired of this… of this… of your anger at me, Fox! Can't you let it go? Is it so hard to forgive me?"
Large, unprepared dollops of tears sprinted at the corners of Samantha's eyes. They mingled with the dark mascara and they sailed down her cheeks, black as the night.

He remained stoic as he watched his sister exorcise her emotions. He had cried enough for her already, for his father's death and for all the wrongdoings Sam had done to their family.

"I can't, Sam. And I'm not sorry that I can't forgive you. You should understand that you don't just come knocking on my door and start pretending that nothing happened. It doesn't work that way. It will never work that way. Never, between us."

A tense silence overworked itself, straining the rough edges between the two siblings. Samantha heaved in large breaths, turning her back to him, panicky as she wiped away dark traces of teardrops from her cheeks. Mulder, meanwhile, relaxed into his form and sat back down on the lawn benches, stretching his long legs before him.

The music inside the bungalow-type house listlessly surrendered to the evening, taking with it some crew members who had overdosed themselves with booze. They all crawled towards their respective cars with their designated drivers ambling behind them, their heads tilting to give Mulder some medium of respect despite their light headedness. He spotted a blur of red at the corner of his eye, but knowing exactly who it was, he didn't dare look in that direction.

Samantha did, however. She regarded Scully with a small, sad smile.

"At least you have someone by your side now, Fox. Take care of her."

Mulder watched as Samantha licked her chapped lips, buttoning her leather trench coat until he could see none of the disturbing red rashes that littered on her chest. She began to walk away from him, from the bungalow house, from the front porch, and he watched with a heart hardened with years of hate.

Forty years of his life. He had spent almost twenty- two years of that life hating his very own sister.

Have more birthdays to come, Mr. Mulder.

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

A/N: Only six more chapters to go before the new chapters of BOOK II are posted! I'm as excited as a chihuahua here! I hope you guys are, too! (Look at all my exclamation points! Woohoo!)