A/N: Go ahead, play Foreigner's I Want to Know What Love is in the background. You know you want to. ;)

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT:

Studio 018
Warner Brothers Studios
Los Angeles
February 19, 1986
Wednesday

His dark blue sweater curled into his abdominal muscles as he bent over to tie his wood-colored boots tighter, even if the knots were already perfectly done. He redid the ribbons, his current fixation only reminding him of that time not-so-long-ago in the dressing room of a bar, when a twenty-year-old redhead redid her shoe laces again and again while he drunkenly persuaded her to be the lead actress for a certain movie …
Mulder bent his back further down to reach his right foot when his name was suddenly called, the syllables echoing in his brain.

"Shit," was his immediate response.

The people around the table he was seated in coaxed him to hold his head up high, stand up, and walk towards the middle of the room, where a microphone was held up by Walter's nimble fingers, gently swaying to his direction. More calls for him to take the microphone. More wolf whistles versions of his name.
Mulder sighed, burning his throat with red wine, and gathered himself towards the middle of the room. The others cheered goofily, some chanting his name with every step he was drawing, others demurely clapping their hands.

There was one person that differed, though.

She was seated three tables away from his own, stoic against the tidal waves of cheers that were sweeping their own comrades. Her blue eyes were wide, jittery, and her hands nervously smoothening the tablecloth's lace. Her expression was more or less the casual deer-caught-in-the-headlights kind that immediately alarmed him: she was afraid, just as he was.

Twelve months together. Mulder had known Scully for twelve months. Had it only been twelve months? Because it felt like he had known her his whole life, and lifetimes before this existing one. Crazy; but deep inside his heart, gut, soul, he knew it was the truth.

He tried his best to shake off the intense desire to look at her, to somehow gather strength from her blue depths. With his best stride, he blindly and emotionlessly took the microphone from Walter Skinner. The bald Producer grinned crookedly at him, before settling back to the same table Mulder came from.

The Director tapped on the microphone gently, emitting small claps of thunder from the speakers it was attached to. After he was assured that it wasn't giving up on him (he kind of hoped it would, for the record), he directed it close to his mouth, hearing his ragged breath emanating from everywhere inside the cramped studio.

"Good evening, guys," he started, forcing a smug grin from the hollow part of him. The semi-drunk/semi-conscious crowd replied a same greeting to him, a prompt to go on with his intended speech for the evening. Mulder allowed himself to breathe and then launched on.
"For the rest of you tonight, this is the end of all the bullshit we've put up with for the past… I don't know… was that seven months? That fast? Anyway, this is where we all are going to say goodbye to our main characters," he regarded the table Scully was sitting in with an admiring wave, "for the rest of you guys out there who know that I still have you by the neck, we'll all be back next week to launch on post-production," Mulder turned towards Skinner, who was guffawing at his words, "don't laugh, Skinman. You're on the chopping board next week." His mentioned friend stuck up his middle finger high in the air, dropping it when Mulder laughed at this expected reaction.

"Thanks to everyone for this wonderful opportunity. I couldn't have done it without anyone who's here in this room tonight. I know you're all waiting for me to officially close this movie, and goddammitt, I must be the only one who's having mixed emotions about the end of filming … but hey, it's life. I had the best crew in the damn world, the best actors I've ever dreamed of working with, the best people around me, the best studio, and I'm still a fucking selfish son of a bitch who doesn't want this to end. I understand that I've worked you guys all so hard, but the REAL thank you is in the paychecks next month." Giggles were dispatched after his last statement and Mulder grabbed this opportunity to catch Scully's eyes. She blushed and stared down at her hands when she realized what he was going to do next.

"I also want to, umm, seize the stage for this, since I'm already up here and hey, what the fuck, right?" Mulder gathered courage from the undisclosed territories of his heart and moved himself so that he was facing Scully's table. The meager spotlights aimed their beams towards the main cast's table.
"I want to tell the most wonderful lady in this whole damn room that I am going to hope for the best in her career, I'm sure it'll move up and about from here. And that I'm going to," he choked suddenly, the words so hard for him to get out. But he did, anyway, "I'm going to miss you. Very much."

Claps erupted in the room, standing ovations, more confetti.

Mulder dropped the microphone back to its stand, using the remaining ounce of his bravado to control the tears that were threatening to overwhelm him. Scully locked her eyes with his for a second, and then dropped them once again to her hands. She was the only one who wasn't clapping or standing up. Her leg had been treated successfully later yesterday and the doctor had given her pills to ease the pain. Standing up wasn't a problem for her anymore.

Twelve months of knowing this woman. One fucking ride of a year. Half of that year was spent loving her with his whole being, loving her secretly with so much pain and passion that it oftentimes threatened to take his whole self away.

And now, this: The end.

Mulder stopped looking at her, moving from the stage and into the crowd, until he was back on his own chair, where he finished a whole glass of crystalline red wine without even thinking twice. Soon, the party really started.

Dulling himself with another glass of wine, he watched stoically as the Danced Yesterday crew swayed on the make shift boogie floor, indulging their bodies to the mellow beats of Foreigner's I Want to Know What Love is.

I gotta take a little time, a little time to think things over
I better read between the lines, in case I need it when I'm older

Everyone was in their respective groups, chatting and laughing as the wine and finger food kept coming. This was their wrap party, their own salvation from being thrown into Mr. Fox Mulder's back-breaking production process. He smiled slyly at the thought, finding dark security in it.

The smile faded as he had a strange sensation come upon him, and with his mind a large overstated blank, he reached for his wallet … and dug for the golden cross he had kept there during the past few months. He held it close to his face, watching it glitter for the first time in God-only-knew-how-long.
Dropping it to his lap, he searched for her face and found it isolated in one corner. She tucked her hair awkwardly at the back of her ears, talking to Harry Pendrell about something. Scully shook her head firmly at Pendrell, forcing a smile on her lips to assure the young man, and he walked away from her, his head hung between his shoulders. This sadness was erased, however, when one of the dancers came to him and led him to the dance floor.

Scully's jaw tightened when her gaze wavered to Mulder, and she once again broke off eye contact when she saw what he was holding in his hand.

He stood up from his seat, this time blanking his mind as he tucked his wallet into his back pocket. Casually, he walked towards her, the cross necklace firm in his grip.

In my life there's been heartache and pain
I don't know if I can face it again
Can't stop now, I've traveled so far, to change this lonely life

When he was in front of her, she refused to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes scanned the smoothness of her black stockings, the violet swell barely visible under the material, swinging as she crossed them together, followed shortly by her arms.
Mulder blinked at her reaction, or lack thereof, but continued to charge on. He sure was no quitter and Jesus Christ, he wasn't quitting now.

"I'm not going to ask you to dance this time," he hoarsely crackled, alarming her. She gazed up to his hazel eyes, searching for something he didn't know what, and her pearly whites bit into the plumpness of her red lips. Contemplating.

I'm gonna take a little time, a little time to look around me
I've got nowhere left to hide, it looks like love had finally found me

After the contemplation, she managed a heartfelt grin. "What if I ask you, Mulder?"

He returned her expression, holding out his free hand, and she took it, intertwining their fingers together, pulling him close to her warmth … pulling, what felt like, his soul to hers.

They stayed in the same spot, in the darkness, in the solitude, away from the others. They wanted this to be for both of them, to be together - maybe, for the last time.

Because of her still-healing leg, she was forced to wear dainty flats for the evening, but nevertheless, matching them with a clingy black dress that hugged her unmistakable dance's figure. The dim fabric also accentuated her porcelain skin, giving her a glow that Mulder knew was not intended. Scully was the last person who knew how beautiful she was. He loved that about her. And even if she was as radiant as a goddess that evening, she was obviously sad and tense.

Mulder nuzzled the curls of her red hair, hoping that time would stop and he'd never have to breathe without of her scent again. In turn, her hands brought themselves up to his back, playing with the rigid muscles on his shoulder blades and down his spine.

In my life there's been heartache and pain
I don't know if I can face it again
Can't stop now, I've traveled so far, to change this lonely life

She rested half of her weight on his body, pushing their fronts impossibly closer. He accepted her weight though, swaying them both lightly to the beat. The grip on his back tightened, flushing whatever space that was between them to history.

Mulder struggled to find his voice as the tears began to give away, racing down to his chin. To hide his pain from the others - from her, maybe - he brushed it against her hair, the only part of her he could easily reach because she was so small.

"Scully,"

"Yeah?" Her voice sounded rough, sandpapery. Teary.

"I'll miss you. I'll miss you everyday. I don't want this to end and I don't care if that makes me sound like a bad person, but that's the truth. Look, I want you to visit me every day when you get your apartment tomorrow, I want you to come to me, and then we'll have fun like, we'll… we'll… laugh and we'll talk like those afternoons, right?" He was fluctuating. Oh, God. He shouldn't even be talking when the frog's leaping up and down in his throat.

I want to know what love is, I want you to show me
I want to feel what love is, I know you can show me
I want to know what love is, I want you to show me

"Yes." She barely whispered it. He wondered if he imagined her answering and if he was also imagining the wetness on his shoulder, where her face was resting on.

"And … and don't you also dare forget that you were once mine. Oh fuck, what am I saying? There's still the premiere, we'll still be able to see each other. You're my best friend, Scully. Don't forget that. Because of you I've become a great man within the short time we've known each other. I wouldn't be here without you. That's personally speaking now."

He broke their embrace, making her shudder. He lifted the gold cross that he had been holding all that time and he latched it around her neck, balancing himself on both sanity and emotions, balancing himself so that the heart on his sleeve wouldn't start bleeding.
Closing off the hard lock, he cupped her face in his palms, brushing away the now visible tears on her flushed cheeks.

"Christ, Mulder," she stuttered, sniffing, "we'll still be going home together tonight."

Let's talk about love - I want to know what love is
The love that you feel inside - I want you to show me
And I'm feeling so much love - I want to feel what love is

"Yeah," he agreed, hating himself for lying. Hating himself for this; hating himself all over again for being reminded that he did love her. So damn much.

No, you just can't hide - I know you can show me
I want to know what love is, I know you can show me
I wanna feel it too - I want to feel what love is
Show me love is real, yeah - I want to know what love is...

His lips met her forehead, and it lingered there, until the music ended and they had to eventually let go of each other.

This time around, they sat together on the same table, holding hands. They left earlier than the rest of the crew so that they could pack for Scully's departure tomorrow afternoon.

Fox Mulder brought Dana Scully into his world for a simple reason: he needed a dancer that could defy the grace of every living dancer on every pop culture film; he needed the big director's break. Armed with his undeniable charm for not quitting at whatever that was daring to stop him, he pedaled her agreement and had given her everything to earn her trust. It was supposed to be a purely professional relationship: one that had no strings attached.
But ever since the time they spent in Las Vegas - when he had that a minor concussion and Scully stayed by his side day and night to take care of him, to keep the doctor's orders, the moment he saw Scully crying in front of the mirror, the first time he laid on one bed beside her, he knew. Deep inside him, he knew that he had just stumbled upon what could be the most important relationship of his life; one that would even attempt to surpass the relationship with his own daughter.
The Spunk had softened up to him, had opened her heart to him, had lowered her walls enough for him to enter. They became friends, best of friends, and continuously found each other throughout whatever life threw at them for the crazy past year. He could seriously claim that he had tamed the Amazon.

If that was so … then why the hell was he going to let her go?

Mulder watched passively as Scully hauled one of her marked boxes out of her bedroom, pushing it against the floor, taking a moment to pause and wipe away a drop of sweat that materialized despite the chill of the winter air. As she passed by him, he caught the markings on the box: underwear.

"Scully," he started, moving from behind the coffee table and blocking the path she was headed to stoically. "Why don't you do this tomorrow? The doctor advised bed rest to help your leg heal."

She impatiently pushed away a lock of hair that had escaped the confines of her pink cotton head band. Of all the days she had to wear pink - when she never really appreciated the way the color brought out the green hues of her eyes - she had to wear it today. "My leg is healing, Mulder. If it isn't, then I won't be able to stand up like this here. I'm fine." Giving him one last look, she diverted her course and pushed the box the other way around, until she reached the spot directly beside the sliding front doors, stacking her "underwear" together with three other marked boxes on the wall.

He couldn't believe this. She actually wanted to leave him.

"Scully," he uttered. The name had been on his lips so often the whole day that he had explored every ways and means that it's possible to say it. Mulder walked a few steps closer to where she was. "Rest, okay? You need it. We can do this together tomorrow."

She was arranging the top flaps of the "underwear" box, her back to him, enabling him to see the white flesh that peeked from her too short, light blue, Aerosmith T- shirt. "I … Maybe you need to rest, Mulder. Why don't you go up and I'll fix everything down here," she turned around to face him, "okay?"

No, it's not okay.

Mulder massaged his temples, clearing the damning thoughts far away. "I'm not tired."

Scully fingered the cross around her neck, pressing her thumb on the pendant. "YOU are. Go upstairs … if you want, I could -"

"No. I don't want." His voice sounded too much of a drag even for himself. More thoughts, more screams of phantom notions in his head. Tighter fingers on the sides of his head. "Scully, please, stop this. You need to rest. It's past midnight."

"Damn it, I don't," she argued, her voice becoming higher than she probably intended it to. "I want this finished right now … if I don't, then I might not -" A pause, a hitch, an unintentional confession.

His eyes widened at her, as if receiving telepathically what she could not say.

… I might not be able to leave.

And the truth hit him. Hard.

No one wanted anyone to leave.

There they were, waltzing on forced emotions, trying their best to readmit the fact that they were too attached to each other to actually forego with the initial deal. They were failing in what they did best: argue to hide kept feelings from one another; argue to tire each other out.
Honestly, Mulder was tired of this charade - of trying to push each other away when all the while it's bringing them closer together. They were weaved into this intricate plot and no one could push or pull. They were both trapped and a higher power had willed this. Someone had got to. There was no other logical explanation for how two people thrown into the most bizarre of situations found each other amidst everything else, how two people found oasis in each other.

An unconscious tear slipped beneath Scully's eyelashes and he saw how she swiped at it, how she hid her fear from him.

This couldn't happen anymore. He loved her. She WAS his oasis, his salvation - a reason to keep on struggling every day. He lost the only thing that mattered to him the past year and she was with him, not only as his colleague - but as his best friend.

Scully was his deity. He might not want to give her a relationship, but at least, he could have her. It might be platonic, but at least, she's with him. He'd accept anything, just to keep her with him.

Mulder didn't realize that his cheeks were already wet with tears when Scully made a by-pass for the coat rack, grabbing her baseball cap and leather jacket, quickly putting them on and sprinting out the house faster than he could say "Spunk!"

With his heart effectively now on his sleeve, bleeding like hell - his legs followed her involuntarily, jumping over the couch and missing priceless vases as he stalked, finding her by the curb, gazing out into the dark streets of Beverly Hills, anxiously waiting for a cab.

"Scully!" he called out desperately. With all the emotions inside him, he's wondering how the hell his brain could keep all his networks working properly. "Scully!"

She ignored his calls, shrugging her jacket tighter and shifting her weight to her right, more stable, leg.

"Scully…" He finally reached her side and he forcefully took her in his arms, fighting off the tremors that invaded her body, fighting the shock waves of cold against his torso, fighting everything else except her.

Wrapping his biceps around her thin frame, Mulder dipped his lips down to her ear and whispered the only thing he could process:

"Stay."

She sobbed desperately, moving her arms beneath his strong grip, but failing. When she realized that his strength would outdo hers, she spoke, "I can't … we have a deal to follow, Mulder, we …"

"Bullshit," he countered, wiping his tear tracks on her hair, catching some strands on his cheeks as he pulled away to talk. "Who cares about the deal? This is US now, Scully. I need you - and don't talk more bullshit by telling me you don't need me."

She was crying now; he could feel the wetness on his chest. "Mulder, please, don't make this any harder than …"

"Goddammitt, Scully! Please just stay! I'm not asking for anything more - I just want you to stay!" Sheer rapture of anger tore through his vocal cords, and when anger overtook his side, she was able to pull away from him. This made her baseball cap drop to the ground - taking with it her pink headband, and what he saw in her eyes frightened him.

Something pure, passionate, frantic … crazy.

Oh, God. This was not happening, was it?

Scully blinked, the blue in her eyes changing into a darker navy shade.

So there they were, standing before each other - pricking with needles and bleeding before the heavens. This was already too deep for him, and the barrel just was going on and on, farther than he could ever reach. Their relationship couldn't get any more complicated at that point. That's the reason why he couldn't pull her in that damn barrel. He couldn't let her jump the jump that he had already taken - because he was still falling. Every single day.

Mulder took a step forward, but Scully raised her palm up, halting him.

"Give me a reason why I should stay."

Oh. Fuck.

Mulder's hands - together with his body - turned clammy all of the sudden as he forced himself to say in one quick swipe what he wanted to tell her all those months. Those words that he kept telling the Scully in his dreams and the words he swore he'd never tell her when he's awake.

But his mind was a ravaging river, amidst the cascading emotions of his heart - the rational part of him always whispering, "Too deep. I can't pull her in."

And the fear he thought had escaped him came cowering back, creeping up into his spinal column, and settling down on his neurosis.

Oh, shit. Help me.

Those were the last words in Mulder's mind when Scully closed the gap in between them, tip-toed on her dirty white rubber shoes, tilted her head to one side, and kissed him.

It was a soft press at first, quite similar to the first time their lips met back in Las Vegas, but Scully demanded more of his cooperation, and with a hand to the base of his neck, she pushed further into his mouth. When he felt her tongue darting out to taste the lines of his lips, he instinctively opened his own lips, letting her enter him - enter his body, enter his soul. The season's frostiness was replaced with a heat he hadn't felt in a long time.
His mind still had difficulty in processing everything that was happening in one gentle swipe, since his heart was pounding on his rib cage - too loud for his brain to concentrate on what was going on; however, his nerves were on fire. A gentle thrusting from her tongue made him groan, and his hands cupped the perfect curves of her shoulders, down to her waist, to her ass.
So this was how she tasted … sweet, fiery sweet, like in his dreams, but much, much more of flavors he'd never be able to define in only one kiss. Her tongue was restless, always finding new places to discover within his mouth, and he let her explore, settling back and occasionally caressing in turn when her exploring stopped. When she withdrew her tongue from his mouth and her teeth sunk into his lower lip, a primitive arousal took over him, creating the fastest erection in record time.
He noted back then that this woman would never, ever stop surprising him … and he was once again proven that when she removed her hands from his hair, lips from his own, and weakly took three to four steps backwards. Her knees were buckling as she straightened before him, hiding her hands into her front jeans' pockets.

What just happened there?

Those blue eyes of hers were now of want, of passionate want, of loving want. A strange prickling of panic overtook Mulder's already distressed and confused heart, and he had to press a palm up to his chest to stop the feelings from completely overtaking him.

"That's … that's my reason, Mulder. Tell me yours," she said, biting the insides of her swollen lower lip.

He could easily tell her the reason why she should stay. As simple as ABC: Scully, I love you. It could be that easy, nothing's got to be as complicated as it seemed.

But then, flashes of Samantha, Diana, Emily, his Mother and Father, tore through his vision of this beautiful redheaded woman, creating a dizzying kaleidoscope of images that almost had him reeling in despising pain.

Too deep, too dark, too much of every shit in his life to pull Scully in. He wasn't supposed to want this. SHE wasn't supposed to want this.

"No, Scully," he breathed out, staring at her worried face, "I can't."

Before he could see her reaction, he made the coward's way out: he did a u-turn, ran into his Manor, pounded up the stairs, entered his bedroom, closed the door behind him, and sat down on the bed. His whole body felt like jell-o. He couldn't feel his arms or legs.
That shouldn't have happened! Scully shouldn't have done that and he shouldn't have responded! There was no way they could be together. There was no way that this could have happened. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, like Dorothy and her exit of Oz, he could will himself to wake up. This was just a nightmare. Like those that Scully had, like those that he had - a nightmare. A nightmare born out of his emotions, out of his deepest wants and fears …

"Mulder?" A soft voice jolted him, his heart leaping unexpectedly up into his throat. He didn't even hear the door open.

Damn no! What the fuck was she still doing here? She should leave!

He bent down until his arms tightened around his stomach, a frail attempt to stop all the flip-flopping within them.

"Go away, Scully," he barely was able to say, his face in between his two knees. Anything to stop them all. Anything to silence them all.

"I won't, I can't." Footsteps padded on his carpet, coming closer to his form. "I just kissed you. I can't."

"Yes, YOU CAN!" Mulder bellowed, surprised that his voice was still there, cowering along with him. "Leave before anything else irrational happens, please!"

"Was that irrational?" Before he knew it, Scully was already beside him, kneeling down on the carpet, stroking his sweat-stained hair, holding his hand and pulling them away from his stomach. At the corner of his eye, he could see that she was trying her best to smile despite her tears. "You first asked me to stay, and now you're telling me to leave. That's irrational, Mulder."

"Don't do this, please."

"I've wanted to do that forever, Mulder. Don't you understand?" A finger found his chin, lifting them up so that he could see her tear-streaked faced, the watery blues of her eyes changing into an even more transparent color, the plumpness of her lips. "I need you because I love you. I'm in love with you. And don't talk anymore bullshit by telling me you don't love me too."

He was able to gurgle out a sob from that, fighting the force of her finger and bringing his head back down to his knees, crouching like a broken man.
She loved him. She just told him that, right? Straight out of her reddened lips, out of her lungs, out of her insides, out from her soul: Scully ACTUALLY loved him.
And for all the reasons in the world, she knew that he loved her. Who was he kidding anyway? This was a woman who could read his whole past, present, and future by just looking into his eyes. He should've laughed at this a long time ago. Some psychology graduate he was.

Please, stop this. Enough torture, please.

"Isn't that the reason why you gave me back this?"

He twisted his head to her direction, seeing her lift up her golden cross and holding it up to the twilight. "You were pushing me away because you felt something different for me. I just don't understand why you gave this back to me without telling me how you feel."

Argue, dammitt. That's the only thing he could do right now. Forget everything and argue.

"You said," he throatily replied. "Once … before, after I kissed you in Vegas … that you never did see me this way. That our relationship could never be intimate. I agreed. Maybe I still do."

"I lied … not because I wanted to, but because I was afraid as you are now," she mended, her fingers in his hair stifling,. "I reacted that way before because I, I never thought that it was possible. That I could love you. I was drunk, confused, and the man I loved just kissed me." She swallowed, removing her fingers and placing it on the empty spot beside his body on the bed. "I'm sick and tired of that fear, Mulder," she whispered softly, as if she was telling herself so, and not him. Then she regained her voice's convicting intensity."You still agree with that notion? That you cannot see us this way? Why not? And don't tell me about how young I am."

He cringed, but continued, "Scully, this is … just too much for me. I've never felt this way before, honestly, and I don't want to pull …"

"Pull what in?"

"Pull you in. I don't want to destroy this. Our friendship is immeasurable and I'm afraid that if we jump into this, we'd … lose that. I trust you with my life. I can't lose you."

"Mulder," Scully whispered, and he swore that the moment he heard her say his name, his soul involuntarily cracked. She rested her head on his arm, wiping wayward teardrops on his bleeding heart. "You can't lose me. I'm yours, remember? I've been yours for a long time now. And I want this more than anything else. I want to stay. With you."

He shook his head vehemently, dislodging their positions.

Scully captured his hand and effectively pinned it to her stomach. "Tell me, Mulder, do you love me?" It was the sadness in her voice that made his soul break and his heart started dripping fresh blood on the floor in front of her all over again.

He could lie. It could be as easy as ABC: Scully, I don't love you.

But he couldn't. This woman before him had reshaped his life in the most incredible way and he did love her with all his being and all his soul. He wouldn't lie. He couldn't lie to her. Of all the people in this world … no, not to Dana Scully.

"Yes," he finally admitted, feeling all the voices in his head and heart screech to a halt, and the world didn't cave in on him … his heart stopped bleeding and his spirit mended with a sturdy band-aid. Everything actually felt better.

Scully sighed; he couldn't tell if it was in obvious relief or in happiness. But it didn't matter.

Mulder moved forward from the bed and placed a hand on Scully's neck, pulling her close to his face until they were eye-to-eye. That was the exact moment the world paused and begged him to throw all the Spunk rules out of the window.

So, he did.

Their lips met and he devoured her - spirit, heart, and all.

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT