This obscenely long chapter contains sexually explicit material.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN:

The Royal Monceau
Paris, France
April 6, 1986
Sunday

Mr. Bill Mulder had been to Paris a number of times. It was in Paris that he had his first independent trip. It was in Paris where he first took Teena Mulder out for their private engagement party. And ultimately, it was also in Paris where he married the love of his life.
He dreamt of one day taking his kids to the Paris - to be with his whole family without any interruptions. During the last years of his life, Bill's work had become very demanding, and going home to relax was rare. He once told Mulder that if he was given the time, he would pay for a one-month vacation in Paris.

That time never came.

"One room, Mulder?" Scully interjected, taking his arm and drawing him away from the front desk of their hotel, The Royal Monceau. The pleasant-faced brunette receptionist gave them a funny look, jutting out her bright red lower lip disapprovingly. Mulder waved a polite hand at her, keeping his heels intact on the floor, telling the woman: "Veuillez m'excuser." Excuse me, in English.

When they reached a large white towering pillar littered with fresh red roses, Scully all but threw him onto the structure. "What were you thinking?" she demanded, her pitch rising. She nervously whisked away stray tendrils of red hair from her face, revealing the marvelous (and unusual) highlight of red across her cheeks. "Mulder, we can't stay in one room here. Your expense reports would …"

"Darling, no one would know. I'm using my other credit card for this." For emphasis, he dug into his back pocket, waved his wallet in front of her nose, opened it, chose from the thick collection of credit cards, and revealed his OTHER credit card. The one he apparently didn't use all that much.

Scully's skepticism didn't waver. As usual.

"I promise you that there's no paparazzi in Paris. Who's interested in a budding director and his budding star? No one! I promise you that." To assure her, he quickly stole a kiss on her forehead, his hand finding the small of her back, and he started to rub her worries away. "I promise you this, okay? Now can we go and check-in? I'm hungry and tired … and I want to spend our first day in bed. Literally."

Scully still kept her skeptical gaze at him, but when her eyes somewhat softened, Mulder held her by the waist and drew her to the front desk. The previously abandoned receptionist smiled at their reappearance, asking him a few questions in tight French. While Mulder came to fill some papers up for their check-in, Scully was conversing with a busboy about their luggage. At the corner of his eye, he could see the twenty-ish busboy hiding a slight smile at Scully's well-defined British accent.

Returning the papers to the front desk, Mulder gave the attendant a weak smile. "She's from Wales," he reasoned out, in English. The brunette attendant nodded slowly, eyes trailing at Scully. She tucked the papers into one of the folders and typed something into their computer. After this, she handed Mulder a key.

"Elle c'est véritable plutôt."

Mulder's lingering smile grew wide at the attendant's comment. "Yes, she is very pretty. Je vous remercie tellement." Grabbing the key, he gave the attendant one last friendly wave and headed onto where Scully was. She had folded her arms in a tight cross, biting her lip unconsciously while studying the diverse crowd slipping in and out of the front lobby. She probably felt lost in the swarm of different races, her eyes weakly searching for something familiar to hold onto.

Scully- girl déjà vu.

He whisked this worry from her by anchoring a hand around her waist, ruffling the soft velvety fabric of her blue off-shoulder shirt. Scully reflexively relaxed in his arms, molding her back to his front cautiously, minding the other people who were liable to recognize them and spot them holding each other in a not-so-friendly way.

"C'mon, darling, let's go," he softly urged into her ear.

She smiled at him - one that didn't quite border on her lilies and carnations grin, one that had a certain amount of sadness attached to the corners. "Bill went here with Mother once … when Missy was only eight months old. You know, they spent New Year underneath the Eiffel Tower. Can we do that, Mulder? C- can we spend some time underneath the Eiffel Tower? I'd also like to bring Emily back something Parisian out here."

He couldn't help smiling back at her apparent fondness for her deceased Mother and the hidden love she would always have for the siblings she left behind in Wales. It would always be a mystery to him on why they weren't contacting her, but no mysteries were left unsolved. Someday, Scully would share these mysteries with him. Someday.

"Of course we can do that, Scully. Anything for you."

He wanted to see her reaction to this. But Scully-girl moved before he could. She interlaced their fingers together and nudged them both forward towards the elevator, but not before turning towards the bellboy and signalling him to follow after them.

He had to call his Mother. That was his first initial instinct upon checking in the hotel. Sure, that promised great sex from Scully was nudging this initial instinct down to a second, but he wanted his Mom to hear his voice while he was in Paris. It had the rare authenticity to it - a small reminder for her that his Father still lived within him.

Mulder sat down on the king-sized bed's edge, unconsciously feeling with his fingertips the embroideries on the satin covers. Adjacent to him was the row of bags they brought with them on their trip, with Scully meticulously arranging them by height. Seeing this, he shook his head fondly and called for her.

She lifted her head from her task, giving him a guilty smile. "Sorry, I was just feeling for a change of clothes. "

They did agree that this trip was made in order for them to have the luxury of having each other without anymore qualms, without anymore barricades or worries about them getting caught. It was made more for pleasure than for business, and included in the agreement was that Scully wouldn't do her usual compulsive cleaning.
But rather than getting angry, he returned her smile and patted his lap. Scully obliged at once, standing up from her squatting position and heading towards him. Before their bodies could connect, impatient hands lingered on Scully's hips and he pulled her to him, settling her on his thighs and tucking her legs against him with his left arm. His right arm circled her waist, bringing her closer than intended – which was always a good thing, always.

Mulder kissed the tip of her white nose. Scully stared back at him with impossibly clear blue eyes, expecting more than an innocent kiss after that. But he relented, knowing that he had other things to clear up before indulging … and as for Scully, she told him how she had wanted to get out of the uncomfortable ruffles of her off-the-shoulder shirt for the umpteenth time on the plane. He did steal a quick kiss on her reddened lips, tasting the fruity lipstick she put on before they disembarked the plane.

"How can I possibly get mad at you, huh?" he nuzzled her neck, breathing in the soothing cucumber scent - this time, it's from a perfume that he bought for her before they packed for this trip. "Just don't overdo this fetish, okay, darling?" As he expected, she purred after his term of endearment. She had once told him how much she loved the way the d of his darling rode from his tongue. According to the Spunk, it sounded something out of a Gregory Peck movie, something out of Roman Holiday. Classic was the exact word she used, if he wasn't mistaken.

"I'm fine with that, Mulder," Scully replied, closing her eyes and wringing her arms around his neck. "Are you going to call Emily, too?"

"I should … but I'm not sure though." It shouldn't be a question if they were talking about Emily a few weeks ago - before the death of his grandson and before everything that had happened: he WOULD call Emily. However, she was a mess when they left Los Angeles. It had almost torn him apart to leave his daughter in total distress, but Jeffrey had insisted that they go. He promised Mulder that he would take care of his daughter and that they'd be undergoing a marriage counseling; not having him around could actually be fruitful. Emily could concentrate only on making herself better.

After making sure that Emily was fine with the idea that her Father wouldn't be around for a whole week, he finally gave in to the trip and settled on a deal with Scully: They would only think about themselves during the trip. Occasional phone calls could be made, the job that had to be done should be settled, but the trip was for them and no one else.

Scully trailed her lips over his cheek, feeling the one-day growth that had occurred over their travel. It sure felt like a whole day - or days - of travel for him. There was an eleven-hour difference between Los Angeles and Paris. When they left LA on August 5, they arrived in Paris on August 6. What the International Date Line did to their bodies should be mended by quiet, sullen, and romantic sex … and a good doze afterwards. Nothing more could relax him than having Scully beside him, soothing him into oblivion. It was precious knowledge that he knew he wouldn't want to lose for the rest of his life.

The sharp-witted British accent of his lover brought him back to reality. "You should go on and call your Mother." She gave him a quick kiss on the lips before dragging her ass away from his lap. Mulder winced at the loss of contact.

Hearing this, Scully turned back around to face him, reaching out to brush her lips against his forehead. "I'll just take a quick shower to wash off the grime, okay? And then we can do what I promised."

"I'll still have the grime," he protested feebly, running a hand on the stubbles of his chin for emphasis. Seeing this, she gave him a seductive grin, one that no one else had seen except him. It was his badge of pride: the fact that when he saw the darkening blue hues of her eyes, he was the only person in the world for her; he was the only person who could ever own Dana Scully.

"I like a little grime on you," Scully answered back, her voice dropping, making his Adam's apple bob up and down. She lowered her head so that she could plant another warm wet kiss on his neck, just a few inches from his nervous Adam's apple, before she drew apart from him. She first eyed the baggage with a finger on her chin, and then shrugged nonchalantly, heading to the bathroom without bringing a change of clothes.

He stared aimlessly at the closed bathroom door for moments, contentedly smiling at himself. Then, he picked up the phone and dialed for the operator.

After some static, a few rings, a few patient-though-annoyed huffs from the operator at his grammar, finally, his Mother picked up the phone.

"Bonjour, beauté! Comment allez-vous?" His grammar might suck, but his Mother's grammar was simply the worst when it came to French. True to form, he heard his Mother swallow a deep breath, and he could almost see her struggling through the cobwebs in her brain when it came to her husband's second language. Mrs. Mulder wasn't properly educated in French, but during the years she spent with Mr. Mulder, she had learned to understand most of the phrases and expressions that came with the language. Knowing this, Mulder used the simplest French words he could find for a greeting. He hoped his Mother could still process these.

"If I'm not mistaken, Fox, you're either telling me that 'it had been a good day and how am I' or that 'Good day, I'm going to comment on dinner,'" his Mother chuckled good-naturedly, and Mulder made a ding, ding, ding sound.

"Close, but not right on the dot. I'd accept though," he said, feeling his inside warm all over when Mrs. Mulder laughed with such carelessness. "Good day, beautiful woman! How do you do?"

"I'm fine, Fox. Quite startled that you're calling at this hour … of course, there is an eleven- hour difference WHICH you conveniently ignored, but anyway, how is Dana?"

"She's great, Mom. You should've seen her stare at the French landscape on our way towards the hotel! She loves it here! Did she mention that her Mother used to take her siblings here? It's no wonder that she was so excited when I showed her the tickets." Mulder placed the phone in between his neck and began to untie his shoes, immediately wriggling his toes as they were freed from their confines. "I'm happy that SHE'S this happy, you know. Sometimes, Scully needs to loosen up a bit. I'm afraid that I'm doing more damage to her psyche."

Teena chuckled at her son's distrust in himself. "Oh dear Lord, you still think that you don't have the supreme power of changing this woman … when in all aspects, that's what you have been doing to her: change."

"Christ, Mom," Mulder started, rolling his eyes and tossing his shoes in a messy pile in front of him. "You are very persuasive. Just tell me what you want from here so that I can change into something more comfortable. I could feel the scent of the airline food sticking to my skin."

"Buy me those Eiffel Tower paperweights your father used to bring home all the time."

"Mom, not that I wouldn't give you everything you want - but you have gazillion of those stored in your closet. Don't you want anything else?"

"Those little paperweights have these teeny-weeny dates on their butts. Get me 1985 and 1986. If there's an advanced shipment for 1987, get me one too. I'm collecting them, if you have noticed that fact at all."

"Notice?" Mulder pretended to choke out. "I must be blind if I didn't notice that. What kind of son …"

"And its early morning here, Fox. I still haven't heard any roosters singing for the dawn. Let your poor mother sleep. She still has a big day of tending to her vegetable garden tomorrow."

"You have a vegetable garden? Since when? Since yesterday?"

"That's for me to know and for you to find out when you bring me those paperweights. Go get some good sleep … and tell dear Dana that I give her my regards."

With whispers of "I love you" and the click of the plunger, Mulder couldn't deny the feeling of warmth that was spreading all over him. He was in Paris with the woman he was head over heels with and it was finally sinking in.

He was about to slip his shirt out of his strained muscles when Scully came out of the bathroom, clad in the white hotel-issued bathrobe. Her skin glistened from the hot water she just recently immersed herself in, the mists creeping out of the slightly ajar bathroom door like these came from a well-directed stage smoke machine.

Mulder stopped his current activity, his fingers frozen just underneath his t- shirt. The sight of a still-wet Scully seductively strutting towards him was enough to render his Freudian theories into rebound. His woman flipped her dripping darkened red hair to one shoulder and this move almost flipped him silly, too. The effects of this lady on him would be impossible to count.

She stopped a centimeter away from him, and it seemed like miles from his escalating hunger. All thoughts of the previous long haul flight were thrown out of the window, the said grime on him, the tiredness of his whole body… gone. Just the sight of Scully - most possibly NAKED - underneath that fucking cotton robe and they were all gone.

"I want to do a lot today," she started, snapping him from his reverie. Scully licked her lips shyly, batting her eyelashes at his surprised expression. "But I have to warn you about our body clocks and that we're both tired … not much room for anything than …"

"Quiet lovemaking, and I'm not asking for anything more," his voice rasped, as his hands reached out and grabbed her firmly by the hips. "There will be time for bondage, Scully."

Her eyes widened mockingly, but her mouth betrayed her when she started laughing. Mulder pulled her closer, finally gaining body contact, him finally gaining the only thing he wanted for that past eleven-hour flight.

While fighting off the giggles, Scully was able to straddle him, keeping his legs in between hers. She bit her lip to stop the laughter, pressing her nose on his. Their eyes met and he felt her teeth pull gently on his lower lip. "Fuck it, I do love you too damn much," she breathed against him.

With just that, their lips met and danced that slippery tango … and as he ran his tongue over hers, he took note of the taste of toothpaste and tangy hotel water, plus that unmistakable deliciousness that was only Scully. This was one of those things that would forever define her uniqueness for him. And he wanted to be the only one who could define who she was. Ever.

Losing finesse and the fine art of seduction, he fumbled with her robe, pulling here and there until sheer frustration and the egging erection he was getting made him rip the thing apart. Surprised by this show of force, Scully pulled her glistening lips away from him and looked down at the hotel's apparel. After surveying the mess that he made of her cotton robe, she raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Contact was more important to them right now.

Locking his eyes with hers, Mulder threaded his fingers across her collarbone and slipped them underneath the garment, at once whisking away the remainders of the robe from her body. Finally, FINALLY, her nakedness greeted him and as usual, it was more than a pleasant sight. She was still slightly wet from her shower, water sparkling here and there in the most delicious of places.

Leaning forward, Mulder trailed his tongue on the droplet threatening to materialize on her pink nipple, making Scully visibly swallow. Knowing her reaction to this, he plunged forward and sucked her whole breast, garnering as much of her flesh into his mouth.

Scully buckled, nearly falling over the bed as her knees gave out on her. Her hands immediately found Mulder's shoulders, and she stapled them there to steady herself as he continued to render so much pleasure.

Soon, she was moaning and he was fucking uncomfortable with his jeans. And that was only one breast. Wait until they explore every single place on her body.

"Oh god …" Scully bit her lip to suppress a long- suffering moan, her fingers digging into Mulder's back as his hand found her inner thigh and began to thread upwards. Switching breasts, he closed his eyes in extreme concentration, digging further, spreading her legs wider (as much as her extreme flexibility could accommodate – and yes, she could accommodate a lot), until he found what he was looking, or feeling, for.

He plunged one finger inside her warm depths, hearing her lose her control and she cried out a gullible surrender.

"That's it, darling … no holding back. You promised me."

"Mulder …"

"No, no, you promised." With that, another finger joined in. Another bite. Another moan. A louder one. He began to stroke, slowly.

"Mulder … God … please, let's … we h- have …"

"I hear you … what do you want?" Mulder released her breast with a slow glide, making Scully arch towards his mouth, desperately trying to find a way to reconnect. But he drew apart, removing his fingers from inside of her and instead held onto her bare waist. He didn't want her to lose her position with the way she was thrashing in front of him.

She brought her head back down; licking her lips, blinking hazy blue eyes, and settled her forehead against his own. "I want you naked, Mulder. In me and naked. Now."

When they were both deprived of great sex or any means of connection in the longest time, he had known Scully to be very demanding of having him inside of her. Spunk forgot to open her palms out when the gods handed out patience - and not that he was complaining. They had time for foreplay later on. She never failed him. She just should get what she wanted on the first fuck and then they could make out all they want before the main event.

He allowed her to undress him, settling his back flat on the bed and watching her take over him. She pushed her curly mop of red hair behind her ears and determinedly removed every inch of his clothing. Scully did this with agonizing slowness, her naughty eyes darting from her task at hand to his face – which was now efficiently constricted in plain agony. And who wouldn't be agonized with the way Spunk's hands roamed all over his body, every exposed skin claimed, while she bent over him in her naked glory? Damn it!

Scully may get what she wanted … and unfortunately for him, she also wanted torturing him.

At LAST she reached his underwear. Just as Scully was caressing the garters of his green-red boxers (yes, her favorite one), he reached his boiling point. Mulder whisked her hands away to her utter surprise, and wiggled out of his now- confining clothing, freeing his raging erection, tossing the damn thing somewhere in the room. Scully was only permitted to raise an eyebrow upon seeing the extent of his arousal before she was drawn down to her side. He pinned her by her waist, turning his body around to confront her beautifully-flushed face.

"I thought you wanted me inside you at once," he reminded her, his eyelids briefly fluttering on the feel of her hot breath on his cheeks. Scully smiled shyly.

"I did."

"What about now?" he coaxed, the hand on her waist sliding down to her thigh and lifting it up onto his pelvis, baring her sex. Knowing well his next intention, Scully pressed closer towards him, almost crushing her breast against his chest, his penis hovering atop her opening. From this point, he could feel the heat of her center, making his Adam's apple bob up and down anxiously.

She wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed a kiss on his lips. Sweet and tender. "I'll always do, Mulder. Always."

That was permission granted.

He flung his hand behind him, towards the bedside table for the box of condoms he had in handy, but was stopped by Scully's fingers on his bicep.

"No, not today," she indignantly stated, eyes calmly gazing deep into his.

Mulder's eyebrows met in surprise. What the hell was she talking about? "Scully … we can't do this without the …"

"I took some pills," Spunk guiltily confessed, her eyes drawing down to his clavicle, searching for confidence. She found some and her eyes snapped back up to his, once again seething deep into his. "Let's … let's give this a chance … for us to feel each other without any barriers. I'm fine, I don't feel any side effects … please, Mulder."

His brow met his hairline in deep thought, but all precedence of an argument over this was lost by Scully's fingers blindly finding his sex, and the soft pressure she placed on it when her hand encircled his girth.

"Don't think … not now. We can do that some other time. Please, give us this chance."

Fine. Not now, but later. Definitely later on. As if he had any choice, or will to argue, with her hand around his cock.

No one had to be a martyr in this situation. The devil's on his shoulder and he wanted nothing more but to give in to its temptation.

A grunt escaped his throat as he thrust upwards, angling his penis towards her entrance. After a bit of fumbling, he easily slid home, her warm wetness coating his arousal with immense, indescribable feeling. It felt amazing with the condom on - but now, it felt… downright perfect. Her slickness was sheer ecstasy and feeling this made butterflies flutter in his stomach. They both gasped in unison when Mulder tried to wiggle a bit for more room within her. The sensations their every movement together was rendering were all so mind-boggling and arousing. He realized that he probably got the hardest he had ever been upon feeling her raw wetness on his dick.

This was where he belonged, where he wanted to be all his life. No woman ever made him feel this way in his fucking life. No woman ever made him want to live inside of her forever. Only Scully would be able to do this to him.

As a small thank you, Mulder blindly groped for Scully's lips and tried to devour her with passionate kisses that left both of them moaning.

When they parted, her smug face did not escape him. It was a silent way of telling him that she was right all along about this decision.

Then it was time for him to move.

He started off with slow strokes, easing away the tensions of the eleven-hour flight and the kinks in their physique. When he began to descend into their favorite rhythm, a mix of undeniable arousal and peaceful calmness came over Scully's face. It was perfection too, in itself - the most beautiful sight he had ever seen in his damn life. So he watched her close her eyes and open her mouth in slow moans that drew shivers from his back. He loved watching her.

As his strokes started to quicken, Scully's eyes flew open and they connected with his. It was her tranquil blues arresting his hazel ones. Then she began to pump up and down too, matching his beat, until a familiar sensation began to coil in his belly.

"Scully …"

Sweat lined her brow, auburn flickers of hair sticking on her forehead. "Don't… don't… speak," she muttered, placing a finger on his lip.

Stubborn to his core, he kissed that finger and removed it from his face. "I love you, don't you ever … aaah … fucking forget th- that, okay? I'll love you fore- forever."

"I never … will," she replied, and then her eyes snapped shut suddenly. Her body began to quiver, her inner muscles tightening on his penis, her mouth opening to squeals of his name.

That was enough to get him off.

A minute, a second, a century - whoever cared - later, Mulder opened his eyes and found Scully snuggled into his chest, her hand wandering over his sparse hair there. She was on the brink of sleep, but throughout this all, they never disconnected. They were still joined together beneath their pelvises. And he had no intention of undoing this. It felt incredible losing yourself to a woman this way.

He was about to fall asleep, too, when Scully's voice pulled him out of his haze.

"You'll never know how much this will ever mean to me, Mulder."

Curious, he lifted his head a few inches from the pillow to signal to her that he was still awake. "Scully?"

She moved a little bit higher up on their pillow, reaching over to caress his cheek. "This … making love to you … to be loved by you … to share my life with you. I wanted us to go up another step today in our relationship, you understand? It's just that … I- I never was loved this much in my life. You are everything to me. I don't want to lose you," she declared. Suddenly, as if struck by what she had said, she bit her lip. "I love you," she almost whimpered.

Deep inside of him, he already knew what it meant to Scully. All her tears showed him, the way she held him showed him, the way she made love to him showed him… and this risk of taking pills showed him a lot too, but there was a certain dip in her tone that made something in him well up. It was as if he was seeing Scully in her rawest form - not Scully- girl, not Spunk - but her, Dana Scully as herself. She wasn't hiding from him, she wasn't holding back. This was Dana Scully at her purest.

Arguments of what could happen and what shouldn't have happened that moment disappeared from his head. What she did was right. They were right.

"I have a whole lifetime to discover just how it means to you, Dana," he answered. Just as her first name slipped from his lips, a tear appeared at the corner of her eye. Mulder brushed it away with his thumb. "Don't cry," he whispered, not really understanding her show of affection or why she was being like this. Not that he was complaining, but it was all so new to him, to finally see Dana Scully as herself.

More tears slipped, but he was forced to ignore it when Scully drew closer into his embrace, pressing her wet cheek on his heartbeat.

Words were rendered obsolete – none were needed to be spoken. She could all hear it in the beating of his heart.

An artist could never capture Paris in his canvas, as it was that he believed that no one could ever own Paris' itself. She might belong to France, but no one could ever own her perfection … the way the trees swayed in the gentle breeze, the cascading leaves dropping aimlessly on relaxing passers- by, the Eiffel Tower's glory and the romanticism it carried on it's shoulders, the accordion in the background … it was all so unique. So … Paris.

He was also revelilng in post-coital bliss (post-coital bliss of not using any condoms - and it's a very, very good kind of bliss) that second, so maybe he's channeling more of Shakespeare Mulder than rational Mulder.

"Do you know that you think too much, Mulder?"

His thoughts swayed and immediately flew with the afternoon wind. Mulder felt Scully's presence at his back, but did no visible signs to acknowledge her.

"Yes, you've told me more than once," he admitted without any hesitation. It was one trait that he had completely accepted ever since he was a kid. "Does it bother you?"

"No." Scully settled beside him on the patio, crossing her arms before her and pushing them underneath her breasts. Her curly mop of hair staggered with the wind, and she had to turn towards the current to preserve her hairstyle. "Well … sometimes it does."

A sneer found Mulder's lips as he pressed his front onto Scully's back, molding their bodies perfectly. He wrapped his arms around her waists, hands finding the hem of her shirt and diving underneath, seeking contact with her porcelain skin. Scully's head settled on his shoulder -something that did not happen often, and it only did at that moment because she was wearing three-inched heels.

"Why?" he asked, lips close to her forehead.

"I don't know … maybe because sometimes you drift off without a reason and I just … just can't decipher what in the world you are constructing in your mind." Scully took a strong whiff of his aftershave, her face losing that lilies and carnations grin that he never could find himself getting tired of. "Are you angry at me for not telling you about the pills? I just randomly brought them along for the trip. I just thought I'd try them for both of us."

It's been half an hour ever since the greatest sex-marathon he's ever had in his whole forty years of living on this earth. Was he fucking angry?

How in the world could he be fucking angry?

"You read me pretty well, you know," Mulder assured her teasingly. "What do you think?"

She chortled a little, understanding what he meant by that statement. "I know that … I just want to be sure," she paused, taking in a deep breath. "There are times when I can't push through you … but I'm not anxious about them. I'm glad about them."

"Glad about them?"

"Yes … because it means that I still have a lot to discover, I still have a lot to work for. I would always like something new between us, Mulder. Always." Another pause, one that she seemed to be at loss for words with until she spoke again. "Back in Wales, it was the same old thing. I would wake up in the morning and then I'd dance until the afternoon, because that was the only thing I wanted to do. Then I'd eat … and read some medical books until evening. Sometimes, Melissa calls for me to assist her to do something - she was so pregnant and so jovial during those moments. It was the happiest I've ever seen her. If I'm even luckier, Charles would actually say two words to me. But Bill … Bill would come into my room and check on me every hour. He's my big brother … he's there, but we don't connect."

The sickening realization settled on Mulder: why the fuck weren't these people even writing Scully? It's obvious in her voice that she missed them so damn much, and there they were, going on with their normal lives … as if they didn't even have a younger sister dancing her ass off in America. In a foreign land! They should at least be worried.

"Why don't we call Melissa? It had been a whole year without any communication except for your letters …"

"I really appreciate your concern, Mulder … but it's better that we don't."

"Scully -"

"Hey," her voice suddenly perked up, her mood lightening, her face brightening. "I want to meet Mr. Dupléra and discuss the whole concept of the MTV! Let's go now!" Scully broke free of their embrace and began to tug on his wrist.

Mulder had no other choice but to allow himself to be led willingly inside the hotel room for a change of wardrobe.

It took them a total of two hours to find Mr. Dupléra's house: a total of one hour rummaging through the hotel's yellow pages down in the lobby, while Scully trotted from the lobby and back to the hotel's restaurant, bringing with her croissant and coffee (without milk but with two tablespoons of sugar, just the way he liked it).

His rusty French wasn't helping him find the man's home. They had the address, the necessaries that should be processed when they meet the man, but they needed the landmarks so that they could at least be familiar with where they were going. He's not the type who could ride in a taxi and give the driver your whole trust. He needed to be sure.

Scully, on the other hand, was getting mighty exasperated with this whole charade. She practically sat up after browsing through three pages of French instructions and offered to get him something to eat. After he finished what she brought him, she began to offer another set of meals. He kept saying yes so as not to annoy her. By the time they were in the taxi, Mulder was ready to barf.

He was hovering outside of Mr. Dupléra's supposed apartment, double checking the address on the piece of paper he was holding and then looking around him, making sure that the landmarks were correct. Beside him was a scurry of an impatient redhead: her arms crossed and her lips slit tight together.

"I'm sorry, I just have to be sure, Scully," he mumbled, not even sure if she heard him or not. He read the address again and stared up at the golden number "56" flashing right before his eyes under the sharp sunlight. "I think we've got it right."

"Didn't I tell you that for the one thousandth time a long while ago, Mr. Superman?" Scully mumbled back, keeping her impatience under a lid. She lifted her hand and began to jabber invisibly at the doorbell. "I'm going to ring the damn thing now, and you are not going to stop me." The next tilt of her finger landed flat on the circular button, rendering a soft humming of bells from somewhere above them.

Mulder stared up from Scully's face, bewildered at the doorbell tone's familiarity. It must've been a French song his Father once hummed to him when he was a kid.

"Je arrivée! Je arrivée!" A shrill woman's voice from inside of the apartment proclaimed. Mulder's ears tickled unexpectedly on hearing the voice. It was strangely familiar … viciously familiar, actually.

His mind began to rack up the most memorable women he had encountered in his lifetime when he was stopped by Scully's own crescendo: "What was she saying?" his lover asked, her tone uneasy. Mulder tilted his head towards her and replaced the slideshow of women in his brain with his rustier than rusty French knowledge.

"Uhh … I think it's something like, 'I'm coming", or …"

Before he could finish his translation, the latches on the door began to rattle, drawing both of their attention towards the entrance. Then a woman - sporting a shiny, straight jet black hair and the snazziest pair of 1970's era jeans he had ever seen in a while - pulled the door open. Her green eyes analyzed Scully from head to toe, then him.

To his utter shock, her green eyes registered surprise and her mouth surrendered to gravity.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, in perfect American accent. Scully raised an eyebrow, directing this towards him. He had no explanation, so he just shrugged.

Not noticing this, the woman covered her wide-open mouth with a hand, but this did not stop her from talking. "Oh MY god! I can't believe this … Fox? Is that you?!"

Yes, there was something really … as in REALLY strangely familiar with the woman's voice, but Mulder couldn't quite pinpoint who she was.

He glanced again at Scully, another shrug finding his shoulders. "Uhh, yes, I'm Fox Mulder … and you are?"

"Oh god, I can't believe this shit! It's me!" The woman pointed excitedly at her lace- covered chest. "Janice! Janice Christen! College, you know, we -"

Scully's eyebrows reached her hairline in understanding.

His did too.

OH … that Janice.

Of course, his girlfriend back in college … before Diana came and wrecked his whole life. The girl who he THOUGHT he had loved above all, who he thought he could spend the rest of his life with. The girl who showed him how to have real fun in a relationship, and not just in the bed. The girl who taught him to smoke crack, and he did, because he thought he loved her. And the girl who, ultimately, had to enter a rehabilitation center for drug abuse. Their relationship was as quirky as that.

When Janice left him in college, he was too high on drugs to actually have his heart broken, until he forgot about her and she must've forgotten about him, too. He always believed that he only loved her because she showed him how to love life. And he had never stopped loving life after Janice.

A wide smile finally broke over his face. "Janice! I didn't recognize you!" Hell, of course he couldn't recognize her - her hair used to be curly back in college. She used to be thinner too, paler, and more … mysterious. Right now she looked like any Frenchman did: sassy, different, but hey … still … mysterious. Take for example the question lingering in the back of his mind: What the fuck was she doing in Mr. Dupléra's supposed apartment?

Nevertheless, he opened his arms and took her in them. He hugged her earnestly, but at the corner of his eye, he watched Scully force a smile on and patience in her eyes. Mulder wanted to reach out to his lover and explain things, but he had to attend to the lingering matters on hand first.

"Man, Janice, you look damn different!" Mulder released his ex-girlfriend, clutching her shoulders and shaking his head. "I mean … this is amazing. It had been YEARS! Look at us! We're old!"

Janice laughed at his observation. "You still look the same to me, Fox. Believe me."

Suddenly, she bit her lip and nodded towards Scully's direction, as if remembering that there's another person alive in the planet. "And this beautiful girl is your daughter?"

His eyes widened into saucers.

END OF CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

A/N: This chapter shocked me. I had to split it into two because it originally was around 10,000 words. Too long. And I thought this was a good place to end it until the next instalment, eh?