CHAPTER FORTY ONE:

Hospital of Cook County
Chicago, Illinois
April 21, 1986
Monday

"Fox!"

Mulder was a few feet away from Samantha's deathbed, and he could hear her eight-year-old voice clearly in his head as if it was just yesterday when she had ran to him from outside of Martha's Vineyard and straight into his arms, shaking.

"Fox!" she had screamed back then. They were playing a game of Stratego when all the lights went out - their whole neighborhood blew a fuse. It was raining and their parents were not at home; Mulder was in charge because he was 'big brother,' and Samantha had no choice but to follow whatever order he barked at her. Since their parents were not there to regulate them, they broke a few rules: opened the TV to a western movie that Samantha liked; played a board game on the floor while eating pizza; drank coke.
When they were coated in darkness, Mulder lifted his head up to look outside the house. He saw some stray lights from the window and presumed that these were cars passing by. Samantha, ever bullheaded and maybe a lot like him, defiantly stood up and said she would check what was going on outside. Mulder tried to stop her, but remembering the feel of her thumps and bites when she broke her ankle on that hiking trip in Rhode Island, he let her go. After a few minutes, she came back running in the house visibly scared. She flew into his arms and he held her as she cried hard. He never knew what she saw outside and he would never find out – he could accept that now, as he looked at her through the clear window of the hospital's hallway – but that was a moment that he wanted to keep in his heart. It was probably the only moment in his life that he truly felt he was a big brother to his baby sister.

In hindsight, it all seemed senseless: his anger for Samantha, the way he kept her out of their lives, Emily crying at her aunt's bedside, Teena holding her daughter's painfully thin hands in her own. Even his father's death. It all seemed senseless, as he watched his sister's labored breathing and forced smiles. She had thinned drastically, compared to the last time he saw her during his grandson's funeral. Her eyes were gaunt; the hazel in them seemed dark and dank, as if her irises needed a light to be flicked within. Her cheeks had sunk into her face and he shuddered at the thought of her pain as she tried to still converse with his daughter. But what frightened him the most was the angry red, maroon, and brown welts on her neck that were now even worse than they had been when he first noticed them in New Mexico.

New Mexico. Mulder wanted to smack himself. She was reaching out to him … not for anything else, but because she was dying.

He felt his knees give out on him and he fumbled for a chair behind until he was able to sit down. Jesus Christ.

At once, she was right beside him. Scully dropped to her knees and he spread his legs wider to accommodate her petite body in between. Instinctively, as if she had been doing it for the rest of her life, she cradled his face in her hands and ran her thumbs on his lips. He still looked down, not ready to meet her eyes and let her see how vulnerable the situation was making him.

"Mulder? Are you all right?" she whispered softly. He could feel her breath against his cheeks and it washed away some of the trepidation.

He wasn't fine, of course. They both knew that. But it was great to hear her ask him.

Mulder tore his eyes away from his rubber shoes and met Scully's eyes with his own. "Could you come with me … inside … Samantha needs to meet … will you be fine?" His tongue felt like molasses and he thanked his unknown god that Scully understood him despite of.

"Of course, I'll come with you." She kissed his nose, his cheek, then his eyes. With one jerk, they were both up on their feet and instinctively again, as if they had been together in lifetimes before this one, their palms met and their fingers interlaced with one another. From her heat, he drew strength he needed to make the final steps into his sister's room.

Samantha barely registered that he was there. Teena and Emily did, and they respectfully gathered themselves and moved away. When Teena's hand carefully left Samantha's, his sister raised her head from the pillow to see what was going on. Her tired eyes saw Mulder, making the corners of her lips form a smile, then saw Scully. To the redheaded dancer, she provided an appreciative nod.

Before she left, Emily whispered something into Scully's ear with a hiccup. At his peripheral, he could see Scully shaking her head and softly telling Emily that, "I'm staying with your father."

Despite her assertion, Scully released his hand when they were all alone with Samantha. She stood away from him at the other end of the room, resting her back on the cold white walls of the room, and it was obvious that she was giving him and his sister a respectful distance. This was a conversation he had to make alone.

Mulder sat down on the chair his mother was previously sitting on and placed his hands on his lap, unsure of what to do with them. He didn't want to hold Samantha's hand – that seemed too sudden, as if he was pulling all stops to give her one last pity party before she died. Before him, Samantha wasn't expecting anything either. She gave him one quick grin that further stretched the taunt skin on her cheeks and closed her eyes. He took it as a cue for him to start speaking.
"Sam, you don't have to say anything. I know you're tired, very tired. And I think it is high time that I say something that I should've said a long time ago," he took a deep breath and crossed his arms, feeling vulnerable all of the sudden, "I'm sorry, so fucking sorry, if I was never a big brother to you. I'm sorry if I pushed you away all those years – when Dad died, when you wanted to spend time with Emily - who I know you loved so much, through my divorce, my birthdays, even through my grandson's funeral … I should've allowed you to be there, Samantha. I should've. This is all my fault. I can't help thinking that if I just allowed you back into our lives that you could have … I could have helped you somehow." He stopped talking before he choked on the sudden lump in his throat. He blinked his eyes several times to stop the tears from falling. Not because he didn't want to cry for Samantha, but because her eyes were now open and she was studying his face. He didn't want her to see how he pitied her. No, she deserved more on her deathbed.

Samantha made a gasp, which Mulder thought was the way she breathed, and spoke with a voice in an audible whisper: "Don't say all those things, Fox. You know that's not true."

"Samantha – I've been horrible to you –"

"Stop it, Fox, stop it," she gasped again. This time, his hands flew to the one that was nearest to him and he held onto her tight. This seemed to encourage her to continue. "I don't want your apology. I don't need your apology. All these years … all I've wanted is for you to accept mine. Please tell me that you have finally accepted my apology. Nothing else would make me so happy."

Mulder blinked, and the tears began to come. He tasted the saltiness in his lips and he didn't care. He let them come this time. "Of course. I've made my peace with what happened to us, Samantha. You will always be family."

"And you have always been a big brother. Just not to me … and not because you didn't want to, but because I didn't want you to. Forgive me, Fox, if I didn't fit in. I didn't want to. I didn't belong with you all. I lived my life the only way I knew that it could make me happy. If this is the consequence of my happiness … I'm ready. I'm ready." She squeezed his hand in return. "You've always been a big brother to the people you love, Fox."

"I wish I could've been to you, Sam."

"You tried. That's what I'll always cherish. You trying," she smiled again, and for a moment, Mulder thought he saw eight-year-old Samantha before him. He thought he could saw that split second when his sister stopped shaking and crying to look up at him and smile. Mulder felt he could save the world with that smile. He thought he could save her.

He leaned over and kissed his sister's hand. He knew it was going to be the last time.

Samantha closed her eyes once more. "Take care of Emily, Mom … and your girl. Dana Scully, right? She loves you. Love her back."

He smiled against her hand. "I already do."

"Never let her go … she's put up with you for longer than I would've." They both chuckled despite themselves. Then, Samantha opened her eyes and moved her head. Mulder lifted his head up so that he could look at his baby sister.

"I'll be fine, Fox," she whispered once more, and winked at him.

Mulder wiped the drying tears on his face with the back of his free hand and winked back. "I know." He took note of how he meant what he had said. He also took note of how light he felt; how his chest felt hollowed out yet gloriously so. As if an anvil had been carved out of his insides and he was now free.

Samantha's breathing slowed down and soon she was asleep. Mulder still held onto her, even as he stared at Scully at the far end of the room. She was wiping her tears away and beaming at him proudly, as if he was indeed the Superman she oftentimes called him. He thought he had never seen that smile on her before and he wondered if the rest of his life was enough for him to discover how to make her smile that way again.

Samantha died the following day. The middle-aged nurse with an involuntary quiver on her lip graciously offered her condolences to Mulder as he watched a number of hospital staff prepare his sister's body for the quick cremation (as was standard procedure, apparently, for patients who died of AIDS). She remarked, with a steady hand on his shoulder, that, "She was just waiting for you." Mulder nodded grimly, not knowing what else to say.

There was no wake nor was there a funeral. It was all in accordance to Samantha's request. These public events could alert her former "comrades" of her family's gathering and might retaliate for her past sins. Either way, it didn't matter – Mulder knew Samantha didn't have friends and their family would not have enough time to gather the Mulders from all over the country. So, the day after Samantha was cremated, he bought a delicately-trimmed porcelain and jade urn from a nearby antique shop with Scully and that was where they put Samantha's ashes. He was drawn to the American eagle silhouette carved on it and thought that his sister must have been an eagle in her past life.
Thank God that they were booked for a private plane for their return to Los Angeles, courtesy of CGB and his condolences. His mother had insisted that she carried Samantha's urn all throughout the flight and he distinctly burned into his memory the peculiar feeling of being somewhere above the desert of New Mexico, with her clutching onto Samantha's ashes as if it was a newborn baby. Across her on that flight home, Emily slept fitfully and he ached to take her into his arms like he had done when she was five. He couldn't do that now – she wasn't five anymore and the one she needed to help her wasn't him.

Beside him was a different matter: Scully silently sat by the window when they boarded the plane and she had offered him every single part of her body as a source of comfort. Her hands were there atop his knuckles when he fumbled with his own; her shoulder was a soft pillow for when he felt too battered to think; his big nose fit snugly within the valley between her breasts; her waists were anchors for when he felt his knees were about to give up on him, and during that flight, her left arm was his totem pole – a solid mound of flesh he could latch his faith onto, where he felt he could gather his bearings from.

He kept glancing at her and watching the clear blue of her eyes change hues from the clouds that flittered here and there in the airplane's window. She stared out at the sky, her thoughts as far and wide as the tectonic plate they were defying gravity from, and he wondered what she was thinking of. It must be better than what he had no choice but to think of … but then again, it might not.

It didn't matter, though – not when everything in his world was slowly and steadily falling apart. It wasn't always that their thoughts took the backseat to reality, and he relished in that.

With the arm that was holding her, he pulled her closer until he could smell the strawberries and cream of her hair and that unmistakable Scully-scent he wanted to wake up to forever. He balanced his chin on her shoulder, gently rubbing on the delicate bone there because he knew that was a special spot that Scully needed to be stroked when she was nervous. He marveled at how fast their relationship had progressed – from gingerly tiptoeing around each other with gentle touches and hugs to knowing where to touch and hug when they needed each other. He was in the middle of a shit storm, yes, but with her around, it was paradise.

The days after arriving in Los Angeles flew by so fast he could barely feel the feet beneath his ground. Before any of them knew it, it was the day before the press conference and Tinsel town was excitedly buzzing with the "biggest revelation" of the month. Mulder didn't want to hear about the "biggest revelation" or what the media speculated about it, so he barred any sort of newspaper or tabloid from his WB office and at home. To shut the world out, he buried himself in work – from the finishing touches of Danced Yesterday, the MTV, to how much he owed Skinner, and transferring the money Scully's family had sent him for over a year to her own account. He even started doing his expense reports at one point, but was scolded by Scully when he computed his working lunch bills wrong.

By Friday, he was exhausted. He fell asleep after Scully pounced on him and made love to him with a blind passion. He let her ride him the whole time; he was happy enough to lie down and watch her bounce up and down his shaft. When he furiously came and she did, too, barely ten minutes later she was stroking him to hardness again. She was insatiable that Friday night, and when he came the second time around, he seriously thought he passed out afterwards.

It was pitch black midnight when he felt her slide into bed with him. He opened his eyes and before she could pretend that she had been sleeping beside him after their previous lovemaking, he spoke:

"You're still awake."

Beside him, Scully's soft warm body stiffened against his, and then relaxed when he gave her arm a light squeeze. He spooned closer to her, melding his naked front to her equally naked back and breathing in the strawberries and cream scent that always seemed to waft from her hair no matter how long the day had been. He sighed deeply into the crook of her shoulder and kissed the base of her nape.

Scully reached up to take the hand that was on her arm and intertwined her fingers with his. "Yes," she whispered, her voice small and timid against the static in his ears. "I ate an apple downstairs and I was thinking that I should take something for this sudden insomnia. I'm sorry I bothered you awake."

"Hey, don't be sorry," he quickly replied against her skin. He had known that she was worried about tomorrow, despite him giving her the leeway to set the date for the press conference. She couldn't keep still inside the Manor – she had rearranged the potted lilies on the windowsills again and again; danced in the basement a couple of times until she was absolutely exhausted; offered to fix his closet (which he reluctantly relented to – anything to keep her busy), and then made love to him until he was exhausted himself. He really, really wanted to stay awake and wait for her to fall asleep beside him, but the last minute preparations he had to take care of with Walter and the intense lovemaking session they shared together were enough to knock him unconscious. Honestly, Mulder wasn't surprised when he woke up to find her still awake – if not, he was guilty and he conveniently blamed his untimely exhaustion on his age. His age, really, at this point in their relationship, didn't matter anymore, but it was always a convenient scapegoat.

"What are you worried about?" he continued after a heartbeat, gently rocking her in his arms so that she scooted closer - until they were one molecule again. Scully moved her hair against the pillow they shared and he could see the strands of fiery redness from the moonlight peeking through the wide window of the room.

"Everything, I think. It is my first press conference." She sighed and he could feel her heart beating faster against their intertwined fingers. "I've always thought that my first press conference was going to be about the movie. I guess not."

"I'm sorry about that," he offered, lifting his mouth a bit so that it fit into the part where her neck met her shoulder. "I wish it could have been different, too – but the paparazzi are scoundrels. They will get their hands on anything."

She shifted a little to direct her head at him. "Oh, don't apologize, Mulder. I'm not blaming you … I'm worried about you."

What? Worried about him? He had been in the industry for almost two decades now. What more could she be worried about when it came to him? He was no actor, but he had learned enough charisma from the actors he had worked with in his long career for him to breeze through tomorrow's press conference. He was almost a hundred percent sure that he could charm the media tomorrow with a wink and a pout – the same tactics he had done when he announced he was going to divorce Diana. They all immediately labeled him as the "victim" of the divorce. Thank God his ex-wife barely cared.

Mulder maneuvered Scully so that they were lying down face-to-face. It was easy enough to flip her over – she was so light, so tiny in his long arms – and soon she was staring back at him with those endless blue eyes. He wrapped one arm around her waist to pull her closer and let her head rest on his other arm as a pillow. He also kept her two shapely legs between his longer ones, knowing that these kinds of talks left her feeling vulnerable and she liked the confidence that his touch readily gave her.

"What do you mean, darling?"

Scully blinked innocently at first, then her eyes visibly darkened a shade – he saw this, despite the meager light. "You have a career to take care of, Mulder. Hollywood has known you for a long time … I mean, who am I? I'm just a neophyte here. What will they say about me? That I'm using you for my own fame? That I'm sleeping with you to get around the business? I've heard of all these things …"

"Shhh …" He placed a gentle finger on her pink lips. Mulder made sure that she could see his eyes and that he meant all the words he was about to say.

"We know the truth, Scully. We fell in love. I love you for who you are before all this bullshit… and nothing they say will change that. The truth will always be this: We are just two people who are in love and want to stay in love, Scully. Nothing more; nothing less. If they want to say anything more about that, we don't have to listen to them – just like what we agreed upon when we first started this. Do you remember that?" Scully nodded slowly. He continued, "I will admit to you that Hollywood isn't always the best place to start a relationship. There will be many challenges – more than what we'll be facing tomorrow. Trust me when I say that I'm in this for the long haul and that I want nothing more but to spend the rest of my life with you. And in order for us to do just that, we have to always hold onto the truth – the truth we both know. What we have must, should, always be just between you and me."

His eyes searched hers for confirmation that she understood. Scully blinked and he thought he lost her, but then she began to speak. "I'm in this for the long haul too, Mulder. I love you so much it's bloody insane … but I'm scared. I don't want to lose you." She broke their eye contact and tucked her head below his chin.

God, he couldn't help thinking, Scully-girl? Ah, it's been a while. Mulder breathed in, calming himself, and then ran his fingers through Scully's hair. "You'll never lose me, Scully. It's impossible for you to do so. You know where to find me. Heck, you live in my house." He laughed a little.

Through his skin, she mumbled, "How much did it cost you to stop the paparazzi from printing a story about us until the press conference?"

Mulder rolled his eyes. Fuck. He didn't want to talk about this right now. Not when they were a few hours from waking up and facing the world with what they needed to confirm. Not when they both needed to look their best tomorrow …

"Mulder?" she insisted. He rolled his eyes again.

"Nothing that won't hurt me." He gritted his teeth as she pressed her lips on his chest.

"A hundred thousand dollars, right?"

Oh yeah. How could he forget? She was the one who finished his expense reports yesterday. Damn.

"Yes," Mulder answered, helpless. He waited for her to throw back a comment, a Spunk-like comment that was bordering on caring and smart-ass-like, but within a few seconds, her breathing against his chest stilled and her hold on his body slackened.

Finally, he thought as he bent down to give her one last kiss and before he followed her into much-needed oblivion.

The camera lenses flashed viciously in their faces before they even had the chance to sit down.

Mulder guided Scully with a hand at the small of her back; secretly, he peered over at her with unabashed worry as they stepped up the makeshift platform in the open WB lot. She shielded her eyes from the blight glare of the lights and lenses that assaulted them the moment they left his office to face the press. When they were on stage, he gazed over his right shoulder and nodded indiscriminately at John, who had introduced their entrance.

The platform was modest yet telling: there was a brand new tarpaulin of an emblem that hinted at his upcoming film. It was a silhouette of Scully and Pendrell dancing together – she was on the tips of her toes and leaning towards him while he stood stiff to accept her body against his. He picked that particular shot because he liked the way Scully's body arched towards her co-star and the way her finger was pointed up at the sky while her toes pointed down. They interspersed this shot with bright new wave colors – neon green, pink, violet, blue, red – to conceal their faces and had lettered a sharp "Danced Yesterday" around the silhouette. It looked good when he first saw it in his office; he hoped it provided an adequate backdrop to their press conference today.

There were two chairs on the white-clothed table before them and he pulled a chair open for Scully. She sat down heavily on it, still shielding her eyes, while he took all the flashes like a pro with his 'I'm-the-most-charming-man-in-the-world' grin that John had once remarked he only reserved for the media.

He grabbed the mike that was positioned in front of them. Taking advantage of his other hand hidden away from the prying camera lenses, he gently touched Scully's shoulder. Relax, relax, his mind whispered, and he willed her to hear it too.

She must've heard or understood him somehow, because she placed her hand down on the table and forced a smile on her lips. Her dimples peeked.

One, two, three, he counted in his head. Between those numbers, he glanced at Scully and their eyes connected – his confident hazels with her nervous blues – and he proceeded to get everything over with.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he began, his voice ringing from the speakers nearby. Beside him, he felt Scully tremble from the noise. "Thank you for coming out here today. We truly appreciate everyone's interest in my directorial debut movie, which is entitled Danced Yesterday. Officially, it will be screened early in June and then be released publicly late June or early July. We're pining for a summer blockbuster," he added with a wink. Usually, these kinds of comments would be taken as asshole-ish by the media, but Mulder knew how to thread with these people. He had worked with them many times before and respected them a great deal. He didn't always agree with their methods (hence, the money he had to shell out and this unnecessary press conference), but it was Hollywood. He was fair game. And right now, he was the most interesting prize of all.
As expected, he heard a rumbling laugh from the audience. He forged on, "But of course, you guys are not here for that," he stressed the last word and got the press to laugh at him again. "Which brings me to formally introduce you all to this lovely woman beside me." He draped a hand at the back of Scully's chair and looked at her. He kept the wince from his face when he saw that her shoulders were almost up to her ears with how tense she was. Keeping his hand where the people in front couldn't see, he ran his thumb up and down her spine to soothe her. Little by little, within that fraction of a minute that he paused to turn to her, he saw her relax a bit.

"This is Dana Katherine Scully, Harry Pendrell's co-star for Danced Yesterday. I personally discovered her when I saw her performing live." Of course, he didn't mention where. "As most of you know, since you've covered her appearances from the Folies Bergere, to Cheers, to Entertainment Tonight, she's an unbelievably talented dancer and a great actress. She's the next big thing."

Scully kept her smile, but he could see the blush creeping up from her neck to face.

Mulder continued, once in a while glancing at the audience, but he couldn't really keep his eyes off of her. She was so beautiful, especially for that particular event. He requested that her hair be straightened for the event, and it was framing her face like an ethereal reddish glow. He had also asked for minimal makeup – just enough to highlight the tips of her nose, the red of her lips, and that little mole beneath her nose. But the makeup artist must've gotten a kick out of her blue eyes because she did something that made them pop out so strikingly it almost floored him when he first saw her out of the dressing room. Sure, he had seen her at her worst and still found her beautiful (even if she was makeup free and bawling her eyes out in a hospital); however, he still appreciated moments like this when she stepped out and literally took his breath away.

"More than that, though," he cleared his throat, made a mental note to not refer to Scully as Scully, and he felt the media fall to a silence so severe he could probably hear their heartbeats beating against their own ribcages, "Dana has been very important in my life. For more than a year now, we have spent time together as co-workers and friends. I was there for her when she needed me and she has been there for me more times than I could have counted. She showed me what friendship is truly about … recently in fact, she showed me how wonderful it is to fall in love with your best friend."

Some of the media people broke the silence with a calculated awww. Mulder grinned wider when he saw Scully pursing her lips to keep a smile from breaking her composure. From his angle, he could see her blue eyes becoming slightly watery.

"So, we're here today to share with you that Dana and I are in a relationship and we're very happy to confirm this news to you. Thank you. We'll be taking your questions if you have any."

Pandemonium broke. Mulder ignored the raised hands, calls for their names; he leaned over to place a kiss on Scully's cheek, but before he could, she shifted her head so that his kiss landed on her lips. His heart warmed over the gesture and the warmth felt like a heavy burden being lifted from his shoulders. The cameras frenzied before them.

When they broke off, some media people began to call for Scully's name. Of course, they heard him already – they wanted to hear now what she thought.

Mulder took charge. He knew some of these people by their first names. He pointed at a heavy-set woman with horn-rimmed glasses a few steps from the back. "Amelia," he said into the mike, now unashamedly placing his arms around Scully's shoulders. She further relaxed into his hold.

Amelia moved to the mike that was placed in the center of the area. "Hi, Dana, it's wonderful to finally meet you and hear from you in the next few seconds. We've dealt with Mr. Mulder for so long now and we've often wondered when he'll be tamed," this comment received a lot of laughs from familiar faces and Mulder also snickered a little, "but that's another story or another press conference. Anyway, Dana, can you tell us how you and Mr. Mulder met and what was your first impression of him?"

Scully shifted in his embrace and leaned forward to take the mike in her hands. She cleared her throat at it, unsure about the way she sounded, then with one big breath she spoke, "Hi, umm, thank you very much for your kind words. We met when he was an audience at a performance I had in one of his friends' studio," she meant bar, but they've talked about this before and decided to label the bar as studio instead, "and he relentlessly pursued me to dance for his debut movie." He smiled when he heard her British accent sounding crisp with the last word – it came out like a drawl, like moo-vee to his ears. "I only agreed because he seemed to know what he was doing and he was really passionate about taking a chance with me, a virtual nobody in this industry. As for my first impression of him … I thought he was a bloody persistent man."

This earned another bout of laughter. Amelia jotted down a few things in her notebook and thanked Mulder. The director turned to another familiar face in the group. "Robert?"

A tall, pencil-thin man stood behind the mike. "Good afternoon, Mr. Mulder and Ms. Scully. It is our pleasure to meet you, Ms. Scully." He glanced at his notes. "Ms. Scully, we understand that you came from England. May I ask which particular place there?"

"Wales," Mulder answered for her.

"Oh, Wales! Great weather. Anyway, what was the most challenging aspect of filming a movie for the first time? And did your relationship with Mr. Mulder make it even more challenging?"

Scully shook her head. "Hi, Robert. To answer your latter question – no, my relationship with Mr. Mulder didn't make filming any challenging than it already was. You see, the reason why the movie took so long is because we had to rehearse two sets of dance sequences. Harry and I rehearsed on our own and then rehearsed with the group for the more elaborate sets. Then after rehearsals, we would shoot some scenes which were apart from the dancing. It was physically draining. But what made it bearable was that my character in the movie, Aida, was someone who had an old-world exhaustion about her so I don't think that part in the film was fake …" Everyone laughed at her comment, including Mulder. "So to surmise, I think the only thing that was challenging about my relationship with Mr. Mulder and the movie was the way he directed. He can get very single-minded when he is doing something he's passionate about. We had really, really long hours on the set. Sometimes, sixteen hours straight and Mr. Mulder wouldn't stop at that. He would keep on going until he had the perfect shot. I think I was more worried for him than I was for myself."

He squeezed her shoulder to acknowledge the sentiment behind that. Mulder's pride was swelling in happiness; Scully wasn't just doing well, she was doing great. In his heart, bones, soul, he understood that she was meant for this – she was meant to do this for the rest of her life. She was meant to be in front of all these people, to handle all these craziness, to be beside him throughout it all.

It was so perfect. Everything was falling into place.

Before he could call from the pool of familiar faces, someone was already at the mike and starting a question. Mulder had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes when he realized it was Cantrell of the ET behind-the-scenes infamous incident. He hoped that he'd play nice this time.

"Hello, hello, Mr. Mulder and Ms. Scully! I knew this was coming!" Beside him, Scully visibly tensed. "I do have a question though. After our interview a few months ago for Entertainment Tonight, I've done a bit of a research on you, Ms. Scully," he thumbed through his notes and Mulder stole a glance at Scully. She was more than tense now. Her shoulders had a slight tremble to them and her blue eyes fidgeted more than usual.

"And I did find out that you were born in Wales. My first question is, why America?"

Scully blinked and said to the mike: "This is where dreams are free, Cantrell."

Cantrell's eyes twinkled. "Oh, yes, yes, dreams are free here. But are you sure you aren't running away from something back in Wales?"

Low grade murmurs erupted in the room. Mulder glanced back where John, Walter, and Marita were standing by the stage. He raised his eyebrows at them, a silent demand to keep this fucking asshole in line, and before John could move towards the reporter, Cantrell was already firing away: "You have two brothers and one sister, don't you, Ms. Scully? You are from a very, very well-off family in Wales. Almost close to royalty, I believe. And not only that … but you were in a scandal two years ago. I read in some local Welsh newspapers that your sister and two brothers were sent to jail briefly for an unmentioned crime. But a crime grave enough to still make the newspapers despite it being very hush-hush. Is this what you were running away from?"

Beside him, Scully had paled and the murmurs started to become louder, more alarmed. Some agreed with the way Cantrell was attacking Scully, also curious to know what sort of mystery surrounded this British gal, while the others who had known Mulder for a long time were cursing at him, telling him to "sit the fuck down" or "give it a rest, Cantrell."

John and Marita were behind Cantrell at once, putting their hands on his shoulders to ask him to sit down. He refused with a shake.

"It's my right to ask these questions!" he piped up, voice cracking. Underneath the table, Scully placed a hand on his thigh – so tight he thought it would rip through his jeans – and he grabbed her hand and squeezed it just as tight. She didn't have to do this alone. He was with her all throughout, even if his head was spinning from what he was hearing. Was it true? Was Scully really running from a heinous crime that her family had committed back in Wales?

"I, I …" Scully swallowed hard. "I wasn't running away from anything. What the newspapers reported on two years ago was never substantiated or proven in court. These were all based on rumors and hunches. My sister and brothers never committed such a crime and though a crime DID occur, they were never proven guilty."

Cantrell opened his mouth to say something else but was jerked from the mike by an irate John. He whispered something in Cantrell's ear that made the languid man pale, and then he was escorted out of the premises by a security guard.

The press conference went on for the next hour without any more incidents, but Mulder made a mental note of Cantrell's comments and how Scully's demeanor had suddenly tensed since then.

After posing for a few photos for the media, they were escorted by Walter to his WB office. There were congratulations, a bouquet of flowers for Scully and red wine for him from CGB Spender, and then the door closed behind them.

Scully plopped heavily on his couch and kicked off her heels. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the backrest; when she did so, he could see the blue vein on her neck pulsing, as if asking him to come closer so he could lick it.

Mulder sighed heavily; sure, they did a great job, but Cantrell's comments made him think. Hard. What was he talking about anyway? And how dare he question Scully like that?

He moved closer to the Spunk, intending to just plop down beside her and rest after that tiring two hours, but the moment he sat down, Scully trembled all over and landed in his arms. She buried her face into his chest and began to cry. It wasn't silent; it wasn't shy. She was howling into his shirt, her body shaking so hard he thought she was going into shock.

"Scully, Scully, tell me what's wrong!" he demanded into her ear. She shook her head and continued to sob. He wracked his brain and changed his tactic. He had to know. He had to know now or else it would drive him insane.

"Scully … what Cantrell said … was it true? It would not matter to me, but I want you to be honest because once this movie gets out there people are going to be very curious about you. Is it true what he said? I know you denied it, but is it true?"

Scully sobbed for another solid minute. Mulder thought she wasn't going to answer – it was typical of her and he wouldn't be surprised, but she nodded. So small, so quick, that if he wasn't paying attention, he would have missed it. But the nod was there. The truth was there on his lap, a heaping ball of sadness and tears.

Jesus, Mulder wanted to smack himself on the forehead, Scully's unfolding like a goddamn flower every day. He was happy that she was finally being honest with him about her past bit by bit, but he was also afraid. He was also afraid that the moment she was in full bloom, he wouldn't be able to recognize her anymore.

And that frightened him. Because he knew he would love her whoever she may turn out to be, but would she still love him, despite herself?

Soon, he also started tearing up and without shame, he cried silently along with her.

END OF CHAPTER FORTY ONE

A/N: Thank you for all your comments. I briefly posted this fic at Archive of Our Own; however, I find it hard to maintain two accounts, so I'll just finish this story here. And yes – we're almost at the finish line! Keep those reviews coming!