CHAPTER FORTY TWO:

Chateau Sunshine Hotel
Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles
June 28, 1986
Saturday

"Here, Mulder! Look here!"

"Dana! Look here! Smile for us, will you?"

"Show us a kiss! Show us a kiss!"

"You two look perfect tonight! How are you feeling?"

Mulder leaned into the boom mike and flashed the camera in front of him his best smile. He did an inventory of who was asking him that question and in his head thought, Ah, People, then waved a little at the interviewer.
"I'm feeling great! This is what we've worked hard for all that time." He gently squeezed the waist of his date for the night.

Scully had her arms loose around his torso and she tightened her grip to bring herself closer to the mike. Everywhere around them were hot white flashes of cameras, media calling out their names, TV hosts desperate to ask them questions, and the WB personnel and their body guards for the evening hounding their every move. It was maddening; it was chaotic, but Mulder felt that he was in heaven.
What made it even better was that Scully seemed to also bask in the limelight. A good example was the way she stood up with her shoulders straight; she unashamedly held onto him as they walked the red carpet towards the entrance of the Chateau. He loved every minute of it, and whenever he caught her gaze and she flashed him a close-lipped smile that showed her little dimple, he could tell that she loved it, too.

"Oh, this is magnificent! This is my first premiere and I'm having the time of my life!" Scully giggled afterwards, and he felt her stroking his sides – it was a nervous, but very pleasurable, gesture from her.

The reporter, face hidden behind the bright spotlight of the camera, waved the mike in their faces. "Is there a possibility of you doing another movie with your boyfriend?"

She caught his eye, raised an eyebrow to silently ask him, boyfriend? Mulder shrugged. It was funny – lately, they didn't think of themselves as boyfriend and girlfriend. It seemed too shallow of labels for what they have gone through together in the short time they've been intimate. He preferred to call her his "partner," and once after making love, she told him that she agreed with him. "Partner" sounded like it fit who they were two each other: yin and yang. Two parts of one whole.

Of course, Scully wouldn't rain on the reporter's parade. Not tonight.

Her smile became wider. "Well, if my boyfriend has another project up his sleeve and he considers me for the role, why not? I guess I'm easier to negotiate with."

Mulder laughed, then moved her a bit from the mike so that he could talk into it. "Dana's a fantastic actress. If there IS a next project and it's perfect for her, then yeah, why not? But right now we want to enjoy the night because this is the fruit of our hard work. Thank you!" With that he ended the interview and in perfect sync, they moved together on the red carpet: his arm around her shoulders and her hands around his torso.

They posed around for a couple more photographs before Mulder saw Marita at the end of the red carpet beckoning them both: they needed to step inside for they probably were the only ones being waited for by the rest of the guests. It was natural for them to appear last on the red carpet – they both were the new media babies of Hollywood, after they admitted their relationship more than two months ago to the public. They were quickly labeled as Hollywood's star-crossed lovers or the modern day Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Not everyone was kind enough, though: they were also labeled as the modern day Humbert Humbert and Lolita.

Mulder could make out Pendrell rushing into the Chateau with a pretty blonde perched on his arm. He was happy to see that Pendrell had started dating (maybe out of spite) when he and Scully went public. His actor wasn't really surprised at their admittance, but he did smart at Scully for a while. Some photo shoots they had to do together were very awkward, so Mulder had to intervene by asking John to go through the most gorgeous women in Hollywood and they came up with the perfect match for Pendrell: Leyla Harrison. They had been dating for a month now and so far, so good.

"One last picture, Mulder! Look here, Dana!"

He gazed deep into Scully's eyes: Let's give them a show, shall we?

She quirked an eyebrow, but amusement danced within her blue irises: Let's.

With his left hand, he grabbed her own left hand from his waist and used it to pirouette her around in three perfect circles. He didn't need to move – he only had to provide her the stimuli and Scully danced away from him. On her pointy blue heels, she twirled on tip-toes and he released her so that she could continue twirling in perfection that defied physics. Her blue skintight dress twirled along with her – they sparkled as the cameras flashed, and the skirt billowed under the air she stirred in her body's wake.

Mulder's throat tightened at the sight of her moving body. She was so beautiful. He wondered what the fuck he ever did to deserve someone like her.

Then, when she finished with a toe pointed at him and the other pointed at the media, she opened her arms to him and he came into them happily. He kissed her lightly on the lips, enough to send the press into another crazy frenzy, and he sighed against her cheek. She broke free and winked at him. With that, Mulder realized that he deserved her, all of her. He might not be perfect, but he had done enough right to be rewarded with this woman.

They began to laugh now, then giggle, as they walked into the Chateau.

The wine was everywhere and it was fucking amazing. Mulder had not really indulged to death in alcohol since he had been intimate with Scully, but tonight was an exception. He wanted to get drunk – actually, he felt drunk already. The movie's premiere went by so smoothly he was on cloud nine before it even ended. Everything seemed so damn perfect. There were a couple of standing ovations after it ended from those who mattered – namely, the big bosses of WB (like Chance, who had loved the movie when he was first shown its first cut), the press, and his family.
He was running high on adrenaline and he made a mental note to moderate himself with the wine. But everywhere he turned, people were serving him wine: John who clapped him on the back and handed him a glass for a lively cheers; Walter who was flirting with a blonde guest and clanked a glass with him unsteadily; Chance who was happily puffing away on his Morley and he coaxed for one glass so that they could celebrate; Emily and his mom who were the happiest he had seen them in months – and Emily finally, finally enjoying herself as she drank red Chardonnay in one large gulp and shimmied on the dance floor. The final damage came from the Lone Glitter boys – Byers was already boisterous, while Frohike and Langley were bickering about whose kung-fu was better. But they had wine so Mulder drank along with them.

At around twelve midnight, his head was starting to spin and he broke free from his company (now a bunch of media people who were telling him how excited they were to write their review for the movie … after they nurse their hangover tomorrow) to look for Scully. He saw her hanging out with Monica and Emily about an hour ago. He wanted to desperately keep his eye on her throughout the whole after-party, but was unable to when his own surroundings started to get blurry.

Mulder stood on his toes to scan the crowd. Dammitt, why did he have to drink too much? He couldn't distinguish fucking brunette from blondes or redheads now. Shit. The whole place was swimming in such pretty colors.

He shook his head sharply. He had to concentrate. Concentrate. Look for the Spunk. Look for the Spunk.

Shuffling around the dance floor, he bumped against some bodies dancing intimately to the song – a good song, at that, but one he couldn't remember for the drunken life of him. He muttered a quick "sorry" to every single body he collided into. After a while, he started to panic when his palms began to feel thick. Shit. He was officially drunk.

Scully was NOT going to be happy.

That thought made him bump against the wine table and the goofy-looking waiter held a glass of chilled white wine to his face. Oh yeah, his favorite …

"Dad!" Emily's voice suddenly shrieked like a Jiminy Cricket conscience behind his head. "I think you've had enough of that." She pried the glass from his hand and firmly held his wrist.

Rather than protest, an enraged redhead's face flashed in his head and he somberly hung his head. "Yeah, yeah, I guess I've had. Where's Scully?"

He couldn't focus on Emily's face, but he sensed that he was talking to his daughter, so that was fine. He let her lead him to a less crowded area of the dance floor.

"That's the thing, Dad. Dana's in the toilet. I don't know what's up, but I think she's … she's had enough wine, too. I think she's vomiting in there."

Oh, shit.

Mulder's adrenaline level spiked up and it made his vision crystal. He now saw the furrowed brows of his daughter, her pink cheeks, and her tight lips. She released his wrists and crossed her arms. God, she looked so much like his mom at that moment.

"I'll check on her," he resolved, twisting his body towards the toilets. Only his feet didn't follow immediately and he almost stumbled to his nose.

"Dad," Emily cried out, and he quickly regained his balance. She sighed, "She's in the women's toilet. I don't think you can go in there."

"Em," he spread his arms out wide and gave her a shaky, funny bow, "it's MY night. I can get in anywhere."

That was false bravado, because when he reached the golden door of the women's toilet, he knocked gently and excused himself a couple of times. When he didn't hear anyone answering him, he pushed the door open and let himself in.

It was easy to find Scully – the first cubicle was open and he could see the unmistakable red hair peeking from the door. She was sitting on the floor with her legs crossed in front of her, her blue skirt bunched up on her lap, and her back to the wooden dividers. She was heaving in and out, pale as hell, and cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

Mulder's adrenaline spiked again and he felt himself losing the alcohol in his system. He sat down beside her and dug into his pocket to look for his handkerchief. He found it and started to wipe her sweat.

"Are you okay?" he murmured. She closed her eyes and pinched her nose bridge.

"Fuck, I think I drank too much," Scully spit out in between deep breaths. Mulder saw a line of sweat trickle from the side of her neck and he followed it with his cloth.

"How many did you have tonight, darling?"

Scully bit her lip forcefully. "I think around two to three glasses? I know I didn't have a fourth one because I fucking ran to the toilet by then. I hope Emily wasn't insulted."

"She was the one who told me that you're in here, heaving out the great dinner we had a while ago," Mulder couldn't help but snicker – really? Two to three glasses? She must have lost count, because Mulder had seen Scully finish a bottle of wine and still ride his cock with such precision it almost made him cry, "But really, Scully? Two to three glasses?"

She opened her mouth to answer but her paleness became a greenish tint. Before he could say anything else, she thrust her face into the toilet bowl and began to vomit once more.

Mulder sighed and stood up to hold her hair back as she coughed everything out into the bowl. He wasn't going to continue in on the party while she was THIS drunk. He was going to bid his guests a quick goodbye and have the limousine bring them home to the Manor ASAP. They had a very important interview scheduled tomorrow with CNN and there was no way, no absolute way, they were allowed to miss it. WB would have his neck if they cancelled on it because they both "drank too much" during the premiere.

Oh, and he would ask that limousine to go through a McDonald's drive through too because he needed a jumbo-sized coke to keep him awake the whole night. He had a feeling he was going to take care of a very drunk Spunk.

By the time she was finished, he was already writing a good bye speech in his head. It went along the lines of, Hey everyone, thanks for coming! My partner and I are seriously drunk right now and we have the interview of our lifetime tomorrow, so we need to go. Enjoy the wine because we fucking couldn't! When she lifted her head up and he automatically wiped her mouth clean, he mentally rewrote some of words and placed the final period on that speech.

After breakfast, his house was thrumming with activity. Everything was a constant play of movement, except for Emily's room which was kept shut to keep all the chaos out since she was also nursing a hangover. Mulder had no such choice, since WB's makeup and stylist crew came over early in the morning and had waited patiently while he coaxed a very hungover Scully from their bed. To tide them over while they waited, he asked Jenny to bribe them with her famous all-American breakfast cuisine.

"You're so pale today, Dana," Chastity, the same makeup artist they had for most of the women involved in the movie, remarked as she dabbed a reddish tint on the redhead's cheeks. Scully snorted at that comment and squirmed in the chair. Their bedroom had suddenly become an impromptu makeup room for Scully could barely get her ass off the bed and they couldn't afford to run late. With some thought for modesty, Mulder tried straightening the sheets of their bed and keeping some of the clothes they discarded in their drunken haze last night (nothing else but to get comfortable, of course) into his closet.

Now, different wardrobe ensembles were sprawled on their dark blue sheets, shoes for both of them were being lined up by the movie's resident stylist, Rush, and his bedside tables were pulled from the wall to double as a dresser where Chastity could dump her huge makeup kit on for easy reach. Mulder paced around, worrying over Scully's condition, making Rush give him the stern eye. He knew he needed to settle down, but for the life of him, he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"Scully, if you're not feeling fine, we shouldn't do this interview," he suddenly remarked, without thinking. The words just came out – like verbal vomit (oh hey, more reminders of last night) – as if he had no control over what he was saying. Maybe he didn't. He didn't dry swallow three Tylenol pills that morning to numb him from nervousness - nope, not at all.

From where she was seated, Scully rolled her eyes. Chastity paused when she heard him speak, but continued dabbing on Scully's cheeks anyway. The makeup artist knew the Director well enough to understand that he had the propensity to spill things out without thinking about them. Especially when he had one too many the night before.

"Mulder," she replied, her accent as crisp as the morning sun awaiting them outside, "we've been booked for this interview since last month. I'm okay. I'm feeling good. I ate some soup," she gestured to the other bedside table near her that had a half-eaten bowl of Jenny's super tasty chicken soup for the soul, while opening her mouth so that Chastity could start outlining her lip, "I had Advil just like you did and I'm feeling good! There's no reason why we need to cancel this interview. This is CNN …" she trailed off. Mulder felt that she wanted to say more, but at that time, her lips were being colored a shade of peach that would match her designated outfit.

He paced around some more. "You didn't even finish your soup!" Mulder whined.

"I had tea and biscuits!" she protested, just after Chastity asked her to smack her lips together. The makeup artist stood up to work on her frizzy red hair, so Scully found the opportunity to turn her body around to face him. He looked at her and breathed deeply at the transformation – last night, before going to bed, she looked so pale he was about to dial 911. Now, what a little Hollywood magic could do was astounding: from being white as paper, she suddenly bloomed into the healthiest, prettiest young lady to grace the City of Angels.

An eyebrow was raised and Mulder, in defense, raised his arms too. "Stop babying me, Mulder! I told you I'm fine. I can do this!" Chastity pulled Scully back to the chair by her shoulders and the Spunk followed indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. At the corner of the room, Rush started to whistle to break the tension and motioned for Mulder to sit on the bed. The Director had no choice but to do as he was asked.

Once he sat down, Rush started working on his hair. Mulder raised a hand at the man and opened his mouth to talk, but was cut off by Scully's sharp tone:

"You brush it up with only gel and not hair spray, because Mulder wasn't able to shampoo his hair properly this morning."

He closed his mouth. He couldn't help it; he winked at her despite themselves and turned to Rush. "Whatever she said, that's it," he agreed. Rush nodded, commented, "You two are one strange couple," and started combing his hair.

Mulder ignored the comment and turned back to Scully. "What?" she barked before he could even start.

"I'm just saying," Mulder calmly started, "that if you don't feel well enough to do this interview, we could always reschedule."

"Reschedule?" her voice was getting higher, which also made Mulder's neck tighter, "What the fuck are you talking about? Unless you want Chance to have your balls fried and served to the CNN anchors on a silver platter, then go ahead, by all means, Mr. Superman, reschedule!"

"Oh man," Rush laughed, shaking his head, "she's feisty."

Mulder stared at the guy for a moment, as if contemplating if he'd let him live or die. Okay, he'd let him live. He'd let Scully die a little instead for what she said. "She's not feisty," Mulder countered, the joy dancing in his eyes, "she's spunk-y."

That got her. Scully groaned so loud that if Chastity wasn't just holding her head back with pins and a blow drier, she would have pounced on him and hit him somewhere.

The tension dissolved into an uneasy silence, with Scully refusing to look at him and Mulder carefully watching Rush work on his hair. Within thirty minutes, they were done, and Chastity ushered Scully into the bathroom to get her clothes on. Rush, meanwhile, had shown Mulder what he should wear. Without hesitation and with the ladies in the bathroom, Mulder stripped down to his boxers and put on black slacks, a black long-sleeved turtleneck shirt, and black leather shoes. He stole a glance at himself on the mirror.

"What the hell is this, Rush? Am I going to a funeral?"

The stylist grinned. "You look good, Mr. Mulder. I'm sure your girlfriend will approve." He then proceeded to dust his shirt free of lint.

It was at that moment that Scully came out of the bathroom. She was trying to swat away Chastity's hands that were pulling down her skirt, but when she stood up, Mulder's breath caught in his throat. She was wearing a peach tight-fitting dress that hugged all her curves in all the right places. It was long sleeved, which further accentuated her gorgeous body and had shoulder pads that somehow gave off the illusion that her waist was impossibly tiny. Mulder noted that Scully had gained some weight the past few months (something that he congratulated himself with because sex always made both of them hungry) and it showed flatteringly well.

Scully saw the admiration in his eyes and coquettishly, she twirled around as if to tell Chastity to back off, but was actually letting him see how well the dress framed her ass. Mulder gulped. When she faced him once more, it was her turn to rake her eyes over his ensemble. He could guess by the apparent appreciation on her face and the way she ran her tongue over her upper lip that she liked what she was seeing.

That was when Marita peeked into the bedroom and smiled when she saw that they were ready. "Hey, Mr. Mulder, Dana, we need to go. The limo's waiting for us." She snapped her fingers at them and left the door open for the couple to follow.

Mulder waited for Scully to slip into her heels and with a hand on the small of her back, ushered her out of the house. He gave some orders for Chastity and Rush, reminded them that the studio driver would pick them up in twenty minutes, and they exited the Manor. A sleek black limousine that had flags of the WB logo on them met them in front of the gate. He opened the door for Scully, watched with fascination as her ass came into his full view when she climbed into the back seat, and he slid in beside her. Marita sat across them, a few feet away. In the middle was a table that had all the drinks they wanted – tea, coffee, iced tea, wine.

The spacious limo was decorated in dark upholstery. Mulder was familiar with the vehicle and had used it before for promos and press conferences, but it was Scully's first time and she tried her best to hide her excitement. She touched the expensive leather walls of the car as the driver, Delan, was ordered by Marita to head on straight to the hotel where they would be interviewed by CNN.

Marita tucked a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear and asked both of them what they wanted to drink. Scully opted for hot black tea (even if she wouldn't admit it, Mulder had noted that she still felt queasy before they left the Manor) while he asked for iced tea and sunflower seeds.

He was cracking a seed in between his teeth when he unconsciously asked again, "How are you feeling?" Marita turned away, probably because she was exasperated at his relentlessness, while Scully ignored him and sipped carefully at her tea with a glass straw (to keep her lipstick safe).

In less than thirty minutes, they were at the hotel (of which name, Mulder didn't even take note of) and were out of the limousine. Scully looked a bit sad to exit the luxurious vehicle, but he assured her with a whisper that they'd rent the damn thing one time and tour Los Angeles until dawn or until they collapsed in exhaustion. That earned him a little smile.

They followed Marita into the lobby, where there were some hotel guests and staff eagerly awaiting them. They were cordoned off by the WB bodyguards, but Mulder did sign some movie posters and t-shirts while Scully conversed with some young girls in the typical dancing get-up (complete with leg warmers) who obviously wanted to dance just like her. Pretty soon, they were again pulled by Marita from the crowd and into a room where Harry Pendrell was already positioned in front of the camera. There were four chairs in front of the lights and camera, and Pendrell already sat himself in one, consciously fixing his button-up shirt. Seeing them, he offered a weak wave. Mulder didn't know if he was still smarting about his involvement with Scully or if his star was suffering a hangover himself.

The interviewer had her back turned to them and was busily conversing with the segment's director. Marita left them for a while to alert everyone that they had arrived.

Mulder turned to Scully and held her by her shoulders. She stared up at him with that damn eyebrow once again.

"Look, Scully," he admonished, breathing heavily, "you don't have to do this. Even if we're here, we can walk out. You can rest, get better, and we'll reschedule this damn thing. I don't want to see you pushing yourself for something we can do any other time. Not in your condition. I saw what happened to you last night and we should be in a hospital right now."

For a moment, Mulder thought that Scully had just enough of him and was going to hit him or knee him in his groin so that he'd back off, but she relented. She placed a hand on his cheek and brushed away an imaginary hair there.

"I'm touched that you're concerned for me –"

"Because that's what I'm supposed to do as your partner –"

"Let me finish, Superman," she cut off, but traced the side of his face tenderly, "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Mulder. I do. But let me ask you: isn't this movie important to you?"

There was no hesitation in his answer: "Yes, but you're more important than anything else."

She smiled, a small, mysterious one. "Remember, Mulder, without the movie, there would've been no me. We wouldn't have met and we wouldn't have been together." She moved her head to her right, as if trying to bore through his soul with just her gaze. "This is our job, Mulder. We may have had the premiere last night and people there may like the movie, but it is also our job to make sure that they do go and see it. This is YOUR big break. I want this for you. And for you to get that big break, we need to do our job: your job and my job. So let me do my job while you do yours."

Mulder's hands dropped from her side and he tucked them into his pockets. She was right, of course she was. And he didn't hate it that she was right, actually, he loved it. This was one of the reasons why they were so good together: Mulder was highly emotional and worked off his emotions, while Scully used her head all the time in situations like these. He was always thinking with his heart, while she was always feeling with her brain. When he was off the rack, she was there to talk some sense into him. When she was too unfeeling, he was there to help her feel.

Yin and yang, Mulder marveled.

"Are we ready?" Marita suddenly questioned. She was behind them and had been watching them silently, letting them have their own private moment despite needing to get them on the set.

Scully grabbed Mulder's hand from his pocket and squeezed it. "We are, Marita."

Marita grinned and led them to the set. Scully pulled at Mulder's hand and he followed her into the blinding lights and whirring cameras.

At the back of his head, he knew something was wrong or was about to go wrong. However, as he sat down beside Scully and Pendrell in front of the huge cameras, he also knew it would have to wait, whether he liked it or not.

END OF CHAPTER FORTY TWO

A/N: Since there are only eight (8!) chapters to go before this story ends, I'm dedicating the next few for those who were there before during the height of this AU. This one is for Chureezee or Chrissie B., who has been a good friend of mine for over sixteen years now since I discovered TXF. She was this story's first beta reader and had encouraged me so much before, despite being busy in law school. She's now a lawyer, btw – and a good one!

Thank you for all your reviews and keep them coming as we get closer and closer to the end!