CHAPTER FORTY FOUR:

Mulder Manor
Beverly Hills, Los Angeles
August 3, 1986
Sunday

"All great changes are preceded by chaos."
– Deepak Chopra

The lemon scented Lysol that greeted Mulder when he opened the door to his Manor was invigorating. He missed being home and he had been promising to whoever listened, during the whole five-hour plane ride he just endured, that he would be unavailable to anyone and anything for the next week.

He dropped his bags on his feet, slipped out of his shoes, and padded bare feet through the living room, dining area, and to the stairs that led to the basement. He gave Jenny her much needed weekend off, Emily was out having lunch with some of her friends, and Scully was where he knew she would be.
Opening the door to the basement as silently as he could, Mulder paused at the entrance to watch his girl do what she did best. There she was, wearing only a nude body suit that curved over and out the fine muscles of her lean frame, her arms extended above her head in perfect straight lines, right leg stretching adjacent her body to create a ninety-degree angle with her thighs. Her back was to him, the fiery red hair up in a loose bun, and the boom box at her feet playing the Bee Gees' soulful rendition of Danced Yesterday. He savored the moment of seeing her move to the beat - extending a limb there, twisting her waist here - because he loved every single second he spent watching her dance. It was when he could pretend that he knew every single part of her; that he knew the soul within the woman he loved.
After the incident during their first press conference months ago, Walter and Marita had effectively looked into the problem with Scully's siblings. Apparently, it was nothing big – there were a few dailies in Wales that ran the story and, as Scully had confidently shot back at Cantrell, nothing was indeed proven in court. A few weeks after the press conference, the whole hullabaloo was already forgotten. In reality, he wanted to believe Scully and what his colleagues had unearthed in Wales about the public fact that her brothers and sister were never charged with any crime, but he couldn't help the shiver that ran through his spine when he thought about it. How true was this? Did Scully flee to Los Angeles because she was running away from something as sinister as this? Even more frightening: Did she take part in what had happened, if it did happen at all?

"How was Philadelphia, Mulder?" Scully's voice tore through his thoughts and he chuckled nervously, not surprised at all that she'd sensed his presence despite her back to him. She continued dancing while she waited for his answer, standing on tiptoes as the tempo picked up.

"You may not know this about charity events, Scully, but here - they make you do everything." He rested his hand on the door's frame and leaned against it with a smirk.

Finally, she faced him. Her face was flushed pink, her eyes bright and ocean blue, her lips red, her smile so wide it stole his breath away. Inside his chest, his heart was being squeezed by an invisible hand. He wondered if it was going to be like this for the rest of his life – one look from her and he could seriously die from how much he felt. He was certain that he couldn't survive without her, but could he also survive with her too?

Scully didn't stop dancing; however, this time, she danced closer, towards him. "How do you say so?" she inquired, panting in between.

"They made me recite some stuff in front of a TV for a commercial, cut ribbons for three events, say inspirational things about Samantha in front of a crowd (who I think were more interested in the movie than in what I had to say, by the way), conduct games after the big event, AND socialize during the dinner party." He ran a hand through his hair. Smooth as a baby's, he decided with a smug smile. "That's why I wasn't able to call you up last night. I was too damn tired to move from my five-star bed - the least they can do." She placated an amused eyebrow at this, because she knew him well enough to gather that his frustrated ramblings were more for her benefit than his; it was a way to explain why he wasn't able to call last night when she probably expected to hear from him. He wanted to do the charity event, specifically because it was for a new HIV-positive organization, and the charity was more than happy to accommodate his sudden interests. They were a big thing at this time: Danced Yesterday had been a certified hit and people couldn't get enough of the love story behind Aida and Darin, not to mention the elaborate dance numbers that accompany this whole concept. The problem with Alex Krycek had been happily swept under the rug … and the last he heard from CGB was that Krycek's movie had to be scrapped for another script or else it would look too similar to merit copyright infringement or worse - the adoring public's wrath.

The song finally ended with a falsetto from one Bee Gee. Scully also ended her dance with her fingers pointed in the air and her torso forming a beautiful curve. She offered him a tight-lipped smile, which prompted him to clap heartily. She bowed her usual dancer's bow: her right arm swept through the audience first, lifted up in the air, fell to the ground together with her curtsy. Then, she'd proceed with her left arm to do the same.

After this, Scully closed the gap between them with one quick jump. He opened his arms to her, eager to feel her body against his, never mind the sweat soaking through his expensive suit. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him deeply, longingly; a kiss he gladly reciprocated by pressing her body closer to him. He tilted his head so he could kiss her further, so he could taste what he had missed for almost one week – her Scully taste, the sweat of a day's dance, the passion, her love. He wanted it all in one kiss.
When they broke apart, he pressed his forehead on hers, his breath coming out in short ragged gasps. "God, we need to stop being apart for so long. This past month had been fucking hell," he whispered, voice sounding too much like sandpaper on wood. Scully nodded against him.

"The movie's doing well, Mulder. Isn't that incentive enough?" Ah, Scully. Always the voice of reason even if her fingers were already clamoring to feel the skin at the back of his neck and her lips were trailing small kisses on his jaw, until she reached the mole at the corner of his cheek and licked it. He shuddered in response.

"It's doing more than well, Scully … it's a huge hit. Some theaters are still playing it. We should stop. We should relax and enjoy the success. Go somewhere … Bahamas, Maldives … take your pick, cheri." Then, everything started weighing heavily on his battered body. He was tired. He was on a five-hour flight. He drove himself home, not wanting to be driven anywhere by anyone since he had been driven everywhere the past few months. He knew Scully had to practice for her Dave Letterman show guesting next week so he told her not to wait for him at the airport. The same with Emily, who he suggested should be meeting up with Jeff rather than going out with her girlfriends, but who had also successfully ignored him like she had the past few months that Mulder had pleaded with the her to do something about her marriage. Mulder's lawyers had been attending to the divorce papers, much to his chagrin, but he was hoping that Jeff wouldn't sign.
Scully met his lips again, placed an achingly slow kiss there and wrapped a leg around his waist. The back of Mulder's brain short-circuited. She wanted this right now? Jesus. He wasn't sure he could do this. He was about ready to collapse.

"Scully …" he sighed, wanting to shoot himself on the head for taking a rain check on sex. Sure, he needed to be intimate with her and he fully intended to do that, but maybe after a few hours of rest or something. He didn't want to pass out while fucking. He suppressed a groan at the horrifying mental image. That was going to be one for the Mulder books. "Aren't you tired? Why don't I draw a bath and we can spend some time in the tub before we get some sleep … and you, since when have you been dancing?"

Scully nuzzled his throat, his cock jumping up in response despite his fatigue. He silently cursed his body for giving her the wrong signals. He was going to fucking pass out, damn it. And no, he shouldn't have said that word because his other member was standing at attention with the idea! He had to control the situation before it got out of hand.

"I've been dancing since you left for Philadelphia, Mulder." She laughed - a low seductive laugh that made his Adam's apple bob up and down. "Since this morning, actually … I had to perfect this sequence for Letterman."

"This morning? Scully …" he protested, planting his hands on the sides of her face and pulling her lips away from his skin. Now, he finally got a good look at her: her eye bags were darker than usual and her cheeks were sunken beneath the seemingly healthy pink flush. He talked to her every day on the phone, but she always assured him that she was taking care of herself. Apparently, it wasn't all true. "Scully, look at you! You look even worse than I do. C'mon, let's go to bed." He started walking out the basement, holding her waist firmly in his grip and dragging her with him.

He stopped when she hesitated. Mulder turned back to her. "Scully?"

Suddenly, her face blanched to a painful white and her eyes rolled to the top of her head. Her body bent at an abnormal angle on his arm and within seconds, she dangled lifelessly from him, her head and arms suspended mid-air like a puppet's appendages.

Mulder choked back the shock, adrenaline hitting him like a lightning bolt. "Scully!" he shouted, knowing it was useless. With one quick swoop, he picked up her light body in his arms and ran up the stairs. He gently placed her down the couch, his arms shaking; he ignored the gelatinous feel of his knees as he ran to the phone and dialed 911.

"Dad, wake up."

Mulder jolted from a dreamless sleep, his hands visibly shaking as he reached up to hold Emily by her shoulders. It took him a while to focus on her, which he did by palming her cool cheeks with his warm hands. He was panting and mentally willing his body to calm down, while Emily smoothed damp locks of hair from his forehead.

"Dad, it's okay; it's just me." She ruffled his hair, wearing an expression he couldn't read. He nodded to assure her that he was indeed fine. It was then he noticed that she had someone with her. Mulder squinted his eyes at the man behind his daughter.

"Uncle Byers is here, Dad," Emily explained, moving to his side so that he could see his friend. Emily held herself close to Mulder though; she embraced him at his side, his head resting on Emily's waist as if letting her go would mean his instant death. Nodding, he tried to smile for his friend but was secretly dismayed that he couldn't even muster one. Byers straightened his tie – a nervous gesture – and eyed him with what looked like sympathy. Mulder lowered his eyes to the floor to miss it. The last thing he needed was anyone feeling sorry for the endless roller coaster ride his life seemed to be keen on taking.

"Here we are again, Mulder," the bar owner stated, matter-of-factly. Mulder nodded again, not knowing what else to say. He was so goddamn tired that the moment Scully was strapped on the stretcher and wheeled into the emergency room, he was only able to scamper to the waiting area to call Emily from a pay phone and collapse on a chair. That was where he had been until Emily woke him up. He literally had no idea what happened to Scully since then.

Scully! Mulder suddenly broke free from Emily and sprinted up. Both his companions responded with tension in their stances, especially when they spied his wild eyes scanning the expanse of the white corridor they were in. "Where's Dana? How is she?" He began to pace away from them. "I need to see her."

"Dad," Emily stopped him by gripping his wrist with a strength that reminded him of Bill Mulder's, "Dana's under observation. I checked with her doctor before waking you up. He said he'll come to us soon."

Mulder shook his head. "No, I need to see her." He paced again, running his hands through his hair. He snuck his other free hand into his pocket, found it devoid of sunflower seeds, and sighed his disappointment. He stared down at his empty palm with dejection and lifted his head up to ask Emily if she had some seeds in her car, but instead caught Byers and his daughter sharing a suspicious look.
He faced them, his shoulders squarely defiant, and raised his hands above his head. "What are you not telling me?"

Byers coughed, straightening his tie once more (it was bound to choke him at that point) and taking Mulder by the shoulder. "Look, calm down okay … Scully's stable. She's awake and everything, but her doctor told us that she had a request …"

"What?" Mulder was making a mental calculation of how long it would take him to go out and get whatever Scully requested for at home. With Byers and Emily there in the hospital, it would be fine to leave her for a few minutes …

"She requested no visitors."

What the fuck?

Mulder's jaw dropped to the goddamn floor.

What the fuck was he talking about?

"Byers? Are you sure you heard right? NO VISITORS?" Mulder ran a hand through his hair, not so smooth anymore, and paced again. This time, with a more determined gait, he started walking to the information desk. "No, that's impossible. Maybe no other visitors EXCEPT me. I'll go and ask for her room number now."

"Dad, the doctor said no visitors, EVEN you."

That stopped him in his tracks. He resisted the reflex to hold onto his stomach – the mere suggestion of Scully requesting that HE shouldn't see her felt like being shot point blank to his gut. Mulder heaved hard, prayed to whatever god was listening for a bit more strength, and slowly pivoted to Byers and Emily. When he faced them, their faces were still unreadable, though Emily looked pale and nervous. She knew her father and saw from his actions that he was about to explode.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, his voice rising, feeling the rage take over the debilitating pain. "I'm the only one she has around here! No one could tell me that I can't go and see her!"

"Calm down, Mulder …" Byers weakly tried. This made the anger in him pulse more until it was all-consuming, until he could taste it at the back of his throat and he'd rather taste it than taste the pain.

"I'm not calming down!" He was shouting now. A few nurses from the end of the waiting area's corridor peeked and at that point, he didn't care if they all looked. They could all look, goddammitt – the nurses, doctors, patients, fucking media, everyone! "I'm seeing her whether they like it or not!"

"It was Dana who gave those orders, Dad! You can't force her to see you when she doesn't want to see you! Technically, you're not related by blood to her!" Emily argued, also raising her voice so that he could register what she was trying to say. But Mulder was too angry to care. He needed answers and he needed it now!

"I'm the only one she has here, for crying out loud! I'm her fucking partner and she's mine! I WANT to see her!" he bellowed. Byers shook his head in exasperation, tugging on his tie, while Emily appeared as if she was about to cry.

That was when a short-stocked man with wire-rimmed glasses ran from the other end of the corridor to their group. His abnormally large lab coat trailed behind him and when he reached Mulder, the name on his patch read a "Dr. Jacobson." He raised his hands up in response to the murderous look Mulder threw at him. He better have answers and he better have them now.

"No need to get excited, Mr. Mulder." He reached a hand out, and with that, Mulder knew he was used to his kind of outburst. It was an embarrassing realization – one that rendered Mulder incapable of any coherent speech for a second – but one which was ignored in favor of his summersaulting emotions.

"I'm Dr. Jacobson. I'm one of the physicians in charge of Ms. Scully."

Mulder shook his hand firmly. Too firm maybe, because the doctor grimaced when they let go of each other. "ONE of the physicians?" Shit. This was getting better and better, wasn't it? What the fuck was wrong with Scully, anyway? Why did she need more than one doctor?

"Yes, I'm … umm," the doctor hesitated, pushing his glasses up his nose, "Mr. Mulder, I understand that you're Ms. Scully's boyfriend?"

This caught Mulder off-guard. He glanced at his two companions and they also had puzzled looks on their faces. Obviously, whatever the doctor was about to say was also news to them. He returned to the doctor. "Yes, I'm her partner."

"Okay, good," Dr. Jacobson said, "let's start this way, Mr. Mulder. Ms. Scully fainted due to exhaustion. Her anemic condition also exacerbated her weakened state."

Shit, the anemia again. "Oh god. I thought we got past the anemia already," Mulder interjected, placing a hand on his forehead.

"You did, actually. She didn't have anemia anymore. Until her present unexpected condition and high blood volume made the anemia return."

"Present unexpected condition?" Mulder swallowed hard. "What do you mean, doctor?"

It was then that Dr. Jacobson smiled. It was a genuine smile – a smile that told Mulder he wore it often and showed it when it was demanded for in his line of work. Something warm spread within Mulder – it was sudden, sort of like another gunshot through his gut – yet, this time it was welcomed and comforting. Mulder allowed himself to feel the warmth, to wallow in it. The smile Dr. Jacobson offered him told him that it was going to be okay.
"I'm an obstetrician, Mr. Mulder. Congratulations, you're going to be a father!" Dr. Jacobson glanced at Emily, remembered something crucial, his eyes widening. "Again!"

"What?" Mulder exclaimed, in unison with Byers and Emily. This was BEYOND okay!

"Ms. Scully is pregnant! She's almost thirteen weeks into the pregnancy."

"WHAT?" Mulder again cried out, this time alone. He could feel Emily's hand on his shoulder, pressing gently there. "That's … that's highly improbable, Dr. Jacobson. Scully – Dana was on the pill!"

Dr. Jacobson kept the smile on. "Well, she was honest with me. She said that she missed taking the pills sometimes because they made her dizzy – quite common, because the hormones in the pills may have adverse effects for some women. She missed two days the most and there it went. Plus, these pills are not always effective, Mr. Mulder."

"Oh my god …" Mulder trailed off, the whole gravity of the situation finally hitting him right in his gut. Scully was pregnant. Scully was pregnant. She was actually fucking pregnant. He was going to be a father, again. They were going to have a baby. Oh god. Oh god!

He started to laugh, lightly at first, and then he laughed out loud, his stomach shaking in the process. Turning around to Byers and Emily, he couldn't control the wide grin that split his face into half and reached out to hug them both at the same time. The warmth spread through and through and he hoped it rubbed off on his two companions. "I'm going to be a Daddy again!" he announced out loud, feeling the giddiness rush inside of him so fast and furious he wanted to jump up and down until everyone in the hospital knew the great news. No – he wanted the whole world to know the great news. He was going to be a father again, Universe! Did you hear that? Fox William Mulder would be a father again! Finally!

Byers congratulated him, while Emily started crying. Mulder drew apart, suddenly conscious of what his daughter had gone through, and cradled her head in his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Emily …" he started, but she shook her head against him before he could rethink his happiness.

"No, Dad, no. I'm very happy. I've always wanted a younger sibling. It's okay. Be happy. You deserve it."

He kissed the top of her head, smelling the same sweet Emily scent he had smelled all his life since she was a baby, and it reminded him of what was about to come – he was going to hold a baby in his arms again, he would be able to kiss the baby's soft cheeks, smell the baby's neck, kiss the baby, oh god, he was going to love a child once more, he would bring up a child into this world again and it felt like a second chance. Mulder was a teenager when Emily was born and he had always been haunted by everything he couldn't give her because of his immaturity back then. Now, he was old enough to accept the gravity of childrearing and he could revel in it. It was a second chance – one he never expected, but now that it was here, it felt like Christmas in August. The best thing about it was that he was actually having a child with a woman he loved. He could see their baby in his mind's eye: all Scully – even the red hair – except for the height.

Mulder chuckled to himself and turned back to the doctor. "When can I see her?"

Dr. Jacobson's smile faltered; it was replaced by a tentative, nervous one that didn't quite meet his eyes. Mulder's joy faded in an instant and he knew that there was something wrong.

"Mr. Mulder … Ms. Scully had been very cooperative with us, actually. We have had no problems with her. She answered the necessary forms we asked her to answer without any issues. We needed her medical records and since she's an immigrant, it was something she had to provide us with. There's just one thing I need to ask you, though."

"What's that?"

"According to the data Ms. Scully filled up, this is not the first time she's been pregnant."

"WHAT?" Mulder again shouted, letting go of Emily. He glanced at his daughter, who shared the same wide-eyed expression that he had on his face.

The doctor shuffled his feet, nerves apparent. "According to what she wrote, she's been pregnant twice. Both pregnancies resulted in miscarriage. The first one miscarried during her second term, while the second one was a stillborn. She lost the baby during her last month of pregnancy."

"Just like me …" He heard Emily behind him say. Mulder still couldn't wrap everything in his head. What the fuck was happening here? Scully had been pregnant? Twice? The warmth that had invaded his insides a minute ago suddenly became an anvil that weighed his stomach down. He felt his whole body drooping in response.

Then he heard the small little voice at the back of his head mocking him, taunting him: Remember, you don't know her that well. Remember, she kept a lot from you.

Oh no.

Mulder gave into the weight of his body and doubled over, holding onto his knees to support his upper half.

"We're concluding that her anemia before was the result of her second pregnancy and subsequent neglect of her health afterwards. We would like to monitor her for a while to make sure that her anemia isn't going to harm your baby." Dr. Jacobson motioned to them with what seemed to be a sympathetic hand. "Rest assured, Mr. Mulder, that everything is confidential and none of these will leak to the media."

It was Byers who answered, for Mulder still hadn't recovered: "Yes, thank you, Dr. Jacobson."

"You may see her if you wish to do so, Mr. Mulder."

Mulder shook his head. Behind him, he heard Emily whisper his name but he ignored her. He looked up to the doctor. "I need some time. I'll see her but … but not now." He needed to think. He needed to sit down, think of what he would tell her, think of how he'd act once in front of her. He needed time, or else he'd disappear into nothingness.

"Very well, Mr. Mulder." Dr. Jacobson told Emily the room number and left them in the waiting area, where immediately, the silence engulfed the three very stunned people.

When Mulder was five years old, he broke his leg. He was exploring the small valleys and hills surrounding Quonochontaug one cold afternoon and as a precocious boy, he indulged himself in climbing the highest trees, sliding down the steepest slopes, poking into the darkest ravines. It was an apple tree that he finally climbed; he perched himself at the highest branch and spied the surroundings with his hand shielding his eyes from the midday sun. He believed, for that moment, that he had complete control of the world. For a second, he did own the world.
It drizzled afterwards. Mulder got wet; he slipped on a branch before he could even get down to a safer height, and fell on his right leg. It bent at an awkward angle – a sight he would never forget for the rest of his life – with the broken bone almost piercing through his skin. He had to be on a wheelchair for the first month and on crutches for the next five. It was a difficult time for the young Fox: there where moments when he felt that he was in complete control of his limbs and that if he just stood up, it would work. Phantom limb, his father had slowly explained to him, you're pretending to have what you don't.

When he entered Scully's hotel room, he froze at the entrance to keep his heart at bay. Again, his father's words came at him like a hit at the back of his head: Stop pretending, Fox. You'll only hurt yourself if you keep on doing this.

Looking at the redheaded woman on the bed, who was staring up at him with wide blue eyes and a tense expression on her face, he wondered who was hurting whom more. Was he really pretending, or was she?

Mulder needed to stop psychoanalyzing himself: he HAD to know that this was coming. From the very beginning, she made it clear that there were some things about her that she couldn't tell him and he let her. He allowed her to keep her secrets, because he wanted her to stay with him. Because, maybe, if he pretended that their love for each other was enough, it would be.

What if it wasn't? What if he was wrong all along?

There was a chair beside her bed, to which Mulder hesitantly sank into. He refused to look at her straight in the eye, afraid of what he might see there, and instead directed his eyes squarely on the tops of his scruffy leather shoes with his hands clasped in front of him. On the bed, he could see her shifting against the IV's wire, her medical bracelet falling to her wrist as she moved her hand towards his direction as if to touch. It never did reach him.
He motioned awkwardly to her bracelet. "We need to start a collection of those," he kidded, not sure if it was the right thing to say but his brain could only come up with it at that moment.

When she didn't respond within the expanse of two breaths, he braced himself.

"Mulder …" she whispered so tenderly it broke a piece of his heart off, "I'm sorry."

He raised a finger in the air to halt her from speaking. "Don't be. This is my fault. I should've expected this. Only I never thought I'd find out about you this way … with our child on the way." Christ, the idea of having a baby with Scully still ran a chill down his spine; sadly, he couldn't determine if it was a chill of excitement or trepidation. "All I'm asking from you right now is for you to take care of yourself and our baby. That's it."

She sucked in a deeper breath, suddenly reaching over to grasp his clasped hands and involuntarily, Mulder jerked back. Scully also moved away, surprised at his reaction, and it was inevitable – they stared at each other straight in the eye.

Mulder didn't like what he saw in hers.

"Scully –"

"Don't you dare NOT ask me for anything else," she challenged, her stare a steel blue on his own green pools. Her lips tightened into a grim, determined line. "Don't you dare take the blame for this. We're in this TOGETHER –"

"Fuck that!" Mulder exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and wishing he could hit something in that damn hospital room. When he couldn't hit anything that wouldn't alert the nurses outside, he slammed his fist into the bedside table, rattling the medicine foils and empty glass there, making Scully close her eyes to not see him tether on the edges of breakdown. "You keep saying that we're in this shit together! What the fuck does that mean when you've kept so much from me? What else do I not know about you, huh, Scully? That you were married before?"

"It's … it's not like that –"

"Then what?" he demanded, feeling the nerve at the side of his head throb in his fresh anger. He faced her fully this time, one hand on the edge of the bedside table, gripping hard. "I've kept NOTHING, nothing from you, Scully! You live with me – you share everything with me! From day one, I've kept nothing from you! Why can't you tell me these things? Why do I have to face the goddamn obstetrician and fucking learn these things from him? What are you trying to protect? I HAVE the right to know!" Mulder's fist smacked against the wall. Again, Scully closed her eyes tight, tears pushing through the edges and skittering down her pale cheeks. "I have the right to know all this bullshit because you're carrying my child! I should know if my child's going to be okay or if you're, you're …" he couldn't even bring himself to say it. Maybe because all his anger balled up in his throat, or maybe because all of it reached his eyes and were now threatening to escape through his tear ducts. But he couldn't say it, wouldn't say it, and he hoped that she wouldn't either.

But of course, she would. Only the Spunk would go ahead and tame the white elephant in the room: "I'm not going to hurt the baby. I want this baby."

He wiped his cheeks with the cuff of his sleeve. It was useless to stop the tears, so he let it come, hoping that it was as painful for him as it was for her because goddamn, it wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to share the happiness of having their child. He guessed that if they couldn't share the joy, they should share the hurt.

"Was t-this premeditated, Scully? Did you plan this?" Mulder asked, his voice lowering. Scully shook her head.

"No. This came as a surprise. I should've been more responsible, I can say that, but it wasn't planned." She also wiped her tears on the hospital blanket. "I do want this baby, Mulder. Do you?"

She knew the answer to that and he refused to give her the satisfaction of his confirmation. He crossed his arms on his chest to stop himself from voicing it out. Instead, he threw another question at her: "Two pregnancies before?"

When Scully's resolve broke down: her shoulders shook, her head bowed down and her knees reached up to meet her face, his father's words once again echoed in his head: Stop pretending what you don't have. Had he been pretending all this time? Had he really thought he truly owned the Spunk? Had she been leading him on? Had he been gladly fooling himself because he was THAT in love with her?

Mulder collapsed on the chair and breathed heavily. He controlled himself from reaching up and taking Scully into his arms; it was second nature to him now to comfort her when she needed it. However, he couldn't give her that today. No, he didn't want to give it today. They both didn't deserve it.

"There were two pregnancies before. The first one when I was sixteen; the second one when I was seventeen," she admitted, voice shaking but not faltering, "it was a long time ago and I was very young when they happened …"

"Who's the father?" The question sliced through the tension-filled atmosphere like a guillotine. Scully paused for a moment, then shook her head.

"No, I can't tell you." The guillotine fell on his head. He nearly recoiled in the sudden jolt of discomfort.

"Was it a boyfriend? A husband? What's so difficult about telling me the truth, Scully? Am I so unworthy of knowing about you and your secret life?" He swallowed hard. "Don't you trust me?"

Scully lifted her head from her knees and faced him. Her lower lip quivered and he wanted nothing but to reach over to stroke it, to let her know that it was going to be all right, but there was no all right then in that room. All right would not come to them for a long time.

"Mulder," she answered, voice so soft that if it wasn't just so damn silent, he would've missed it, "I don't trust myself."

He grimaced, because that hurt more than being distrusted. Because after the time they've been together as both best of friends and lovers, he never thought that she would still be capable of such doubts. Because after all the leaps and bounds they've made in their relationship, Mulder felt that he was once again at the other end of a door in a downtown Los Angeles bar, with her at the other side, telling him to "go fuck himself."

Suddenly, it was too much for Mulder. He stood up and placed his hands in his pockets, unwilling to meet her leveled gaze. "Just, just let Byers know when you've been discharged. Don't worry about the medical bills … and go home. It'll all be arranged for you. Don't talk to the media; don't talk to any reporter. Take a week off and do Letterman if you're up to it. If not, tell Marita." He ran a hand through his coarse hair and resisted the urge to yank it. Mulder made a move forward, as if to kiss or hug her, but hesitated and awkwardly stepped back. Then, he started walking out of the room.

"Mulder?"

He stopped, a few feet away from the door that he felt like was leading to the rest of his life.

"Where are you going?"

Mulder turned his head around, just enough to catch a glimpse of Scully placing a protective hand on her stomach. He grimaced.

"Anywhere but home."

He left before he could hear what she could say.

END OF CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

A/N: This special chapter (one of my favorites!) is for one of the greatest fans of Spunk: the Portuguese Audrey who also became such a good friend of mine. If only I could still contact her to show her that I'm actually finishing what she calls her "favorite" fanfic ever. She also translated the fic into Portuguese before and it was such a thrill to read the fic in another gorgeous language.

Post Script: I'm trying to squeeze in as many as I can before university starts. I think this is a good place to leave it for a while, is it not? *wink, wink*