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Title: An Offer She Can't Refuse Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het Romance Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: Frohike visits the tasty one, and things will never be the same. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. AN OFFER SHE CAN'T REFUSE By: J. D. Rush I answered the door, surprised not only by my visitor, but also by his appearance. "Frohike?" He was dressed in a dark blue suit--an honest-to-God suit--a striped necktie (probably borrowed from Byers), his hair pulled back in it's tiny ponytail, neat, clean. . .SHAVEN! For a second, I thought the aliens were back, and had kidnapped the REAL Melvin Frohike. He looked. . .well. . . handsome is too strong of a word, but, not all that bad. He held out to me the single red rose he was carrying. "May I come in?" he asked, politely. I realized I had been standing in the doorway, gawking. "Yes, please do." "I'm not disturbing you, am I?" he asked, concerned. "No, no. . .I just put William down for the
night. And I was going to
review some case files." "Oh? I hope it’s nothing serious." "Actually, it’s very serious." And by his facial expression, I knew it to be true. I gestured towards the couch.
"Well, by all means, let's sit down and. . ." But before I got out another word, he dropped to one
knee and looked up at me, earnestly. "Scully.
. .Dana. . .would you marry me?" Surely I was hearing things. "Frohike. . .?" "Look, Scully, that baby needs a father," he announced, cutting right to the chase. "And since Mulder's not stepping up to the plate, I'm tossing my hat in the ring." I couldn't help but laugh. "That's quite romantic, Frohike." "I mean it, Scully. . .hear me out," he pleaded. "Only if you get up off your knees," I requested, softly. He stood up, facing me. Eye to eye. Something I've enjoyed with few other men. . .it was nice not to get a crick in my neck talking to him. "I love you, Dana. Like no one else will ever love you." Oh my God! He actually said it! Eight years of pining over me, and he finally said the 'L' word. And from the startled look on his face, I think he even surprised himself. But he was on a roll, and he wasn't going to stop now. "Look, I know I'm not the best looking guy in the world, and I'm certainly not the richest, or the smartest. . .but I'd be a good father to William. And I'd be a good husband. And. . .and I'd try to be a good provider. And. . .and you'd owe me nothing. I won't make any demands on you, I promise. I. . .I just want to make a nice home for you and your child." How could I not be moved by what he had said? Simple, honest, and from the heart. There weren't many chivalrous men left in the world--my friend was part of a dying breed. That's what made my next words so much harder to say. "Frohike. . .that's very sweet. . .but. . .I can't accept your offer." He shrugged, half-heartedly. "Oh, well. . .it was worth a shot," he muttered, with a self-depreciating laugh. He was trying to pretend it didn't matter. He was failing miserably. "Frohike," I said, gently, "listen to me. Someday, you're going to make a wonderful father. And a great husband. And you're going to find someone who loves you as much as you love her. And she's going to be the luckiest girl on earth." "Yeah. . .someday. . ." he sighed, sadly. "Believe me, Mel. I'm deeply touched by your offer. . .I really am. It's just. . .an arrangement like that wouldn't be fair to me. Just as it wouldn't be fair to you." I held out a hand, which he took hesitantly in his, and gave him a smile. "Friends?"
He looked at me with those sad hazel eyes, and flashed me a quirked grin. "Always." I leaned over and kissed him, oh so briefly, just a friendly little kiss. A thankful little kiss. His lips were warm and soft and tender and like a magnet, I was drawn in for another. This one--deeper, longer, hotter. . .more passionate. His mouth--so hot and wet and sweet. I melted as I fell into his arms, losing myself in the kiss. Our first kiss. Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. A wan smile crossed his face as he turned towards the open door, and he was gone, as mysteriously as he came.
++++++++++++++++ Title: Going Postal Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het Romance Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: Scully makes a decision. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Going Postal By: J. D. Rush The letter arrived in our mailbox a few weeks later. Addressed to me. Just four words. Four little words that changed my life forever. "Frohike. I've reconsidered. Dana." On sky blue paper, in flowing feminine penmanship. I read it again, not believing my eyes. "Frohike.
I've reconsidered. Dana." I put it down on my workstation, paced around the room manically for a few minutes, on the verge of hyperventilating, then returned to it. But it hadn't changed. It still said the same thing. "Frohike.
I've reconsidered. Dana." Picking up the phone, I dialed her number by memory. Then replaced the receiver. What was I going to say to her? What could I POSSIBLY say to her? I picked up the phone again, dialed her number again, and this time, before I could hang up, she answered. I asked if she would be home for the next hour, that there was something I had to discuss with her. She was quiet on the other end, though I could hear her shallow, hyper breathing. Finally she spoke one word: "Yes." That was all I needed to hear. I hung up, spent a few precious moments getting some things organized, then I was out the door. To meet my destiny. ************** "Scully, are you sure about this?" I asked
the lovely lady sitting on the couch beside me. Husband. I
was going to be Scul. . .ahhh. . .Dana's husband.
I didn't know whether to call Ripley's or Mulder, because this sure
as shit smacked of an X-File. (Well,
if we could FIND Mulder, that is--he seemed to have wandered off again.)
"Wouldn't you rather just try living together first?
You know, to see if we're compatible?" "Of course.
I just thought that you'd be more comfortable, well, if you had a
way out, that's all." "You obviously have never seen my bank book," I chuckled. Taking my hand in hers--so small, so soft--she spoke
tenderly, "Frohike, there are hundreds of reasons why people marry.
Some marry for power, some for money, some because they've been
promised to each other as children. Marrying
a good friend who makes me laugh and treats me well, who would treat my
child well, is hardly the worse reason." "And don't you want that?" I was fretful, knowing I was taking that prospect away from her. The small hand tightened around mine, and her eyes sparkled radiantly. "There are many kinds of love, Frohike, and sometimes the love between two friends is the strongest of them all." Seeing she wasn't going to waver in her decision, I
reached into my coat pocket and removed some folded pieces of paper, which
I handed to her. She looked at
me cautiously, then unfolded the sheets.
One glance at them and her startled gaze returned to me.
"Frohike, what's this?" "Why do we need a contract?" she interrupted, quirking one elegant eyebrow. She nodded, clearly digesting what I had just said,
before carefully folding the pages and calmly ripping them in two.
"We don't need a contract, Frohike.
We already know what we each expect from this situation." "Then it's agreed." She leaned over and kissed me softly, her sweet lips pressed against mine, lasting a few seconds too long--not lasting long enough. "Sealed with a kiss," she giggled. Sealed with a kiss. Scully: There it was again. That electrical tingle as my lips touched his. So delicious, racing down my spine, raising goosebumps along my arms. I found myself pressing further into him, drowning in him, wanting him desperately. I'll admit, I did it partly to see if the first time had just been a fluke. All these weeks, the thoughts have chased themselves in my brain: the impromptu marriage proposal, the look of utter despair when I turned him away. . .and that magical kiss. The one I couldn't forget. And here he was in my arms again, and I knew without a doubt that last kiss had not been an aberration. His kiss excited me, stimulated me in a way I hadn't known in a long time. It felt good. It felt right. And I wanted more, so much more. Unfortunately, that wasn't part of the deal. We were here to discuss the possibility of entering a companionable marriage. One of friendship, one that he had proposed to help me with William, and one, perhaps, he hoped would alleviate our mutual loneliness. He had promised me that he would demand no sexual favors from me. But could I promise him the same? Believe me, no one could have been more surprised by this reaction to Frohike's touch as I was. When I had first met him all those years ago, well, let's say he made an impression on me--and it wasn't a very good one. Over the past few years, though, things have changed between us, and what had started as a one-sided flirtation on his part has become a cherished friendship. Not just for the information he and the other Gunmen had supplied for me and Mulder, but also for the many hours of entertainment they had provided as well. (whether they were aware of it or not.) When I was pregnant and alone and scared, I knew I could turn to them for a shoulder to lean on and a sympathetic ear to bend. They are all such kind, caring men, and none more so than Frohike. He'd drop whatever he was doing to be by my side--I guess I got addicted to that kind of attention. As wonderful a man as Mulder is, I never came first for him. In my heart, I knew I'd always be first with Frohike. Still, his proclamation of love and offer of marriage was startling to say the least. But once he left, and I had time to sort out my feelings, it didn't seem as odd to me. I cared for him--and he certainly cared for me. He was intelligent and funny, and his stories could keep me enthralled for hours. . .the last thing I'd ever have to worry about with him was stimulating conversation. I really LIKED Frohike. . .and sometimes, that's harder to do than to fall in love with someone And as for William, I had to face facts--I was not only in a high-risk profession, but I was also a cancer survivor. If I were a pessimist, I'd say I was living on borrowed time. It was a great comfort to me to know that I'd be leaving William in good hands with Frohike. I knew, with every fiber in my body, that Mel would protect William with his life, and that he would provide a good role model for my son. Frohike's beliefs may be a bit left of center (all right, that was an understatement, but were they really any worse than Mulder's?) but he was still very honorable, and generous, and he had a good heart. He fought for what he thought was right and that was something I wanted William to learn-- how to be strong, how to be his own man. I knew Frohike could teach him that, and so much more--such as picking locks and planting illegal bugs and hacking into secret government files…okay, maybe there were SOME things I didn't want my son to pick up from Frohike. Still, the deciding factor was the kiss. I haven't exactly been a nun when it came to sex, but I haven't been a slut, either. I've experienced enough to make comparisons and to rate certain things--and that kiss was off the charts. I had never been kissed like that before--not that it was the hottest or the wildest or even the most passionate. . .just the most honest. There was no hiding the depth of his love for me when our lips met. It wasn't simply sexual desire I detected from him, but a sense of being precious to him. I felt safe with him, something I haven't felt in many years. And my decision was made. +++++++++++++++ Title: Going to the Chapel Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het Romance Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: It's the big day. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Going To The Chapel By: J. D. Rush I watched as she approached, wearing a simple calf-length white linen dress and new white shoes--low heel. Very considerate. Her accessories were few and tasteful--a string of pearls and matching earrings--and she carried a small bouquet of white roses. No matter how unconventional this marriage, the ceremony was to be as traditional as she could make it. She saw me sitting on the wooden bench and gave a smile and I felt my heart flip. I stood on shaky legs as she drew near. "Sorry I'm late," she apologized quickly. "I had to drop William off with mom, and the traffic was quite heavy." "Don't worry. I'm just glad you're here." I was starting to think she had changed her mind. "Better late than never, huh?" she joked. "Yeah. Jesus,
you look lovely," I sighed, wanting to be more original, but finding
my tongue tied in knots." Lovely? Surely she was being kind. I looked down at the navy blue suit I pulled out only for funerals, complimented with one of John's borrowed stripped ties, and shrugged. "I tried my best." Gesturing to the bench I was just sitting on, I asked, "Wanna have a seat? There's another couple in there already." She settled herself primly on the bench, crossing her
shapely legs at the ankles, very lady-like.
Dana Scully was all class. I
took a seat beside her as I felt my nerves kicking in.
<Shit, Frohike--if you can't handle the ceremony, what the
hell are you going to do when you move in?> "Where are the guys?" she queried, looking around, as if noticing for the first time they weren't around. "Didn't tell them," I confessed.
"Figured they'd just say we were making a mistake and try to
talk us out of it." I
noticed the lack of witnesses on her side as well.
"Where's Skinner?" <Or Doggett?
Or Reyes, for that matter?> She looked at me sheepishly. "Ditto." So apparently I wasn't the only one who doubted our
friends would approve of this union. "And
what does mom think about all this?" "Do you think they're right?" I asked, uncertainly. Those clear blue eyes locked on mine.
"No, but if you're having second thoughts about this, Frohike,
now is the time to say it. Do you want to cancel this now--no hard
feelings?" "No fair. I asked you first," she giggled. And at that moment, my future was sealed. To think I would have the chance to experience that laughter every single day was too tempting a prospect. I took her hand, feeling the tremors that matched the ones flowing though me. "Dana, it's the only thing I want in life," I told her honestly. "I just want to make you happy." Her whole face softened, and the smile she bestowed upon me warmed me to my soul. "You do." She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, just as the door across the hall opened, and a happily married couple exited, followed closely behind by the Justice of the Peace. "Mr. Melvin Fro-hike?" he addressed me, holding out his hand. I shook it nervously, even as I corrected him on the pronunciation, "Um, it's Fro-hickey." "I'm so sorry, Mr. Fro-hickey," he apologized, and beckoned to me and Dana to follow him. "We're ready for you both now." The ceremony was short and sweet--and hell, I only stumbled over my own name twice. Not too shabby. The only real tense moment came when we were supposed to exchange rings. There really hadn't been time to shop for any, which was fine with me but I didn't think it was fair to Dana--a woman should have jewelry, you know? She was therefore quite stunned when I pulled an antique wedding band out of my coat pocket. "It belonged to gramma," I explained to her as I slipped it onto her finger. I really wish I could have had a picture of her face at that moment--her mouth open in surprise, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Five minutes later, after another round of
handshakes, I walked proudly out of the room with a gorgeous new bride on
my arm. . .and a pit in my stomach bigger than the ++++++++++++++++ Title: Confessions Part 1 Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het/gen Rating: PG for mild language Summary: Frohike has to come clean to Byers. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Confessions Part 1 By: J. D. Rush "Hey, Frohike, whatcha doing?" No, not now. I couldn't face him now. I needed more time to figure out how to explain all this. "Packing," I grunted. "I can see that," he said, evenly. "Going someplace?" "Well, that's usually why you pack, right?" I snapped back. But Byers was used to my bad temper and mood swings and didn't even bat an eye at my outburst. Instead, he invited himself into my room, and sat down on the bed next to my suitcase. He looked around the room, seeing the boxes filled with my books and videos (not THOSE videos. Couldn't have them lying around for Scully to find. I was leaving them for Langly). His blue eyes, so similar to Dana's, clouded, and his brow furrowed. "Frohike. . .what's going on here?" Turning away, I mumbled, "Movin' out." I didn't have to see his face to know the shocked expression it now wore. "Excuse me. Did I just hear you say you were moving out?" "Yeah." I still couldn't meet his gaze. "Frohike, for Heaven's sake, what for?
Is it something we did?" I
hated hearing the anxiety in his voice.
I especially hated knowing I was the one causing it. "No. Jesus,
John. It has nothing to do
with you," I assured him. I quickly cut him off. "It's not Jimmy, either." Yeah, we had had our differences, but he really wasn't such a bad kid. Just very. . .exuberant. "Then what is it?" he asked, hesitantly. I pushed the suitcase to one side and sat down beside him. Knowing no way to ease into it, I just blurted it out. "I married Dana yesterday." His big blue eyes got even bigger, then a smirk appeared, then the inevitable chuckles. "Good one, Frohike." "It's not a joke, John. I can show you the marriage license, if you don't believe me." The chuckles stopped, the smirk disappeared. "You're serious." "Never more so." "Dana? Dana
Scully? AGENT Dana
Scully?" And now that we had the identity all clear, the questions came fast and furious. "Frohike? How? Where? WHY?!" Figuring it would be best to just lay everything on the line, I took a deep breath and said, "I wanted to help her and William. She's all alone, John. Her mom is trying to help out, but I thought it'd be good for him to have a father figure." "You could do that as a visiting 'uncle', like the rest of us," he countered. "It's not the same as being there for the kid 24/7," I argued. "And besides, how would it look if I was just living with her, huh? Even if we are just living together as friends, people would jump to the wrong conclusion." "Friends?" he exclaimed, his voice going up
an octave. "You mean
you're not even going to. . .? "FROHIKE!!" Up another octave AND a decibel. "What ever possessed you to agree to this kind of arrangement?" I looked away and murmured, "Actually, I'm the one who proposed it." "A sexless, loveless marriage?" he asked,
clearly trying to get his brain to process the concept. He ran his fingers through his immaculate, short-trimmed hair and muttered, "I can't believe I'm hearing this. So now I have to refer to her as Dana Frohike?" I shook my head. "No, she kept her maiden name. Can't really blame her." "And William?" he demanded. "John . . .you don't understand." "You're damn right I don't," he said, angrily. "Explain it to me." "I just did.
She needs me, John. Her
baby needs me. And I want to
help." He jumped up off the bed and started pacing around the room. "I don't like this, Frohike. Not one bit. She's using your feelings for her against you, can't you see that?" "It's not like that at all, John," I tried to explain. "How can I get you to understand? Friends help each other out." "And what are you getting out of this, Frohike?" he challenged. "Seems to me you're laying everything on the line, and she's making out like a bandit." How could I tell him that seeing her lovely face each morning made it all worthwhile? That I would have done this a thousand times for just one smile from her, or to hear her laughter, or the chance to just BE with her? "I get more than you could ever imagine," I told him, honestly. He just shook his head and asked, incredulously, "Are you just going to sit there and tell me that you don't feel like she's taking advantage of you and your kindness?" I shrugged, "No, but if I'm being taken advantage of, then it's my own choice. I know what I'm doing." Leaning against the doorframe, he responded, "I'm not so sure about that. I think she's got you bewitched, wrapped around her little finger." "Gee, you mean just like Susanne?" I withered at his shocked expressions and quickly apologized. "I'm sorry. . .that was a low blow." He just smiled sadly. "No, no--you're right. If she showed up on our doorstep and asked me to jump, the only question I'd ask is how high." "What we do for women, huh?" I commented, wryly. "Special women," he amended. He walked back over to the bed, and sat down beside me. Fixing me with those knowing blue eyes of his, he confided, "I know how you feel about Scully, Mel, it's just. . .I hate seeing you settle for crumbs, that's all. You deserve so much more than that." I was truly touched by his concern. John Byers was about the best friend I ever had, and I knew he was only looking out for me. Yeah, maybe I could have done better, but I wasn't kidding myself. I wasn't exactly Prince Charming, and if this was all I could ever have with the fair Dana, then it would be enough. It HAD to be enough. "Those crumbs are more than I could have ever
expected, John," I confessed, "and this is the best thing that
has ever happened to me." Looking
up into his gentle face, I pleaded, softly, "Please be happy for
me." <Please tell
me I did the right thing. Please
tell me I'm not a fool.> "I'm scared for you, Mel," he replied, solemnly. "You're going to get hurt and there's no way that I can stop it." "I'm a big boy, Byers," I told him, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I'll be fine." He sighed again. "I hope you're right. And I really do wish you the best. But never forget--you'll always have a home here." I smiled. "Thanks, John. That means a lot to me." Before I knew what was happening, he had reached over and wrapped me tightly in his long arms; I reveled in his hug, grateful for his support. "I'm gonna miss you buddy," he choked out. "Hey, guy," I slapped him on the back, good-naturedly. "It's not like I'm getting abducted by aliens. I'll still be working here, you know. You'll have plenty of opportunity to see my handsome face." He chuckled, "I know. . .but it's just not going to be the same." As he released me from his embrace, he asked, "Do you need any help here?" Looking around at the jumbled mess of boxes, I replied, "That'd be nice. Thanks." "No problem-o." <Problem-o? He's been hanging around Ringo too long!> He rose gracefully from the bed, picked up the box closest to him, and headed towards my bedroom door. "I'll get Langly and Jimmy. . .we'll have that van packed in no time." Shit! Langly? AND Jimmy? The three of them ganging up on me and playing '20 Questions'? Oh, man! "Uh, John? Do I have to tell them, too?" I asked, wearily. He gave me a self-satisfied smirk over his shoulder. "Sooner or later, Frohike. . .might as well get it over with." Damn him for being right. Again. That's exactly why I didn't want to hear it. "Langly's gonna be pissed at me, isn't he?" I stated, with certainty. "Yeah," he readily agreed, kicking a large box near the door, "but if these tapes are for him, I'm sure it'll smooth over his ruffled feathers." +++++++++++++++++ Title: Mother and Child Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het Romance Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: Did someone say honeymoon? Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Notes: Title stolen. . .ahhh. . .BORROWED from Paul Simon. Mother And Child By: J. D. Rush What a wild, wacky week this one turned out to be. To say it was a period of adjustment is a serious understatement. I finally got the rest of my stuff moved in on Monday, and spent that day and the next fixing up the spare bedroom to my liking. Dana had taken a week's personal leave to be with me, and help me get settled in, something I felt really bad about. I mean, in effect, it was her honeymoon week, and she was just going to spend it in her apartment, cleaning and dusting and doing laundry? That just wasn't going to fly with me. On Wednesday morning, I greeted her in bed with a nice breakfast of fresh fruit and a cup of tea, then announced that we were taking a little trip. She shot me one of those classic Scully 'looks', and gasped, "A trip? Where?" I smirked, "You'll see when we get there. Just eat up and I'll get William ready." A couple of hours later we were holed up in a little
cabin on the shores of Of course, a lot of those laughs came from embarrassing situations, like when I wandered into the living room one night in just my socks and boxers--usual bachelor 'watch TV' wear--and she was sitting, open-mouthed on the couch. (Her only comment? "My, you're a hairy one, aren't you?" Why doesn't the earth ever swallow you up when you want it to?) Or the time I tried to impress her with my culinary prowess, only to end up almost burning down the kitchen. (Thank God for that pizzeria down the street. . .it's all we ate for those three days) Or the frequent times I left the seat up--an offense she said is punishable by castration if I do it again. (I hope she was kidding.) But I guess all those pale compared to when I accidentally walked in on her one day as she was breast-feeding William. I suppose it wasn't something I had counted on when I signed up for this gig. She was just sitting in the rocking chair in the living room, gently rocking William, and humming to him as he nursed. It was, without question, the most incredible moment I have ever witnessed--so natural, so perfect. She had looked up startled as I entered the room; I truly think she had forgotten I was in the cabin with her. I mumbled a hasty, "Sorry," and scurried from the room, reminding myself to be more careful in the future. Oh, I was careful all right. . .from that point on, I made sure that when I spied on them, Dana didn't know. Please understand, I got no sexual thrills out of it. None whatsoever. Only a serious pervert would get turned on watching an act so pure and loving. And I guess that's why I couldn't stop myself. This was a woman I had never seen before, one so tender and adoring and giving--the epitome of the fabled 'earth mother'. I had always seen the professional Scully: an intelligent, lethal beauty with a core of pure steel, surrounded by an impenetrable wall of stoic scientific logic. Occasionally, her vulnerability would come through, but those times were so rare, as if she were afraid to show any weakness.
So there I stood, watching the nightly ritual that had already turned into an addiction to me, when she suddenly called out, "Are you going to stand there all night, Frohike, or are you going to join us?" I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. "How. . .how'd you know I was here?" I stammered. "Your cologne," she chuckled. "Remind me to get you a new kind for Christmas." "Hey!"
I pretended to be offended. "We've
been married less than a week and you're already trying to change
me?" She tossed her head back and let loose one of those belly-laughs that I absolutely lived for. "Will you get your butt over here and keep us company?" "Your wish is my command, m'lady." I joined them on the couch, taking care not to avert my eyes so I wouldn't sneak an accidental peek. We sat there, side by side, an uneasy silence descending upon us, as William continued to feed. Figuring if someone didn't talk soon, I'd go insane, I blurted out, "So?" "So?" she answered. And we again fell silent. After another agonizing minute, I tried again. "Well?" "Well?" she repeated, and I heard the amusement in her voice. Fine. Two could play at this game. "How 'bout them Yankees, eh?" She burst into giggles, effectively breaking the ice. "You're not very good at small talk, are you, Mel?" "Okay, YOU pick the topic." She paused a moment then said, "Tomorrow's a big day, huh?" I knew what she was talking about: her first full day back at the F.B.I, on the now permanently Mulder-less X-Files. "Yeah. You up to it?" Giving a couple of small nods, she sighed, "Yes. It's time to go back. I miss my work, but. . ." She ran a light caressing hand over William's sandy-brown hair, "I'm really going to miss this little fella." "Don't worry, Dana. I'll take good care of him." She smiled, faintly. "How are the guys taking it?" I shrugged. It was still a bit of a sore point with them that they hadn't been invited to the wedding, but I knew from the few phone calls I had made to them this past week that they were starting to accept the idea of Scully and me together. "Actually, they're kinda excited. Langly especially. He loves babies." "They really don't mind that you'll be watching William?" It was one of the terms of our 'agreement'--I'd take care of the baby during the day while Dana was at work. Not only would she save a bundle on day-care, but she could also be assured that he'd have consistent nurturing and constant supervision. That was very important to her. . .and me. "Nah. No problem," I assured her. "It'll be fun to have the little guy around." "And he won't interfere with your work?" she asked, anxiously. "Dana, honey--I thought it all through when I
proposed to you. Don't worry
about it. There's plenty of
work I can do right from headquarters--research, layout, editing.
I just won't be so hands-on, that's all." "You never told me about that one," she teased. "Sounds like a good story." "I'll save it for another day. Point is, I'm getting too old for that shi-i-i. . ." I censored myself in front of the child, ". . .that STUFF anyway." "Well. . .if you're sure? I mean, I can probably still get mom, if there's a problem." "Dana, I'm sure. Everything will be fine." As if sensing his big moment, William pulled away with a gurgle. Without a second thought, I grabbed the small towel off the coffee table and threw it over my shoulder. "Here. . .give 'im to me. I need the practice." She handed me the sated child, then went about re-buttoning her blouse so efficiently I barely got a glimpse of white skin. Not that I was looking--I had my hands full. This wasn't my favorite duty where the kid was involved, but starting tomorrow she was entrusting his care to me completely--and I wanted to get it right. I placed him over my shoulder and started patting him gently on back. Dana scrutinized my technique for a few moments and nodded, approvingly. "I'm quite impressed, Frohike," she said. "Where did you learn to handle babies so well?" Oh, man, if she could have only seen my ineptitude with that senator's kid a few months ago! I had certainly learned a lot about babies in just those couple of days. I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could and replied, "Eh, it comes with the territory." "All I know is whoever taught you, taught you well." <Yeah, right, like I was ever going to tell YVES that! The girl's got a big enough head as it was!> Knowing her son was in competent hands, Dana bounced off the couch and announced, "I'm going to make myself a cup of herbal tea. . .can I get you anything?" "Nah, I'm okay," I replied continuing to pat young William on the back, getting a loud burp for my efforts. "You're better than okay," she giggled as she leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, planting one on William's head for good measure. "I'm really glad I made the right choice." And she headed off to the kitchen. I sat there stunned for a moment, so proud I was ready to burst. Dana was happy she had married me--and I was going to make sure she stayed happy. I turned to the young child slung over my shoulder and told him, "You know, William, you're mom is a very special lady. You're a really lucky guy." And as I listened to the lovely lady moving about the kitchen, still humming as she fixed her tea, I added, "Actually, we're both pretty lucky." ++++++++++++++++++ Title: Mr. Wizard's World Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het/gen Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: Just what is that beeping sound? Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Mr. Wizard's World By: J. D. Rush "Frohike, can you come here a sec?" I
called out to Mel, who was tinkering in the living room. "Well, William seems to be beeping." I had just sat William in his high chair when I had noticed the sound. Frohike came flying into the kitchen. "He's WHAT?" "You tell me. Listen." I held the baby up to Frohike--the child was giving off a distinct, repetitive 'BEEP'. Frohike gave a slight nervous smile, and took him from my arms. "He. . .ahhh. . .he just needs to be changed." I followed him as he strolled over to the changing table. "And how, pray tell, did you know THAT?" "Well. . .this." He removed a small round clip from William's diaper and handed it to me. I stared at the little disk, still beeping quietly. "What IS this?" "A, um. . .a diaper alert. It monitors the dryness of the diaper--if there's any change in moisture, it. . .um. . .sounds." "Is it safe?" I asked, warily. "Of course it's safe!" he answered, defensively. "I wouldn't do anything to harm your son." "Our son," I corrected him. He still seemed to have a hard time understanding that concept. "So, where did you get it?" He continued changing William's diaper, and I thought he was going to ignore my question when he suddenly admitted, "It's. . .well, it's my own invention." I know I gave him the full two-raised-eyebrow treatment on that one. "You invented this?" His concentration obviously on the squirming child in his hands, he finally managed to get out, "Yeah. It helps out at work. If William's crying, it could be for anything. This way, we at least eliminate ONE thing from the list. You know instantly the kid needs to be changed, and, well, the kid's more comfortable and clean--not having to sit in a dirty diaper." I couldn't stop staring at my friend. "Frohike! This is brilliant." He looked up at me, surprise written all over his face. "It is?" Handing it back to him, he clipped it to the edge of William's new clean diaper. "Yeah. You should patent this. Parents will go crazy for something like this." Frohike was busy trying to get William's pants back up over his kicking little legs. "Why? It's just a silly little gizmo." I took pity on him, and stepped in to finish the job, getting William dressed with practiced ease. "Well, not all patents are earth shattering. What about mood rings, or those stupid dunking birds that keep dipping their beaks in glasses of water, or Thigh-Masters? And at least this little thing serves a purpose." Frohike scooped up the child, and cuddled him. "I don't know, Dana. I'm just a tinkerer." "So was "Yeah, and both those geniuses died penniless," he returned. "Look, I'm a simple man, Dana. Just give me a home and a family, and I'm happy and content." I felt my cheeks flush at his words. It was nice to know that he was as happy with this arrangement as I was; in fact, if I had to be honest, I was enjoying it a lot more than I ever expected. Sighing dramatically, I explained, "Well, I just figured, since you're always saying you wish you could do more for me and William--this would be a way to earn some extra money, that's all." "Gee, I thought you married me for my looks and all the time you were after my money," he joked. "Wrong on both counts, Frohike. . .I married you because you're such a snappy dresser." Once our mutual chuckles subsided, I added, "Seriously, Mel, what's the worst that could happen if you applied for a patent for this little thing?" "Gee, I don't know. It could blow up in my face, resulting in years of litigation, and I'd be forced to sell myself on the docks to pay for all the lawyers," he answered without missing a beat. "And you wonder why you don't get invited to more parties," I deadpanned, knowing when a dead horse had been thoroughly beaten. If his mind was made up, there was nothing I could do to change it. Pity. "But I still think it'd be nice if you could get some recognition for your talents." "You recognize it, Dana, and that's more than enough for me." Turning his face away, he added, almost sheepishly, "Besides, what if I failed?" Ahhh, so THAT was the problem. "Is that what this is all about?" I asked, sympathetically. "You're afraid to fail?" He shrugged, "No. Yeah. I guess." "Well, THAT'S very lucid," I smirked. He smirked back. "I just. . .I wouldn't want you to be disappointed in me, Dana. That's all." I laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and told him, "Frohike, I'd be proud of you for trying. You only fail if you don't try." Before I could continue, however, the little disk started beeping again. "Ahhh, Mel. . .is it possible there's a short in that thing?" Patting William's behind, Frohike grimaced. "Nope." I took the young boy out of Frohike's hands while he dug around for another diaper, and sighed, "Well, looks like its back to the ol' drawing board, eh, Mr. Wizard?" ++++++++++++++++ Title: So, Where Were YOU When. . .? Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het/gen Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: Fro and Dana debate the great JFK
conspiracy. Disclaimer: Not mine.
Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to
me. I'm not holding my breath. So, Where Were YOU When. . .? By: J. D. Rush "Whatcha watching?" "A documentary about Jack Ruby." "ANOTHER ONE!" "Yeah, A & E is running a 'Biography' marathon this week, for the anniversary of the assassination. 'The Men Who Killed Kennedy'. Can't wait for tomorrow night--it's Lee Harvey Oswald." "You still don't believe he did it, do you?" "He may have been part of it, but no, he didn't do it. I'd stake my journalistic reputation on that." "I didn't know you HAD a journalistic reputation, Frohike." "Laugh it up, party girl. You wanna join me here?" "Sure. What the heck." PAUSE. . ."So what's your favorite?" "Favorite what?" "Conspiracy theory. If it wasn't Oswald, then who shot JFK?" "I think it's pretty simple." "Enlighten me, Mel." "The C.I.A. Everyone knows that." "Hmmm. . .I thought it was the Cubans." "Nah. They
had motive, but no way to pull off the far-reaching conspiracy it would
have taken to cover up the mess in "And the Russians?" "Are you kidding me?
LBJ was a bigger hard-ass when it came to communism than JFK was.
It certainly didn't make their lives easier when Johnson took
office. And again, they didn't
have the means to accomplish the cover-up afterwards, like those bungled
autopsy reports out of "What about the Mafia? I had heard that they went after John to stop Bobby from investigating them." "Well, you would THINK so.
They certainly had a good enough motive. Except for one little
thing--the mafia prides itself on clean hits.
And "I can see that." "You can?" "It DOES?!?" "Uh-huh. But it's not *my* favorite theory." "YOU have a favorite theory, Dana?" "What is it? His Secret Service bodyguard shot him by mistake? The Manchurian Candidate scenario of a programmed assassin? That Kennedy knew too much about U.F.O's they've got hidden in Area 51?" "Nope, none of those." "Then what? C'mon, Scully. . .spill it." "Okay, it's a pretty well-known fact that JFK was dying of Addison's Disease, which was untreatable in the early 60's. And, afraid of what the effects of this debilitating disorder would have on Camelot, and his carefree, active Kennedy lifestyle, he ordered the hit himself, thereby dying quickly and relatively painlessly in a blaze of glory, befitting a war-hero." "Dana?" "Yeah?" "I think I'm in love. . ." +++++++++++++++++ Title: Rub-A-Dub-Dub Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het Romance Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: Dana uncovers something--or someone--from Frohike's past. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Notes: Major spoilers for 'Tango de los Pistoleros' RUB-A-DUB-DUB. . . By: J. D. Rush "Oooh, that feels good." "Huh?" "Oh, keep that up, Frohike. It's heaven." "Dana, what are you talking about?" I glanced up at him over my laptop, my eyebrow raised; I then let my gaze trail down to his hand, which was resting on my ankle. I had been reclining on the couch, working on a summary report for Skinner on the latest solved X-File when Frohike had wandered over, lifted my legs, sat himself down, plopped my feet into his lap, and hauled out his own Macintosh notebook. It was nice that we had finally reached a point in the relationship where we felt so at ease with each other, that he was as comfortable with me as I felt with him. I had settled back to work when suddenly he began massaging my sock-covered feet, something he apparently hadn't noticed himself. . .until now. He followed my gaze downward and jerked his hand away as if it burned. "Oh geez, sorry about that, Dana." "No, Frohike--don't stop. Please. I. . .I liked it." What can I say? It felt so-o-o-o good! He gave me a puzzled look, but did as I commanded, both hands now returning to my aching tootsies. I melted into the couch, as the massage got a little firmer and intense now that it had his full attention. "Wow, Frohike," I sighed, appreciatively, "you're really good at this." His fingers skillfully rubbed my toes and down along the instep. "Well, I had a lot of practice with Mikita. Her feet used to get so sore when we. . ." I interrupted him. "Who's Mikita?" Did that sound as snippy as I think it did? You'd think I was jealous or something. "She was my dance partner. And. . .and my wife." Okay. I'll admit it. I don't know which confession was more shocking. Frohike used to be a dancer? AND he had an ex-wife?!? What the hell else didn't I know about him? Correction. What did I REALLY know about him? We had been married just about three months now, but we both still had so many secrets. I wondered briefly if we'd ever learn all there was to know about each other. "I didn't know you were married before," I commented as neutrally as possible. "Nobody did--not even the guys--well, until we met up with her again a few months ago." "Really?" And this time the jealousy was front and center. "What happened?" "Nothing really. We were on the trail of a story and my path crossed hers. It wasn't planned, but it was nice to see her after all these years." He chuckled, sadly, "What am I doing? You don't want to hear about this." Like hell I didn't! We were silent for a few minutes, and it was obvious he wasn't going to volunteer any more information. Well, I didn't spend all that time with Mulder without learning some interrogation techniques. "So. . .what was she like?" I asked, casually, as if I was just trying to make small talk. His eyes took on a far-away gaze, and I suddenly wanted to take back the question--it was quite possible that I didn't want to hear this. "Ahhh, she was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous. Pretty face, hourglass figure, legs up to her neck." <I hate her! I don't know her and I HATE her!> "She was a red-head," he laughed. "What can I say? They're my weakness." I had to smirk at that. "She sounds. . .nice," I answered, lamely. He guffawed. "Well, I don't think I'd use 'nice' to describe Mikita. She was more of a wild untamed spit-fire, the kind of gal that grabs a guy by his cahones and won't let go." "Ah. I stand corrected." He just shook his head in amusement. "Actually, she had her moments. She could be sweet and gentle, even caring, when she wanted to be. That didn’t happen often though." He laughed again. "Nope, Mikita is definitely one of a kind." "And why isn't she still Mrs. Frohike?" I queried, my jealousy overpowered by curiosity. Why would he have left someone he obviously still cared about? A huge sigh filled the room. "She wanted things I couldn't give her. A big house, a fancy car--furs and diamonds. It's not that I didn't WANT to give them to her, but I just couldn't. My eyes were always bigger than my wallet. . .and my tongue has a way of making promises it can't keep." "Frohike, there's more to life than big houses and cars and all that other stuff." "Not for Mikita. She was a simple girl--poor her whole life. Then I came riding into town, promising her riches on the Tango circuit." "The TANGO!?" I couldn't hide the surprise in my voice. When he had said 'dancer', I didn't think he had meant the TANGO!! He smiled, sadly. "Yeah. We were good. Damn good. But not super-star good, you know? We made enough to get by, but not enough for the life I had promised her. When I realized what a mess I had made of everything, and there was no way to fix it, I. . .I split. I was the ultimate coward, Dana. Just upped and left her. She deserved so much more than that. . .better than me. But I was stupid--thought with my dick instead of my head. She was just so young and so beautiful, and I wanted her so bad. . ." Running a weary hand across his back of his neck, he sighed once more, "I think I've said too much." And with that, he stopped the foot massage, closed up his Notebook, and got up to leave. I sat up and reached out, clasping his left arm as he walked past. "You made a mistake, Frohike," I said, softly, sympathetically. "That doesn't make you a bad guy. You tried. . . but sometimes life doesn't work out the way you had hoped." He removed my hand from his arm and lifted it to his lips, kissing it tenderly. Gazing at me, he smiled, "And sometimes, it does." Then he headed off to bed. ++++++++++++++ Title: Tiny Bubbles Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het Romance Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: R/NC-17 for sexual situations Summary: A bubble bath gets out of hand. Disclaimer: Not mine.
Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to
me. I'm not holding my breath. Tiny Bubbles By: J. D. Rush Scully barely made it to her front door that night. <What
a horrible day!> she thought to herself.
It wasn't the case that was so bad--it was the sheer boredom that
accompanied it. Hour after
hour on the phone, following up leads and eliminating the nutcases, and in
between the long expanses of time she was put on 'hold', she reflected
back to her years with Mulder. <Oh,
what I wouldn't give for one of those impromptu UFO chases!> she
found herself thinking. <Or even an encounter with some Those, indeed, were the golden days of the X-Files. But now, Doggett and Reyes were more, well, like herself. The leaps of logic were still there--in fact, John had pulled some off that even Mulder would have been proud of--but the leaps of faith were further and further apart. Everything was done by the book, with more and more time spent analyzing and digging up evidence before actually hitting Skinner with a 302 request. She could see it in her boss's eyes sometimes, that even HE missed Mulder's outrageousness and flights of fancy. No doubt about it--work just wasn't as much FUN anymore. She was just removing her coat when she heard, " "Whoo-hoo! High five me, Billy-boy! Way to go Raiders!" "Mel?" Scully called out, working her way
to the living room couch, where she found her husband--her seven month old
son on his lap--watching a football game on TV.
She supposed that wouldn't be so bad, except it was nearly "Yeah, we're bonding," Frohike told her with a smile; she was surprised to see her child dressed head-to-toe in black and silver Raider gear. When the hell did THAT happen? "Well, perhaps you can bond tomorrow," she replied, tactfully. "It's way past William's bedtime." Frohike, grasped the young child by the waist and, holding him up on his tiny legs like a marionette, pretended to throw his voice. "But mommy--it's the RAIDERS!" Scully was not amused. "Bed. Now." Mel plopped the boy back in his lap and grumbled loud enough for Dana to hear, "Gee, mommy's in a bad mood tonight, isn't she?" She sighed, "No, mommy just had a hard day, that's all." Holding out her arms, she smiled and said, softly, "Give him here, and I'll put him to bed so you won't miss your game." "Nonsense. You're
exhausted--I can handle it." Frohike
stood up, cradling the baby close to him.
"Maybe you should go take a nice hot bath and try to unwind?
Throw in some of that bubble stuff that you like so much." That brought a real smile to her face--the first one all day. "You know what, Mel? That sounds like a great idea. Sure you don't mind?" "Nah. It's a Raider blowout anyway. You take care of yourself. . .and I'll take care of this little guy." She leaned over and kissed her child goodnight; while she was there, she gave her friend a kiss on the cheek as well. "Thanks, Mel--I owe you for this." "And I plan to collect," he leered, jokingly. With a playful slap on his shoulder, she sent them on their way. While Frohike was busy changing the baby and putting him down for the night, Scully headed to the bathroom and prepared it for her bath. First, she dumped a generous amount of 'Caribbean Dreams' bubble stuff into the tub, then, while it was filling with just-this-side-of-bearable hot water, she went around the small room and lit some aromatherapy candles. Next, she piled her hair on top of her head and pinned it there with a huge barrette, to keep it from getting wet. Shutting off the lights, the room dark except for the flickering glow of the candles, she stripped out of her work clothes and slipped into the heavenly bath. She sank into the perfumed bubbles and let out a huge, heartfelt sigh. <Damn, Mel--this was a GREAT idea!> she smiled to herself. She lost track of the time as she just lay there, luxuriating in the mixing of all the different fragrances, when suddenly she heard a light tapping on the door. "Yes?" she called out. Frohike nudged the door open, and walked into the dimly lit room, carrying a glass of white wine. "I thought you might like a drink--to help you to relax." Scully took the proffered glass with a grin. "Thanks, Mel. . .that was very thoughtful of you." She took a long sip and sighed--did life get any better than this? Everything would be so perfect if it wasn't for this darn. . . "Problem, Dana?" Frohike asked, concerned, as he watched her roll her head from side to side. "Hmmm? Oh, just a crick in my neck--too many desk hours on the phone," she chuckled. "Nothing to worry about, Mel. I'll be fine." "Maybe there's something I can do about that for you." Before she could respond, he had pulled over a nearby step stool and sat down behind her. Suddenly hands--hands rough with calluses from years of hard work--began to massage her sore neck and shoulders, working out the kinks. It felt good. Exquisitely good. Dana, moving her head from side to side to soak in as much of the sensation as possible, practically purred at his attentions. "Oh, Mel. . . if you only knew how good that felt." "I could make it feel better," he whispered softly, confidently--seductively. Slowly, his hands skimmed down her bare shoulders and along her wet arms until they were cupping her breasts. Dana almost dropped her glass of wine, startled as she was by his actions, but when he started to gently caress them, she sighed deliriously at the pleasure. "Better?" he murmured in her ear. "Ummmm. . ." was all she could say, as his
thumbs glided over her erect nipples, scraping the sensitive flesh.
Scully sighed deeply as she leaned backwards, pressing against the
back of the tub, suddenly wanting to crawl into the warmth and safety of
Frohike's arms. <My
God> she thought, <how long had it been since a man touched
her like this?> But he wasn't done with her. Lips--soft, hot, loving lips--pressed themselves to her throat, and kissed down to her shoulder. The coarseness of his whiskers against her skin, the heady smell of his new cologne. So real, so masculine--so Frohike. She threw her head back, exposing more of her neck to his tender ministrations. Mel took full advantage of Dana's offer, and trailed a series of kisses back up her slender throat, until he was nibbling on her earlobe. "Oh, Dana," he sighed, softly. "My beautiful, sexy Dana." It all became too much for Scully. She wanted those lips--NEEDED those lips--kissing hers, claiming hers! Turning to face her seducer, eyes half-lidded with desire, she whispered, "Mel. . ." and then, finally, his mouth belonged to her. That kiss put the others in the past to shame. Frohike held nothing back, plundering her mouth with his tongue, looping lazy circles around her own, even as his fingers pinched and worried her hard little nubs; her pleasured moans were muffled against his lips as she lost herself in his sensuous kiss. With a grace she never expected Frohike to have, he slid off the stool to kneel beside the tub. Scully moaned in disappointment at the loss of his hands on her body, her pinkish-red nipples standing high and proud, waiting to be touched once more. But Frohike had other plans for the pretty young lady lying before him. Removing his spectacles with one hand, and Scully's wine glass with the other, he smiled down at his very lovely--very aroused--wife. . .a smile filled with promises and love. Scully could see it in his eyes--tonight was going to be the night. Tonight he was finally going to take her, and make love to her. She was nervous and excited and anxious, as the once impossible seemed on the verge of coming true. She was going to make love to Melvin Frohike. Before she could fully process that information, his mouth descended once more onto hers. His lips were unlike any she had ever kissed before--so soft, so warm, so commanding and gentle at the same time. She could drown in his kisses, of that she was sure. His tongue licked at her lips, insistent, demanding admittance, as his right hand had returned to her chest, kneading the pliant flesh of her left breast. With no will of her own, she parted her lips and eagerly accepted him, growing weaker under his delicious assault. Soon, all too soon, his mouth abandoned hers. She was about to lodge a protest when she realized it was only because Mel had other plans. He trailed a line of kisses down her chin, along her neck and down her sternum until he encountered her right breast. He flicked out his tongue, barely touching the pebbled nipple, sending a chill down Scully's spine. Seeing her reaction, he smiled, and settled down to work. Scully cried out ecstatically as his mouth entrapped the swollen bud and began to suck, all the while continuing to massage her other breast. The torture, so sweet, so intoxicating, enveloped the young woman; she longed for the agony to stop--she wished it would go on forever. Quite unaware of her own actions, she had begun to rub her hand over Frohike's still-clothed crotch, finding his cock growing and hardening under her manipulation. He gave a groan of delight--the vibrations of which resounded against her erect nipple and Scully let go with a groan of her own. She was wet by now--quite wet--and it had nothing to do with the bath water. Scully was so lost in the moment, so at one with her friend, her husband--her lover--that she failed to notice Frohike's hand was no longer cupping her breast. Expert fingers trailed along the smooth skin of her stomach, lightly, with feather-like caresses. Lower, they skimmed, past her navel, and lower still until they brushed through the silky strands of her fire-y red pubic hair. Her eyes opened wide as the knowing, skillful fingers gently parted her, seeking out her most private of places--and then he found it. Scully whimpered as the digit brushed past her clitoris sending shockwaves through her whole body. Without hesitation, she flung her left leg over the edge of the tub, to give Frohike the access he needed. Mel took full advantage of her new position, slipping his middle finger deeply within her; it slid in easily, it's path slicked with her feminine wetness. He stroked it in and out while continuing to massage her tiny button with his thumb. One finger soon became two, and Scully cried out in rapture. She surrendered to his knowing touch, bringing her to heights of pleasure she had never known before. Her back arched, urging his fingers deeper. She was so close, her breath coming in harsh little pants. So long--so long since she had been with a man. . .so long since she had felt like this. Had she ever felt like this? So good. So close. One stroke, then another, one more. . .this is it. Yes--yes--yes--YES!!! "Dana?" "Huh?" she answered groggily, turning to the sound of Mel's voice. The door was opened slightly and she saw Frohike's concerned face peeking in. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he apologized, "but you didn't answer when I knocked." "Oh, um. . .I guess I didn't hear you," she stammered. "Are you okay, Dana?" Frohike asked, anxiously. "You've been in here over an hour. I was starting to worry." Everything was slowly coming back to Scully, and she could feel herself blushing down to her toes. "Ah, yeah. . . I'm fine. I just. . .I guess I fell asleep." <And I must've REALLY been out!> she berated herself. "Oh geez, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," he flushed, embarrassed. She assured him, "No, no. . .that's okay. . .I should be heading off for bed anyway." He started backing away from the door, clearly uneasy with the awkward situation. "I. . . ummm. . .I'll see you in the morning, then." "Your turn to cook breakfast," she reminded him with a smile, getting a smile back in return. "You got it, kid. Pleasant dreams, now." And he closed the door behind him. Dana Scully lay there in the cooling bath for a
moment or two, going over in her mind what had just happened.
<A dream. It had
only been a dream.> She slammed her fist into the soapy water in frustration. "SHIT!" +++++++++++++++++ Title: Confessions Part 2 Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het/gen; het romance Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: After a night-long stakeout with AD Skinner, Scully comes home and is pampered by her hubby. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Confessions Part 2 By: J. D. Rush "Sir, what time is it?" "11:21. Why?" My second-favorite agent (well, since Mulder was no
longer with the Bureau, I suppose Scully had been bumped into the number
one slot) gave a huge yawn, then sheepishly replied, "Oh, I'm sorry,
sir."
I could relate. Been a long time since I was on a stakeout, and my body was protesting the long hours of inactivity. I had tried to keep the assignments easy for Scully, knowing she was still working her way back into a routine after her extended maternity leave, but all hands were needed tonight. I looked out the side window reflexively, and saw Doggett and Reyes a few feet to the left of us--where they had been parked all night. For all our sakes, I hoped it wouldn't be much longer. "You gonna be all right, Scully?" I asked, concerned. I didn't want her taxing herself, after all. A smile, all too rare from her these last few years. "Yeah, I'll be fine, if I can stay awake, that is. Got any more coffee?" I pulled out the thermos, and poured her another cupful--a quiet, "Thank you," and she leaned back in her seat, sipping her drink. I warmed up my own cup, and re-capped the container. The conversation would have probably ended right there, except for a sad little sigh that echoed in the car--a sound that hadn't come from me. "You wanna check in, Scully?" "Huh?" She didn't seem to realize she had done anything. Digging into my coat pocket, I pulled out my cell phone and handed it to her. "Here." My intentions finally registered. "Oh, no thank you, sir. I'm sure Frohike's got everything under control, and I wouldn't want to wake up the baby. . .if Mel's put him down, that is." "Does William have trouble sleeping?" I inquired. "No, he sleeps like a rock.
It's just that Frohike's been teaching him the finer points of
being a couch potato by introducing him to Monday Night Football." "No, not yet. Just some kind of male-bonding ritual I'm not privy to, apparently." "Sure they're not just in it for the cheerleaders?" I joked. "They better not be, if Mel knows what's good for him!" she shot back, good-naturedly. "Actually, I'm glad that William has someone like Fro in his life, to teach him all those *guy* things." <FRO? Did
she really call him FRO? Maybe
I didn't want to know.> I'll admit--the whole idea of Scully being married
was still a bizarre concept to me. Not
only that it happened so suddenly, but, I mean, come on.
She married MELVIN FROHIKE, for Christ's sake!
And I still wasn't convinced blackmail wasn't involved somehow.
"So. . . things are working out for the two of you, huh?" She nodded. "Oh, most definitely. Frohike is a wonderful father. Very loving and attentive and William simply adores him and . . ." "And as a husband?" An image of the two of them in bed together came unbidden to mind--it wasn't a pretty picture. A beat, then "Sir, are you asking about my love life?" Thank goodness it was dark in that car, because that question made me blush to the top of my scalp. "No. . .no," I stammered, unconvincingly. "That's not what I meant at all. I was just. . ." "Skinner, relax. I was just joking." I didn't need to any light to see her smirk--it was there in her voice. My God--what had happened to the stern, dour Agent Scully I had known all these years? "Forgive me," I mock-apologized. "I've never heard you tell one before." She sipped at her coffee before commenting, "Guess I've been a real stick in the mud, huh?" "On the contrary. You've been a real credit to the Bureau and an upstanding, professional agent, unlike a certain other operative who was under my control." We both chuckled at that one--there was no doubt about whom I was talking. As the laughter subsided, I turned to the young lady sitting beside me and queried, "Speaking of Mulder, I have to know something." "Shoot, sir." Taking a deep breath, I asked the question that had troubled me for a long time. "Did you believe him, Scully? His work? The UFO's? The aliens?" "You claimed you saw them yourself, sir," she answered, vaguely. "And he did come back from the dead, after all." "You're avoiding the question, agent." <As you always have> I thought to myself. She took a long drink from her cup and sighed deeply, as if collecting her thoughts. Finally she began, "You know, I always thought I knew it all, that if I only looked deep enough and long enough I could find plausible, logical, scientific answers to any bizarre situation that was thrown at me. But after working with Mulder for eight years? I realize now I didn't know jack shit." I nearly choked on my coffee, certainly never expecting such an honest, unguarded answer from the always honest, always guarded Agent Scully. "So--you DID believe him all along?" "What I believe, sir, is that the truth IS out there. . .if you want to find it bad enough. And Mulder certainly does." It grew quiet in the car once more--and this time, I was the one to break the silence. "Dana. . .?" "Hmmmm?" "Do you ever hear from him?" He had been gone for months now, without a word. Almost like he had disappeared off the face of the earth. . .again. "You mean Mulder?" Trying to keep my tone even, trying hiding my eagerness, I answered, "Yeah. I. . .I haven't heard from him since he left D.C. Has he contacted you?" She shrugged her slim shoulders, hidden beneath her
bulky wool coat. "Um-hmm,
periodically. Some e-mails
mostly, a couple of postcards. Just
to let me know he's okay. In
fact, I got a Christmas card from him the other day--it was postmarked Christmas cards?
Since when did Mulder send CHRISTMAS cards?
And from She shifted in her seat--whether to find a more comfortable position or because my question made her uneasy, I'm not sure. "I don't know if he ever will," she began, hesitantly. "He's so at sea right now--he's lost his whole family, his job, his quest. . ." "It still wasn't right that he left you and the baby alone, though." That was something I had a hard time forgiving Mulder for. . .just blowing town like he had, leaving Scully and the baby--HIS baby--behind without even a backwards glance. "Perhaps not, but I understand why he did it," she replied, diplomatically. "He's a beautiful man, with a tortured soul, and his search isn't over yet--I just hope when he reaches the end of his journey, he finally finds the peace that has eluded him all his life." She took a long drink from her cooling coffee then added, "But then if wishes were dollars, we'd all be millionaires." No doubt about it--this was NOT the same Agent Scully I had known for over nine years. "That's pretty profound for you, Scully." "It's one of Frohike's." She looked at me then, her clear blue eyes boring right through me in the dimness of the alley. "You have a hard time with the two of us together, don't you?" I finished off my coffee and placed the cup on the dashboard before professing, "I'll admit, Scully, it was quite a shock, not just to me, but everyone. I mean, FROHIKE?" She just chuckled at that.
"I've heard the jokes, sir.
And I know what everyone thinks of him. Believe me, I was under the
same mistaken impression for a long time.
But there's more to Mel than the image he presents to the
world--much more. He's quite
special, you know." Ah. Finally.
The raised eyebrow. Well,
at least PART of the old Scully was still there.
"And why is that, sir?" she wondered aloud.
"Because we were partners?
Friends? Because he looked like a GQ model and Frohike
doesn't?" A sad, almost wistful smile crossed her pretty face. "Yes, I suppose you're right, but it would have never worked out," she said with a slight laugh. "We wanted two different things. A home, a family--those things weren't important to Mulder. He's not the settling-down kind of guy. And anything that interfered with his mission was simply pushed aside and sublimated. I remember asking him once, on one of our many road trips, if he didn't want to just stop the car, just stop the chase. He looked at me as if I had sprouted another head." "Which, of course, he would have just added to his file cabinet of X-Files." It brought another batch of soft chuckles from her, and I couldn't help but join her. When the laughter had run its course (Jesus, had I EVER laughed this much with Scully before?) she sighed deeply and confessed, "I did love him, sir. . .DO love him still. But it's a love deeper than friendship, and more intense than the one lovers share. It was probably the most perfect, pure love I'll ever know." "So, where does that leave Frohike?" I asked, curiously. "Well, I love him, too. It's a different kind of love, but just as special. He really is a special man." She smiled as she said it, a gentle sunny smile, and whatever my past feelings for the man, anyone that could make Scully smile like that was okay in my book. "So you've said," I kidded her. "I did, didn't I?
Guess I'm more tired than I. . ."
She stopped suddenly, and almost dropped her cup.
"Sir, what was that?" "What was what?" "I swear, I saw a flash of something. Red. A jacket? Over there." She pointed to a doorway down at the end of the alley. "THERE! I saw it again!" And this time, I saw it too. "Could be our guy," and I quickly jumped on the horn. "Doggett, Reyes…we're on the move." I un-holstered my piece and hopped out of the car. Scully was already halfway down the alley, gun at the ready; apparently motherhood hadn't slowed her down one iota. I marveled at her, enjoying the chance to see one of the best in action in the field--then suddenly Doggett and Reyes were at my back, sprinting past me. I picked up speed to catch up with them, the time for idle musings over for the moment. LATER THAT NIGHT: I came home to find Frohike asleep on the couch, ESPN playing softly on the TV. I tried to be as quiet as possible, but the sound of the door locking was just enough to wake him. "Dana! You're home!" he said, groggily. "Yeah, finally," I sighed. It had been a LONG night. "What time is it?" he asked, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. "Too late," I replied, even too tired to
check my watch. I had left
police headquarters around "Hmmmm. . .you're out past your bedtime, young lady," he scolded, playfully. I sighed, dramatically. "Oh, Frohike, I didn't want you to find out this way, but--well--there's another man." I hung my head penitently, mostly to hide my smile. "I knew it! Who is it? Anyone I know?" he asked, getting into the game. "If you must know, I've been carrying on with A.D. Skinner in a car all night--and it was go-o-o-d-d-d!" "You're truly warped, you know that, Scully?" he chuckled, as he came around the couch, and helped me off with my coat. Always a gentleman. "If so, I got it from you," I giggled. "I was FINE until you moved in." "I'm not so sure of that. I think you always had the potential to be seriously demented." As he hung up my coat, he asked me, seriously, "So, you got your man?" I just smirked at him. "I ALWAYS get my man, Frohike." "That's my G-girl!" he laughed. I walked over to the small combination safe sitting on the telephone stand by the front door, and opened it; removing my gun from its holster, I placed it inside, closed the door once more and spun the dial thoroughly. I had never worried about having a gun lying around the apartment before. In fact, with all the enemies Mulder and I had amassed over the years, it made me feel safe, and I never had it more than a couple of feet away from me. But now, with William around, I was absolutely paranoid about the damn thing, and wished I didn't even have to have it in the house at all. The safe had been Frohike's idea--until he could find time to build me a wall vault, which he promised to do as soon as he could get the landlord's permission. "You know, you really should get to bed, Dana--you look like you're about to fall on your face." "I'm too exhausted to sleep.
Does that make sense?" "Sure does." He wrapped me in his arms and gave me a quick, friendly hug--one that really could've lasted longer, in my book. As he pulled away, he suggested, "Look, why don't you go get ready for bed, and I'll whip up something to help you sleep." "Just so you know, I think I'm a bit old for warm milk and cookies," I informed him. "Trust me, this ain't no milk and cookies--this stuff will knock yer socks off!" he stated, confidently. I flashed him a teasing smile. "You spoil me, Frohike." He just shrugged. "Well, you deserve it, kiddo." "I don't think anyone has ever said that to me." Running a gentle caressing hand down my cheek, he answered, "Then it's long overdue." I practically floated to my bedroom. FROHIKE: While she shuffled off to her bedroom, I dug around her kitchen, pulling down all the ingredients I needed. I had just put the pan of water on the stove when she wandered in, wearing an old baggy sweatsuit. God, she was hot, even in that mangy potato sack. She took one look at all the stuff I had laid out on the counter, and asked, nervously, "What are you doing, Frohike?" "Making you a hot toddy." "Nope." I tipped the bottle of brandy into the waiting coffee mug, judged the contents, and then added a splash more. "Gramma Frohike's special secret recipe. Guaranteed lights out." "Gramma Frohike," she repeated, as she ran
a finger over her wedding band. "Is
that the same Gramma whose ring I wear?" "No stories at all?" she pressed, but not in an obtrusive way, just curious. Well, if she was interested, I was sure I could dig up a few stories. "My mom died when I was around ten years old," I told her, as I sliced up an orange. "Oh. I
didn't know. I'm sorry." "That must have been very hard on you," she replied, that caring, sympathetic tone in her voice. "I just lost my dad a few years ago--I can't imagine how a child handles a loss like that." "Well, it wasn't so bad.
Dad asked his mom to come live with us, to help him raise me and my
brother." By now the
water was just the right temperature, and I poured it to the brandy.
After mixing in a teaspoon of honey--and adding a sprinkling of
nutmeg, a cinnamon stick, and the orange slice as a garnish-- I handed it
to Dana. "Yeah. An older brother--Milton." At her raised eyebrow, I shrugged. "Let's just say that my parents didn't have a lot of tact when it came to names." Seeing that she still hadn't tried the concoction, I encouraged her, "Go on, Dana--drink up. Before it gets cold." She gestured at it with her head, "Ahhh--what do I do? Chug it or. . .?" "Nah, you can just drink it like a cup of coffee or something," I laughed. "You'll be out before you hit bottom anyway." Still hesitant, she pressed the mug to her lips, and took a small, lady-like sip; I watched in amusement as her eyes got bigger, and a smile crossed her face. "Mel, this is wonderful!" she enthused, as she took a surer swallow. Pouring a bit of brandy into a mug for myself, I went and sat down at the table with her. "Told you so. Just be careful--it's strong stuff." Ignoring my warning, she continued to gulp the
cocktail. She finally took a
break to ask, "Why don't you ever talk about him?" "Yeah. You've never mentioned him before." I shrugged, uneasily.
This wasn't exactly my favorite topic.
"Well, we had a falling out over the war." "Yeah."
Like there was any other war worth discussing. Nibbling at her slice of orange, she mused, "Let
me guess--he went and you didn't." "You sound surprised," I couldn't help but tease. "I suppose I am," she admitted. "I just can't picture you. . .what I mean is. . .you just don't seem like someone who would be there, that's all." "Hey, a lot of us shouldn't have been there," I told her, not unkindly. "But it's where I felt I should be. I believed in my government back then-- I wasn't ALWAYS this paranoid, you know," I said with a laugh. "So what happened?" she queried. "I got injured during our second advance.
Blew my knee out. Automatic
discharge. End of army
career." "Well, me and my new friends went on marches," I continued, "did the protests. I totally absolved my participation in the war, criticized the government for its meddling in other people's affairs and the military's continued presence there. Became a total cynic--pretty much what you see before you." "I wondered where that all came from," she replied, sardonically. "Let's just say that Milt wasn't too happy when he found out what his little brother was up to. Said if I was healthy enough to organize those damn marches, I was healthy enough to fight, that maybe if I had stayed over there longer, I would've grown up, become a *real* man." She was stunned by that comment. ""Jeez, Frohike, that's terrible!" she exclaimed. "Yeah, I suppose it was," I said, nonchalantly, not wanting her to know that after all this time, it still bothered me. "Anyway, we had an awful argument about it--and we never spoke again." "That's so sad." I shrugged, "Hey, it happens." She had not taken a drink during my story--now, she took another swallow of her toddy before asking, "Where is he now?" "Last I heard?
SCULLY: I listened to him pump up the brother that had
abandoned him, and denigrate himself, and had to cut in.
"Well, I don't care what That got a hardy guffaw. "Are you kidding? She'd think I was a total loser, and she'd be right, too." "How can you say that, Frohike? You're a successful journalist. . ." "Hardly successful," he interrupted. "You fight for truth, justice, and the American way," I continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Yeah, too bad I don't win more often. Face facts, Dana--the only thing I ever did right in my life was marry you. I mean, you and William. . ." he paused, as if trying to find the right words. "You complete me." His simple words touched me deeply. Reaching across the table, I rested my hand on his, and curled my fingers around it. "I know how you feel," I replied, softly. And I remembered back to my conversation with Skinner, how he didn't understand why I would ever marry Frohike, and I wished he could see Mel the way I saw him at that moment, open and vulnerable: a good father, a great friend, and a very loving, unique person. And for not the first time, I really wished that my bathtub dream could somehow come true. He looked down at our hands, shifting them until his fingers were entwined with mine. "I really wish Gramma was still alive," he whispered. "She would've adored you, Dana." I couldn't help but smile. "I'm sure the feeling would've been mutual." I raised my mug to my lips, only to discover there was nothing left. "Frohike?" "Hmmm. . .?" I tilted my mug to show him it was empty. "I think I hit bottom here." His face registered shock. "Jesus, I could never drink more than half of one of those bad-boys. How do ya' feel?" "Well, it was delicious, but really, Frohike, I feel. . ." Suddenly, I was overcome by a huge yawn, and my eyelids felt like they were made of lead. He gave a chuckle.
"Yup. Works every
time." Raising from the
table, he came over to my chair and helped me up.
"C'mon, party girl--we better get you into bed." "Oh, yeah, you're not feeling any pain," he laughed. "You should sleep like a baby." "Just like William," I tittered, as he wrapped his arm around me, and started walking me to my room.
Oh man, she was wasted! Guess that potion was more potent than I remembered. I lead the tipsy young lady down the hallway and to her bedroom, praying that her giggles wouldn't wake up the baby. I helped her into the bed then tucked her in. She looked up at me with a sappy smile on her face. "Love ya', Hickey," she mumbled, then silence. She was out like a light. I sat on her bed for moment, carefully, so as not to wake her. Right, like there was any chance of THAT happening. I'd be lucky if I could get her up in the morning. I watched her as she slept, just as beautiful as when she's awake. I leaned down--I couldn't stop myself--and kissed her on the cheek. "I love you too, Dana," I whispered, stroking her shiny coppery hair. "More than you will ever know." ++++++++++++++ Title: There Ain't No Sanity Clause Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http://itak.slashcity.net Category: Het/gen; het romance Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: It's Christmas, and Frohike meets the Scully clan for the first time, including Bill Scully, Jr. Poor guy. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Note: I tried to be as accurate with the Scully family as I could for this segment. I got my 'facts' from Deep Background (http://www.xfdeepbackground.com/) Unfortunately, it only covers until the end of season five, so any other family revelations, I couldn't verify. There Ain't No Sanity Clause By: J. D. Rush "Morning!" I smiled at the sound of that familiar friendly voice. It's only been three months now, but already I couldn't remember how I had lived without it. "Morning yourself," I answered back. "Whatcha doing?" I felt her small hand land on the base of my back, her head resting on my shoulder. "Some investigator YOU are!" I teased, as I cracked a couple of eggs into a mixing bowl, and started beating. "Isn't it obvious?" "Mmmm-hmmm," she replied, stealing a blueberry from the measuring cup on the counter. "Hey!" I protested. "I need those for the muffins." "Then give me the one with the missing blueberry," she shot back, jokingly. "I may just do that." She laughed. Oh, her laughter is so sweet. "I can't believe you're making homemade muffins," she marveled. I explained, "Well, it's a special day, so I figured you should have a special breakfast." "Gee, Mel. . .and what day is that?" she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Gramma Frohike's birthday, of course," I told her, as if it were common knowledge. That caught her by surprise. "Really?" "Yeah. She would have been, let's see, 104 this year. Can you hand me the milk?" She gave me the carton of milk and watched as I measured it and added it to the eggs. "She was born on Christmas Day?" "Oh, is today Christmas, too?" I asked, acting dumb. She slapped me playfully on the shoulder. "YES! As if you didn't know." "Damn, I was hoping you would forget and I could recycle the gifts next year. Oh, well. Oil, please?" The bottle was passed to me, and again I measured what I needed and added it to the mixture. "I don't think I've ever known anyone born on Christmas," Scully mused. "Yeah. And she hated it, too. Used to complain that everyone else got presents TWICE a year, and she was getting short-changed. So I used to make it up to her by baking her favorite muffins for her birthday breakfast." She just looked at me incredulously. "Frohike, you are just full of surprises." I shrugged. "That's me--international man of mystery. Sugar?" "Darling?" "No--ahh, I need sugar." "Oh!" She gave an embarrassed titter, and passed the container over to me. While I was spooning out what I needed into a measuring cup, she hinted, "You know, if there are enough of those, maybe we can take some over to mom's house today." Yikes. I was really hoping she was going to forget about that. "Um, Dana, I've been thinking about. . ." "Oh no you don't, Frohike," she interrupted. "You're not getting out of it, and that's final." "But Dana," I pleaded, "I won't know anyone there." "You'll know mom," she countered, as she dug out the coffee pot and started to set up the machine. "Yeah, and she hates me," I grumbled. Scully gave a huge sigh. "She doesn't HATE you, Mel, she just doesn't KNOW you. I don't think you've said more than ten words to her since we've been married. When we pick William up at her house, all you ever say is 'Hi, Mrs. Scully', or 'Thanks, Mrs. Scully'. This will be the perfect chance for you both to--what's your term?--bond." I started adding in the flour, stirring a little at a time into the liquid mix. "Look, Dana, I've got a great idea. Why don't you go, and I'll stay here and watch the kid?" She just gave me one of those 'Scully' looks. "Mel, you're kinda missing the whole point here. My family is coming from all over specifically to SEE William. All they've seen of him so far are those photos we emailed to them a while back." Baking powder. Need baking powder. Where the hell did I put it after the last time? Took me three cupboards before I found the can, and I added in a couple of teaspoons. "Fine, then YOU go with William, and I'll take care of myself." That caused her to pause, scoop of coffee suspended
in mid-air. "You'd rather
spend Christmas alone than with my family?" She turned back to me, and I could see the compassion in her eyes. "Oh, Mel. . . I'm sorry." I dumped the berries into the bowl. "Hey, no big deal. The last few years, I've had the guys to keep me company--neither of them had anyplace to go, either. And now, well, I've got you and Billy. I'm doing okay for myself." "I suppose you are," she smiled, tenderly. Gently folding the berries in so they wouldn't get smooshed, I mumbled, "Guess I was looking forward to spending the day, just the three of us, that's all." She went back to preparing the coffee. "Well, it's a tradition that we all meet back at mom's house. It's the one time of year my brother, Bill, can get leave and we can all be together." "Can't we start our OWN tradition?" I asked, hopefully. "You know, open gifts, play with the kid, have a nice meal--watch football until our eyes glaze over?" "Very tempting, Mel," she answered, sarcastically. "Maybe next year. But today, I want to show off my baby and my new husband and be the center of attention." 'New husband'. The
way she said that made my heart flutter.
"They'll all hate me," I whined. "You're not giving my family much credit,"
she insisted. "They'll
LOVE you." "It's only a few hours, Mel, and it would mean so much to me," she said, softly. Oh, crap. Pull
THAT one on me, huh? Never
would've taken Dana to be so manipulative.
How the hell could I deny her when she's standing there in that
over-sized terry-cloth robe, bed-hair and those big blue eyes boring
though me? Damn, I'm such a
cream puff! "Okay, Dana.
You win." <Anything
for you, my love.> My cheek found itself blessed by one of her kisses. "Thanks, Mel. And you'll see--it won't be so bad." She watched me scoop some of the batter into the muffin tins before timidly asking, "Ummm. . . didn't you say something about gifts?" I slid the pan into the oven and turned to face her. "Yes, I did." "Is there one for me?" she inquired, sweetly. "Hmmmm. . .could be," I hedged. "Well, we COULD start a new tradition and open
them while the muffins are baking."
Before I had a chance to vote, she grabbed me by the hand and
dragged me into the living room, which looked like the North Pole had
opened a field office. The
tree was small, neat, with just the right amount of lights, tinsel, and
decorations. (Would put Martha
Stewart to shame.) Underneath was a mound of presents, all for baby
William--most from Dana and her mom, but some from me and the guys, too.
One, wrapped in Star Wars paper had arrived a couple of days
earlier from Mulder, with a No doubt about it--the kid was gonna to be spoiled rotten. But those gifts were overshadowed by one huge box off to the side. It stood nearly four feet tall, wrapped in Rudolph the Reindeer paper, and encircled with an enormous red bow--the name on the oversized tag said, "To Dana. . .Merry Christmas." Scully's eyes grew as big as the box when she saw it. "Is that for me?" she squealed. I crossed my arms over my chest. "That's what the tag says. I wonder who it's from?" She shot me a look. "Yeah, I wonder." "One way to find out, eh?" I watched in amusement as the usually subdued Dana Scully gleefully ripped the paper from the box like a little girl. My heart thudded in my chest, hoping she would like it. I'm not usually good at gift buying, but when I saw this, well, it just had Dana's name all over it. She finally had all the paper off, and was staring at the plain cardboard box she had uncovered. I went over and helped her slice through the packing tape holding it together; we both took hold of a panel and pulled them apart to reveal her gift. "Oh my God," she whispered, reverently. "It's beautiful." And with those words, my heart started beating normally again. "Why don't you try it out?" I suggested. She looked at me, smiled, then took a seat. "It's perfect, Frohike. Where'd you get it?" "I found it in an antiques store downtown," I told her. "I remember how much you seemed to like the one at the beach house. Originally, I was going to get you one of those fancy glider rockers, but when I saw this one, I figured with some work and some new cushions, it could be a real treasure." She stopped rocking and stared at me. "YOU did this?" she asked, in amazement. I nodded, humbly. "When did you find time to do all this?" "Off hours at HQ. I made the guys promise not to tell you." "How did you ever get it in here without me seeing it?" she pondered. "Well, that's a ancient Gunmen secret," I replied smugly, "and if I told you, I'd have to kill you afterwards." I found myself on the receiving end of a full scale 'Scully' glare. "Frohike, PLEASE tell me the guys didn't break in here last night." "Okay. The guys didn't break in here last night," I parroted. The groan was loud and painful. "I don't suppose it would have occurred to you to let them borrow a key?" "Well," I hesitated, "Jimmy DID need some practice on his B & E skills." <And it's not like this place is too difficult to break into,> I muttered under my breath. Would have to look into improving security around here after the holidays. . . didn't realize how bad it was. She just shook her head sadly, even as a little smile crossed her face. "Mel--I have no idea what to do with you." "If it's ideas you need, I have a million of them," I leered. "I'm sure you do."
She traced her fingers over the mahogany stained armrests, then
over the gold-leaf patterns of seashells, starfish, and seahorses that
lined the headrest. (Those
ocean designs had sealed the sale--they reminded me so much of our
'honeymoon' at "No. . .I love it.
Thank you so much." A
tear did manage to escape, and she brushed it away with the back of her
hand. "Makes my gift look
so insignificant," she added with a small pout. "Dana, you didn't even have to get me anything. I've got everything I want right here." My words didn't stop her from getting out of the chair and squatting down next to the tree; she reached way back and pulled out a box from the huge pile. Handing it to me, she started babbling, "Well, I saw it advertised on TV and thought you might like it, but now I'm not so sure. If you really don't like it, I can always return it. Maybe I should just return it anyway, and. . ." "Hon. . .maybe I should open it first?"
I took the package and plopped myself down on the couch. "Gee, A & E's 'The Men Who Shot Kennedy' box set. How did you know?" Misinterpreting my laugher, she lamented, "See, I knew you'd hate it. I can return it." I put the set down on the coffee table, and stepped over to my distressed friend, wrapping her in a comforting hug. "Dana. Listen to me. It's great. It's perfect. And it's bound to get a lot of use. . .especially the Lee Harvey Oswald tape. Thank you." She just gazed into my eyes, and I felt my stomach hit my shoes. (How can ANYONE be that sexy with bed hair?) "You mean that?" "Uh-huh. I love it. Love you, too." My goodness, she is so beautiful when she blushes like that. "Wish we had some mistletoe," she mumbled, shakily. "Don't need it." I pulled her close, feeling her melt into my embrace, my lips centimeters from hers. But just as I leaned in to kiss my lovely Dana, a cry rang out from the direction of her bedroom. Master William had apparently awoken, and in an obviously cranky mood. Dammit! Dana collapsed in my arms in a fit of giggles. Kissing me on the cheek, she sputtered, "I'll go get him, if you check on the muffins." You know, I really love that kid, but sometimes. . . LATER THAT DAY, AT MRS. SCULLY'S HOUSE: "So, Mr. Frohike--what do you do for a living?" Aww, Jesus, that's the question I've been dreading since we had arrived over an hour ago. God, what I wouldn't give for a glass or three of that spiked eggnog, but I promised Dana I'd be the designated driver so she could be free to socialize with her family. And what a family! The whole Scully brood was gathered in the living room, wives and children included. All boys. Must be something in the genes or something. Charlie's three sons were showing off their new computer games to Bill's young son, Matthew. Tara and Amy were sitting with their respective husbands while Dana shared the sofa with her mom, who was holding William and fawning all over her new grandson. Me? I was sitting on the armrest near Dana--she had her hand on my knee. I'd say it was to reassure me, but more likely it was so I wouldn't run off. "He's an investigative journalist," Dana answered, proudly. "Really?" Charlie, Dana's younger brother
asked. "The "Ah, The Magic Bullet, actually," I corrected him. That caused Bill to almost choke on his eggnog. "No way. You're one of the Lone Gunmen?" "You've heard of us?" I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Yeah, I've read you guys. You don't really BELIEVE that stuff you write, do you?" he sniffed, haughtily. Ooookay. Bad thing, apparently. "Each story is thoroughly researched and backed with solid evidence before we print it," I answered, defensively. "What? Elvis is alive? Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster are roommates? Aliens walk among us?" he mocked. "Well you know, that last one may be. . ." Dana quickly cut me off. "Mel and the other Gunmen have uncovered many good stories over the years. In fact, they're the ones who exposed that Octium IV chip scandal a few months ago." "Weren't you also the guys who did that 'expose' of the government training animals as assassins?" That comment got a round of snickers from the whole room. "For your information, I met one of those chimps." "And I'm sure you two had a lot to talk about," he crowed. "Bill. . ." Mrs. Scully said, her voice one of admonishment. Oh, man! Did I want to put that asswipe in his place, but I figured Dana's mom would frown upon blood getting splattered all over her rug--especially MY blood. (Face it, Bill was built like a brick wall--he could kick my ass into last week!) "Look, you may not agree with us, but we write the truth that other papers are afraid to report," I insisted. "If you say so," he replied with a smirk. "All I know is it always gives the guys on board the ship a good laugh." "Where did you two meet?" Amy, Charlie's wife, asked, and I could have kissed her for getting us off this topic. Dana smiled up at me. "The Gunmen have helped Mulder and I in the past on some of our more difficult cases," she answered, and I felt my self-esteem go up a few notches. Bill just sneered. "Mulder. Should've known. That crackpot always did tend to associate with questionable characters." I had been doing a good job holding my tongue up to that point, but this time I couldn't. "Now, you just hang right there. . ." I began, ready to defend myself and my absent friend, but before I could go any further, the tension in the air was suddenly broken by a soft 'beeping' sound. "Oh, there goes my timer," Mrs. Scully announced, as she handed William back over to Dana. She got up off the couch and headed towards the kitchen, muttering to herself, "Hmmm. . .seems rather early, though." I immediately took the baby from my wife and gave her a knowing look as the diaper monitor continued to beep quietly. "I'll see to William," I told her, and, picking up the diaper bag, I scurried off to the bathroom. *Tap Tap* "Mel, you in there?" "Yeah." "You guys okay?" She soft voice was full of concern. "It's been nearly 20 minutes." Damn! Had it been THAT long? "Yeah, we're fine," I bluffed. "Just spending some quality time with the kid." Dana opened the door, and seeing me sitting on the edge of the tub holding William, she stepped inside, and closed it behind her. My eyes followed her as she walked over to the commode (which was across from me), closed the cover, and sat down. Only then did she ask, "Is there any special reason WHY you've chosen my mother's bathroom to share some 'quality time' with our son?" "Because there were too many coats on her bed?" I replied, flippantly. But she didn't seem to be in the mood for jokes; instead she inquired, gently, "You wanna tell me what's wrong, Mel?" All I could do was stare at her in disbelief. "Dana, in case you didn't notice it, your brother just ripped me a new one out there." "But you were doing a good job defending yourself," she countered. "And you really scored points with the other wives for volunteering to change the baby. Apparently you're one up on my brothers." I laughed, bitterly. "Great. I win the all-important 'poopie diaper' round, while Bill wins the whole boxing match, right?" She smiled at me, tolerantly. "You shouldn't let Bill get to you, Mel. He's always been a bit protective of me, that's all." "That's all? He HATES me, Dana," I persisted. "Bill has issues with a lot of people," she corrected, diplomatically. "He means well, but sometimes, I'll admit, he can go a little overboard. Don't worry--mom's had a talk with him." "Perfect. Now you mom is fighting my battles for me," I muttered. She reached over and placed a comforting hand on my knee. "You know, they're getting ready to open gifts out there. Wanna come join us?" "Can't we just stay in here?" I practically begged. I REALLY didn't want to go back out there again. "Nope. Mom's got her camera out and she wants some pictures of the baby." I handed William over to her. "Here. Take him. I'll just hang out here for a while." Taking the happy, chubby child from me, she asked, sarcastically, "And if someone needs to use the facilities?" I thumbed out the window, "I thought I saw some shrubs outside." She let go a long sigh. "Mel. . .it's just the presents and dinner. I promise I'll fake a headache after dessert so we can leave early." "You'd do that for me?" I asked, gratefully. "Actually, if you keep behaving like this, I won't have to fake one," she deadpanned. I turned my head and cast my eyes downward. "I've been acting like a jerk, huh?" She paused a moment before answering, kindly, "No, not really. Look, Mel--I know how hard this has been for you, and I want you to know how much I appreciate it."
"You don't have to do 'better'--just be yourself." She flashed me a reassuring smile, "Remember, you're part of the family now, Frohike." "I'm sure that pleases Bill to no end," I chuckled, uneasily. She tilted her head slightly, and asked, philosophically, "Does it really matter what Bill thinks?" I thought about that for a second, and gave her a smile in return. "No, I guess it doesn't." I stood up and did a quick stretch. "Well, it's just a few more hours, right? I think I can handle it." "Thanks, Mel--I know you'll do fine. Oh, and here. . ." She removed the diaper monitor from William and handed it to me. "Don't want this thing going off again." I slipped it into my vest pocket and grabbed the diaper bag, then helped her to her feet. As we were leaving, she turned to me and said, "By the way, if it'll make you feel any better--Bill had issues with Mulder, too." Gee, no shit, Sherlock! * * * * * * * * Things got a little bit better once we emerged from the bathroom. The whole family was gathered around the tree, opening gifts. My lovely wife quickly jumped into the fray, mingling with her siblings, trading brightly colored packages, and doting on her young nephews. They were all so busy, they hardly took notice of me, which was more than fine. I stayed back out of the mob and kept an eye on William while he crawled all over the place--well, that's being kind, I suppose. He still didn't quite have the motor skills to be able to crawl with any kind of proficiency; he tended to wobble more than anything else. Still, he was able to get around a bit, and always managed to find trouble wherever he went, so I was quite conscious of keeping him within my sights. Mrs. Scully, meanwhile, was following him around, snapping pictures left and right. As I watched Dana open a present from Charlie, I couldn't help myself from envying her. It must've been nice to grow up in a family like this one. Things were never this cheery and merry in my house. Gramma tried, but dad never really got over mom's death, and the holidays just weren't as festive after she was gone. And once Gramma had passed on, we just didn't bother any more. Never really celebrated the holidays again until I hooked up with the guys. John loved Christmas, and it was always a kick to see the joy of the season on his face. He loved the lights and the decorations and the shopping. He never saw the commercial side of it--for him, Christmas was a return to earlier, more innocent times. As for Langly, well, he was in it for the food and the gifts, both of which made him so happy, almost child-like in his glee. Damn, I didn't realize how much I was gonna miss them--maybe next year, Dana and I could somehow include them, too. "Hey, Frohike." I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear Dana right away until she was standing right beside me. "I found a gift under the tree for you." "You're kidding, right?" "No. Here," and she handed me a fancy-wrapped box. I checked the tag to see who it was from, but all it said was 'Santa'. Had to be Dana. She didn't want me to be left out. God, I love this woman. I carefully unwrapped the beautiful package to find an equally beautiful die-cast model of a 1957 T-bird, perfect down to the last detail. Man, this was even better than the Kennedy box set she had gotten me. "Dana--thank you!" "Why are you thanking me?" she asked, puzzled. "Well--didn't you get this for me?" She just shook her lovely red-maned head. "No, it wasn't me." She looked at the tag, "The handwriting doesn't look familiar. Maybe it really WAS Santa." "Looks like you got yourself a Christmas X-File on your hands, hon," I joked. She just laughed, but I was still left standing there, wondering who had given me the car. Once all the gifts were unwrapped, Mrs. Scully called
us all in for dinner. What a
spread! Dinner seemed to go on for hours, as we went back for seconds and thirds. Lots of conversation, even more laughter, it was an honor to even be sitting at the table. True to my word, I was on my best behavior. I pretty much stayed to myself, even when I desperately wanted to participate in some of the discussions--knowing how unpopular my opinions would be, however, I refrained. Dana kept looking over and me, and giving me little encouraging smiles, and I knew she was pleased with me. I so wanted to make a good impression on her family--I didn't care so much if they liked me, I just didn't want to embarrass Dana more than I already had. As dinner was winding down, I saw Mrs. Scully get up, and start cleaning off the table. Without waiting to be asked, I quickly jumped up as well; grabbing up mine and Dana's things, I followed her mother into the kitchen. Cleaning off the plates, I put them near the sink, then went out for more. I saw the look of surprise and admiration on Dana's face, and knew I was doing the right thing. I again cleaned off the plates in the kitchen, and went back into the dining room to continue my task. By this time, I had attracted the attention of Dana's brothers, who just looked at me as if I had just arrived from another planet. (Actually, Bill probably thought I had.) I couldn't believe they were just sitting there, waiting for their mom to cater to them. I mean, where were their manners? No matter, I just scooped up some more plates, and headed back to the kitchen. This time, though, I was stopped from returning to the guests by one Mrs. Margaret Scully. "Mr. Frohike, what are you doing?" Had I done something wrong? I looked down at the pile of dirty plates in my hands and stated the obvious, "Just helping you with the clean-up." She chuckled at that. "I was wondering how that table was getting so clean so quickly. That's very kind of you, but you're a guest in my house. You shouldn't be working…" I went over to the trashcan, and cleaned off the rest of the plates. "Nonsense, Mrs. Scully. You made us a delicious meal. We should all be waiting on you now." "My!" she gasped. "I wish my boys thought that way." Last dish scraped clean, I added them to the pile near the sink. "Just the way I was raised, ma'am." "There's no need to be so formal, Mr. Frohike," she scolded, good-naturedly. "It's Maggie, please." Well, if she wanted to drop the formalities, I could go along with it. "Ahhh, Frohike here," I corrected her. "Just Frohike." She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed dramatically. "What is it with the men that Dana brings home? They all want to be called by their last names."
"That's not really an incentive, you know," I informed her. "Well, I don't see what's so bad with Mel," she said. "It's just like Gibson."
"Oh, don't be so sure. You've certainly enchanted my Dana, maybe more than the other Mel ever would." "Too bad that charm didn't work on the rest of the family, huh?" "Whatever do you mean?" "C'mon, Mrs. Scul--ahh, Maggie. It was pretty obvious what everyone thought of me out there." She shot me a raised eyebrow. . .now I know where Dana got it from. "I hope you're not including me in that generic 'everyone'." "No, I mean, yeah--I mean. . ." "Do you think I'm being nice to you because it's Christmas?" she demanded. Damn, I hate it when my mouth works faster than my brain. "Ahhh. . ."
"Well, I can assure you your feeling is wrong. Here, sit down for a second." She gestured to the small kitchen table. "But--but there's still more dishes out there," I argued. "They can wait. Sit." I knew a command when I heard it, and wasn't about to disobey this one--I quickly sat down across from Maggie. She paused for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts, then began: "Now, I will admit when Dana first told me of this--unorthodox--arrangement, I thought she was out of her mind. My little girl has always marched to her own drummer, but this time. . ." "She wasn't even in the same parade?" I offered. That got her laughing. "I suppose that pretty much sums it up. You have quite a way with words, Frohike." "Yeah, and they tend to get me in a lot of trouble," I grumbled. "Something else you and Fox share," she observed. But I didn't laugh. I couldn't forget the fact that Mulder had been here, too--and first. In fact, Mulder was first in everything when it came to Scully, including her heart. I wasn't so naïve to think she could ever love me as she loved him, and if he hadn't skipped town, it was a sure bet I wouldn't be sitting here in her mom's kitchen on Christmas Day. The only reason I had the position was because the first guy had stepped down. Just call me Gerald Ford. I looked down at my hands, clasped on the table, and noticed yet again my bare ring finger--hell, even JOHN'S got a wedding ring, and he didn't even MARRY Susanne! Just one more reminder that I could fantasize all I wanted to, but Dana would never really be mine. "You thought he'd be the one, huh?" I asked, quietly. The table shifted a bit as she rested her elbows on its surface. "I'd be lying if I said no. Dana was crazy about Fox, and they made such a handsome couple. But--he was so wrong for her." My ears perked up at that--I rarely heard anyone say a bad word about the great Fox Mulder. "Oh, I know he adored her, too, but he could have never loved her the way you do." "No, I doubt he could," I muttered under my breath. Dana was my life--no one could love her as much as I did. She fixed me her gaze on me and smiled, as if she could read my unspoken thoughts. "You know, I may have had my misgivings about this union, Mel, but after seeing you two here today, together--the respect and tenderness you show my daughter, and your obvious devotion to my grandson--well, I understand now, and I approve." "So--I'm good enough for Dana?" I asked, hesitantly. Why her mother's opinion of me mattered so much suddenly, I'm not sure. I guess I just figured it'd be nice to have at least ONE Scully on my side. She reached across the table and clasped my hands in hers. "I'd be hard pressed to find someone more worthy of her." Speaking of the devil (or the angel in this case) Dana took that moment to stroll into the kitchen, carrying the rest of the dirty dishes. "Mom? The natives are getting restless out there. They want dessert, and they want it now. I don't want to be around if they don't get some of your pumpkin pie--and soon." Maggie turned and gave her daughter a big smile. "Sorry, sweetie--Mel and I were just having a little talk." "Oh, so THAT'S why my ears were burning," Scully shot back, as she stacked the plates near the sink. "Is everything okay?"
Dana just looked back and forth between the two of us. "Why do I get the feeling you're not being truthful with me?" she asked, skeptically. "Oh, pish and posh," Maggie scoffed. "You've gotten too paranoid for your own good, young lady." That earned a major guffaw from me--I wondered if she knew she was sitting at the table with the King of Paranoia. "I was simply thanking Mel for that lovely crystal bowl you both gave me. In fact. . ." She got up from the table and went over to one of her cupboards, pulled out a bag of Hershey's kisses and handed it to Dana. "Here. Why don't you fill it with these until we get back out there." Scully just rolled her eyes and exclaimed, "If you want me to leave, just say so, mom." "In that case--Dana. . .leave," Maggie told her, straight-faced. "Fine, I can take a hint." Clutching the bag, and trying to maintain as much dignity as she could, Dana started to walk out. "Only when you're whacked over the head with one," Maggie retaliated. I'll admit that I was so busy watching the playful teasing between mother and daughter, I almost missed Maggie's next comment, which was addressed to me. "See, Mel, you just have to know how to handle her." "I'll be sure to remember that," I snickered. Maggie was really a pretty cool lady after all. Dana, who by now was standing near the kitchen door, turned and stuck her tongue out at both of us before she left, effectively getting in the last word. "She must've been quite a handful," I commented before I even realized I was speaking the thought out loud. "Always," Maggie concurred. "Never a dull moment with that one, but it was well worth it. She turned out to be quite a special woman." "She certainly did," I wholeheartedly agreed. "A very special woman indeed. Like mother like daughter, huh?" "Mel--you flatterer," she tittered. And in that moment it hit me. "YOU gave me that car, didn't you?" Giving a slight nod, she explained, "Well, Dana told me that you liked classic cars, and when I saw it, I thought it was rather cute. Do you like it?" <Unfamiliar handwriting, indeed. I was gonna have to have a talk with my significant other when we got home.> "Very much. Thank you, Maggie. I. . ." and I stopped, not knowing quite how to verbalize the feelings I was experiencing. She gave me a sympathetic, knowing smile. "You're quite welcome, Frohike--and if you really want to show me your gratitude, you could help out with these." I jumped up and went over to her; she handed me two homemade pies then reached back into the fridge to get the can of whipped cream. Stopping by the cupboard to snatch up the dessert plates she turned to me and said, "You know, it's been years since I've seen that special twinkle in her eyes. Thank you, Mel." "What for?" I asked, puzzled. "For making my little girl happy." "It's all I want for her and for William," I told her, truthfully. She flashed me a smile that would outshine the sun. "I know--that's why you were the right choice." And with that, she walked out into the dining room. I stood there stunned for a moment before trailing after her, dessert in hand. MAGGIE: The rest of the visit just seemed to fly by after my little 'intervention' in the kitchen. Mel was noticeably more relaxed, and actually started participating in the conversations and discussions. He proved himself to be quite charming as well as knowledgeable on a wide variety of topics, and when his opinions went against the status quo, he presented his side with logic and quiet conviction. And if Bill was less that thrilled that Mel had found his tongue, well, the rest of us were more than happy to hear his views. Dana in particular sat enthralled as her husband expounded on yet another current event, content to sit there with a smug little smile on her face and let him redeem himself without any interference. One thing I was certain of is my little girl would never be bored if conversation was as stimulating as this at her house. All too soon, however, the late hour commanded an end to the evening. My boys and their families were staying with me at the house, so the whole group of us walked Dana and Mel to the front door. They were all packed up and ready to go, loaded down with gifts for the baby, supplies for the baby. . .the actual baby. As before, Frohike had the little guy bundled close to him in one of those popular front pouches or papooses or whatever they call them. Never really understood the reason for those silly contraptions, but the way William had instantly snuggled in contentedly against Mel and fell fast asleep, I could see their appeal. When they reached the door, Amy giggled and pointed to the mistletoe hanging from the doorframe. Since I was the only one who knew about Dana and Frohike's little secret, I couldn't help but wonder how they would handle this challenge. They didn't disappoint. Dana's hands were filled with bags, so Mel reached up, cupped her face gently in his gloved hands (can't imagine those odd finger-less gloves are any use in this weather) and pulled her in for a tiny, sweet kiss. It was such a special tender moment, I had to snap a picture of them, but I doubt they even noticed the flash go off. Truth be told, I really didn't need a picture to see the love Mel has for my daughter--it's written all over his face whenever he looks at her, or even mentions her name. Dana may believe this 'marriage' was one of simply friendship, but she was wrong, so wrong. I desperately wanted to take her aside and talk to her, try to shake some sense into her. He loved her so much--couldn't she see that? How could she not know how he feels? Or didn't she want to? Perhaps as long as she didn't acknowledge his feelings, towards her, she wouldn't have to feel guilty about not returning them. It was such a shame--I was sure he could make her very happy, if only she would allow him into her heart. He may not have been the handsome prince you find in fairy tales, but he was a good man, and he would never do anything to hurt her, of that I knew. I watched as they made their way to the car; once they had the packages in the trunk, and the baby secured in his car seat, they both turned and waved to us. I should have yelled out, "He's a special man, Dana--don't break his heart." But I didn't. She was a grown woman now, and I had no right to interfere in her life. So instead, I smiled and waved back. . . +++++++++++++++ Title: Out With the Old, In With the New Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http:itak.slashcity.net Category: Het/gen; het romance Pairings: Frohike/Scully; Byers/Reyes Rating: PG for mild language Summary: It's New Year's Eve, and romance is in the air. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Notes: Some of the events of this story were inspired by a couple of LGM scenes in the episodes, Nothing Important Happened Today Pts. 1 and 2--just something I saw between a couple of the characters that piqued my interest. While I'm pretty much distancing myself from the canon of the 9th season, I couldn't let this opportunity pass by. It's not really a spoiler, since you don't need to have seen the episodes to follow this story. Special Thanks: To
both my wonderful beta's, Kylara and Shamrock.
They gave me some great suggestions, and were quite helpful when my
back was to the wall. Out With The Old, In With The New By: J. D. Rush FROHIKE: The party was already in full swing by the time I arrived, escorting two lovely Scullys on my arms: Maggie on my left was carrying her grandson (who seemed to know this was a special night and simply refused to go to sleep); and Dana on my right, who was currently miffed with me. "I seem to be a bit overdressed, Mel," she chided. "You lied to me." I turned my gaze upon my pretty wife, looking even more beautiful than usual. To tell you the truth, I don't know why she was so upset. She was wearing a dark green velvet shift dress, simple and elegant; a matching pair of high-heeled shoes, a strand of pearls, and tiny gold hoop earrings rounded out the ensemble. And okay, so the rest of the guests were in jeans and sweaters and such, but that just made her stand out even more, radiating her loveliness. Still, to appease her, I said, "Nonsense. See--John's dressed up, too." And that was true. Good ol' John was decked out in his standard narc suit, but he HAD taken a walk on the wild side--his tie was decorated with brilliant bursts of fireworks. He walked over to us as we stood in the hallway, glass of something alcoholic in his hand, big smile on his face. "Scully--it's so good to see you," and he greeted her with a quick hug. I'll admit I was pretty freaked out about this party, as was Dana. Playing pretend in front of her family was one thing, but now we had to fool our friends, and that wasn't gonna be so easy. Byers knew the truth about our marriage, but no one else did. (Face it, that's not exactly something you go around bragging about.) We were still uncertain how our friends would react to our unusual co-habitation agreement--it was just easier not to bring it up. Consequently, both Dana and I knew we had to be on our toes tonight if we were going to pull this off, and convince everyone that we were still happily married 'newlyweds'. She hugged him back, even planting a small kiss on
his cheek. "Hello, Byers.
Same here." As she
pulled away from him, she gestured to woman on the other side of me.
"I think you remember my mom?" She took a second to secure William, then reached out to shake his hand. "Maggie, please. . .oh, I'm so bad with names. You are again. . .?" Before anyone had a chance to make the introduction, Langly came flying out of nowhere and snatched the baby right out of Maggie's arms. "Hey, little dude!" he cried out, and began nuzzling William with his nose. Billy starting giggling like a demon, his tiny arms flailing around as Langly switched over to making raspberry sounds against his tummy with his lips. With William now screeching in delight, Langly seemed to finally notice the rest of us standing there. He gave us all a quick nod in recognition, then bounded off with his ward. Well, at least we didn't have to worry about a
babysitter. I turned to see who Dana was staring at and unconsciously growled out, "Yves, what the hell are you doing here?" The bane of my existence sashayed over to us, her hip movements even more exaggerated than usual. (I swear she's gonna throw her back out one of these days doing that.) Byers, the coward, mumbled some quick lame excuse and hightailed it out of there, leaving me alone to deal with the barracuda. "Ah, Melvin. . ." she purred in that 'it's GOT to be fake' British accent of hers. "I see you're as charming as ever. Nice to know married life hasn't changed you much." "You didn't answer my question," I hissed, not even trying to hide my annoyance of her presence. She just crossed her arms over her leather-clad chest and sighed, "If you MUST know, a 'business dealing' fell through, and since I had no other plans for the evening, I thought it might be fun to crash your little soiree." Taking a quick look around the warehouse, she sniffed, "How wrong I was." "Well, no one's keeping you here, dollface," I informed her in my best Bogie imitation. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out." "What, and miss the chance to meet the little man's little woman? I wouldn't DREAM of it!" she declared. "Yves, I'm warning you. . ." I threatened.
Dana took the hand, more to be gracious than anything else. "Um, ah. . .it's nice to meet you, too, ahhh, Yves, was it?" A sarcastic sneer rang out, "Yeah, THIS week." We all turned to see Ringo standing behind us, a sock puppet on one hand while he played with the baby. "I see you've finally met your intellectual equal, Richard," a totally unfazed Yves sneered back. He retaliated by sticking his tongue out at her, an action that was mimicked by Billy-boy. <Way to go, kiddo!> Yves just groaned out, "Oh, VERY mature, Langly." Turning back to Dana, she sighed, heavily, "Do you really think it's a wise idea to have your son associating with these. . .boys? Especially after the LAST time they were left alone with a defenseless infant?" I instantly cut her off--no need to go THERE! "You know, I'm actually surprised you'd show your face here, Yves, considering all the fibbies hanging around." "Well, normally, the last place I'd be is in a room with so many feds," she readily agreed, "but if they're friends of yours, and YOU paranoia poster-children trust them, then they can't be all bad." "Pity we can't say the same thing about you, eh, Yves?" I muttered. She just laughed, a laugh as phony as her accent. "Melvin--that's not a very nice thing to say--but then again, I'd expect nothing less from you. Perhaps that why Dana decided to keep her maiden name." Turning back to Scully, she clucked, "Quite a wise idea, if I do say so. 'Frohike' has such. . .unsavory connotations." By now Dana had crossed her arms over her chest in a
mirror image of Yves. "You
seem to know an awful lot about my husband," she observed, her tone
as smooth and phony as Yves. <Just
what is she up to?> The raven-haired trouble maker regarded me contemptuously, "Well, we go back a long way, don't we, Melvin?" "Too long," I growled. "And stop calling me Melvin." "He's so enchanting, isn't he?" she cooed, derisively. "I really envy you, Dana--you're quite a lucky woman." <My God, the girl raised sarcasm to new heights.> Dana stepped over to me and wrapped her arm around my waist, pulling me close to her. Giving me a kiss on the cheek, she replied, silkily, "Yes, I know." At that, Yves raised an eyebrow, and I wondered if it
was a female trait or something. "Could
it be that I've underestimated you, Toad-boy?" she pondered,
sardonically. "Oh, most definitely," Dana purred, huge Cheshire Cat smile on her face. "Mel is an amazing man." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial, just-between-us-girls whisper, "I shouldn't be telling you this, but the boy can go for HOURS without a break; he completely wears me out some nights." With that, she had turned to me, no doubt to pick my jaw up off the floor, and whispered sweetly, "C'mon, lover, let's go get you something to eat--you're going to need your energy tonight." All I could do was nod dumbly and let her lead me away, hand firmly planted on my ass. I glanced back over my shoulder to see the reaction of the ball buster . . . Well, pinch my toes and call me a jelly donut--Yves Adele Harlow was struck speechless. When we were well out of earshot, I gasped, "Geez, Dana, if you didn't want to be married to me anymore, you COULD just ask for a divorce instead of trying to kill me off with a heart attack!" "But then I wouldn't be able to collect on your life-insurance," she kidded. "I can't BELIEVE what you just said that to Yves!" I wheezed, still unable to catch my breath. "I don't know what you mean, Fro," she replied, innocently. "I simply told her the truth. The way you can chatter on and on--there have been times you've almost talked my ear off." I stood there, mouth agape as I pondered the wily ways of my bride. "Dana Scully--I didn't know you could be so devious," I said admiringly when I found my voice. "I like it." "What can I say? You're a very bad influence, Frohike." "I do my best," I admitted, with a shrug of
my shoulders. Her smile simply
beamed as she leaned in for a quick kiss, our wicked giggles filling the
room. WALTER: "Maggie." At the sound of my voice, she turned away from the spectacle she had been watching, and a smile crossed her lovely face; it was so obvious to see where Scully got her good looks. "Walter!" she exclaimed, giving me a quick hug. "I didn't expect you here tonight." "I could say the same," I replied, as I helped her off with her coat. "Well, Dana and Mel were dropping William off at my place, then decided it wasn't fair for me to spend the night alone babysitting for them. Next thing I knew, Billy and I were dressed up, and going out on the town." "Your daughter is quite persuasive that way. . . how do you think *I* ended up here!?" I hung up her coat, then looped her arm in mine. "Please, come join us," I insisted, leading her over to the couch where Doggett and Reyes were already lounging, engrossed in conversation. Their eyes lifted at our approach, and John graciously stood up. "Mrs. Scully," he smiled, already leaning over to kiss her politely on the cheek. "Nice to see you again." "And under much nicer circumstances," she smiled back. She wasn't kidding, either. The last time she and Doggett were together was at Mulder's funeral. Shit. . .Mulder. I had hoped coming here would help me to forget him for a few hours, but that was easier said than done. "And must I remind you, it's Maggie?" "No ma'am," he answered, jumping slightly at the sound of a throat clearing loudly behind him. Turning around, he saw Reyes giving him one of those 'what about ME?' looks women are so good at. "Ahh, Maggie, may I introduce Monica Reyes?" he quickly, and guiltily, amended. Monica stuck out her hand and Dana's mother reached out to shake it. "It's nice to finally meet you, Maggie," she said. "Dana speaks of you all the time." "Same here, Monica," Maggie answered, taking a seat next to my newest agent. "She's told me all about what you did for her during that difficult delivery. I have much to thank you for." "It was my pleasure," the young lady assured her. "I'm just glad the baby is okay." "He's more than okay, he's wonderful." That came from Scully, who had wandered over to join us; she handed a drink to her mother and joined the other women on the sofa. "I think you're bein' a bit biased there, Scul," Doggett teased, as he ended up taking a seat in a chair next to mine. "Why? Just because William is the smartest, most beautiful baby that was ever born?" Maggie countered, playfully. Reyes laughed, "I don't think grandmas are allowed to vote for 'world's cutest baby'. The results end up rigged." "Only in His wife. Dana. Why could I not get that through my head? This was the first time I had really seen them together, and I just couldn't grasp it. I mean, I understood what Scully had told me that night of the stakeout, heard what she said about how she loved Frohike, but I still couldn't help thinking that this picture was wrong. I looked around, trying to piece it together. Langly was off in his own little world, dancing with William in his arms. Jimmy was in discussion with that exotic beauty --the one entirely decked out from head to toe in black leather. (Indeed, it looked like a contest between her and Frohike to see who could wear the most leather at one time.) There was no question how sexy Yves was, but frankly, I wouldn't trust her as far as he could throw her--and maybe not even that much. Her obvious charms seemed to have little effect on the Gunmen, except for Jimmy, that is. As for the other guys, Frohike only had eyes for Scully, and Byers--Byers appeared to be captivated by one Monica Reyes. Interesting. The only person missing was Mulder. He should be here, with us, with his friends, ringing in the New Year. HE should be sitting on the armrest of the couch, joking with Scully and her mom, butting heads with Doggett, and comparing outlandish theories with Reyes. I could almost picture him, with those sparking, laughing hazel eyes and annoying know-it-all smirk, and it made me miss him all the more. Things just weren't the same with Mulder gone. Work was back to normal now, well, somewhat. The cases of the X-Files pretty much assured that work would never be exactly 'normal', but neither was it the conspiracy-filled rat race it had turned into during the years Mulder was there. Sometimes I found myself wondering if he had just imagined it all but his charisma and persuasive nature caused all of us to get wrapped up in his paranoid delusions. Or had something happened the night William was born, something that brought about the end of the proposed alien invasion and occupation? Or maybe, Krycek's death was the key, a human sacrifice that saved the human race. Those are thoughts best left to philosophers--or Mulder, for that matter. Only he could make sense of what had happened to us that fateful night. All I wanted was for him to come back someday and explain it to me. I needed someone to help me understand, to help me forget. . .to help me forgive. I needed Mulder to come home "Hey, Fro--can you take the kid for a sec?" Langly's voice interrupted my ruminations. "I gotta go shake the snake." "Jesus, Langly! There are ladies present!" he reprimanded. "Well, that's why I didn't say I had to take a wizz." Frohike buried his head in his hands. "Oh, God, Langly--what am I going to DO with you!?" "You gonna take the kid or not?" the young man asked, annoyed. "Over here, Langly," I cut in, holding my arms out. "I'll take him for a few minutes." "Thanks, Skinner. You're the man." And suddenly I found my arms filled with one happy wriggling baby boy. "He's gotten so big!" I declared, astounded. "Well, that's what babies tend to do when you don't see them for a few months," his mother explained patiently, and rather sarcastically, if that's possible. She was right. I hadn't been over to visit her since she had gotten married. Come to think of it, I didn't visit her much before that, either. Guess I was worried about intruding on her and Mulder and the child. Then, once Mulder was gone--let's just say I wasn't very good company for a long time. "You know, I think I'm gonna have to agree with Maggie--he's absolutely beautiful," I stated. Scully blushed and tried to cover it up with a sip of her wine. "Thank you, sir," she said, with obvious pride. I noted the young child watching me with big bright hazel-green eyes, and my mouth dropped open. "He's got Mulder's eyes," I said in wonder. She nodded. "Yeah--I noticed that, too." "We just hope he doesn't end up with Mulder's nose," Frohike snipped, jokingly. "Cute outfit--where'd you get it?" The child was dressed in a miniature Starfleet uniform jumper, complete with captain insignia at the neck. Dana and Frohike both sighed, "Mulder." "It was his Christmas gift to William," Maggie filled in. "Figures," I laughed. Mulder was the ultimate sci-fi fanboy geek. "I'm surprised he didn't include a pair of Spock ears and a toy phaser." Frohike looked at Dana, Dana looked back at Frohike – and they both sighed again, dramatically. I shook my head in disbelief. Leave it to Fox Mulder. Not knowing what else to do, I began bouncing the small bundle of energy on my knee and couldn't help laughing at his joyous giggles. His smile was not just contagious but also suspiciously familiar, and I found myself wondering how much more he had inherited from his father. If he had Mulder's sharp inquisitive mind, Scully was going to have her hands full. "This one's going to be a charmer," I announced to no one in particular. "He already is," came Scully's delighted response. "And a heartbreaker," I warned her. "Skinner!" she scolded. "I already have enough to worry about without thinking of him DATING, too!" "Yeah, Walter," Frohike added. "Let's get the kid toilet trained before we turn him into Don Juan!" I let go with a belly laugh that at first startled
young William; he looked puzzled for a moment, then started imitating me.
Charming AND smart--just like his father.
"You know, Sharon and I really tried to. . ." and I
stopped myself. Now was not
the time to be thinking about things like that.
My wife--my ex-wife--had wanted children so badly, but it just
wasn't meant to be. And maybe
it was all for the best in the end--who knows what kind of parent I would
have been? Almost as if she could read my mind, Scully softly said, "You would have been a great father, sir." "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dana," I told her, and sincerely meant it. William seemed to be tiring, so I stopped bouncing him, and pulled him in close; he instantly snuggled up to me. Turning to Frohike I informed him, "You better take good care of this little guy." "Hey, I'm doing my best, Walt," he replied, sounding defensive. I shot him one of my A.D. scowls, and informed him, "I really hate that name." "Yeah, I know," he shot back with an impish grin, and I knew I was getting jerked around. I was about ready to fire off a snappy retort when Langly came bounding into the room and made a beeline for the baby. "Okay, kiddo--I'm back. D'ya miss me?" <No. I
don't want to give him back yet. Just
a few more minutes. Please?
He's so. . .he's so. . .Mulder.
He's all that's left of Mulder.
Don't they understand? I
miss him so much.> "Hey, Langly, isn't it about time you save the galaxy or something?" Frohike had hopped off the couch and slung an arm around his partner's shoulders. Looking over at me, he gave me a knowing nod. <Then again, maybe someone DOES understand
after all.> "But Frohike. . ." Langly started, as the older Gunman interrupted him. "What about that new game Byers got you for Christmas? Why don't you show it to me?" "But Mel," Langly whined, "I wanna play with the baby." "You can play with him tomorrow," Frohike told him, squeezing his shoulder for good measure. "C'mon, we'll go hack into the F.B.I.'s mainframe. That always cheers you up." I gave them both my sternest glare. "What was that?" Frohike just brushed me off with a wave of his free hand as he led a still bellyaching Langly away. "Chill, Walt--we never touch your files." He paused for a second, then added, "Well, ALMOST never." With a final wink, they were gone. And I was left holding the baby. Mulder's baby. <Dammit, Mulder--where the hell ARE you?!> DOGGETT: "For Pete's sake, Monica, stop making cow eyes at the guy and just DO it!" We were closin' in on the That was nearly four hours ago. And for nearly all those four hours, I had to deal with her mooning over John Byers. I now knew that was the only reason we were here--not to be nice, or because Scully had invited us or nothin' like that. But because Mo had wanted to see Byers again. Shoulda known better. She had talked him up quite a bit at work after her official introduction to the Gunmen a couple months back. They had simply barged into our office one day, unerringly with some obscure information we needed to solve the case we were working on. Don't know how those guys do it--maybe it's better that I don't. I just take their help as it's offered, no strings attached. They're good guys, really, if a bit. . .odd. But Byers made a definite impression on Ms. Reyes that day, and she has asked both me and Dana on occasion what we knew of him and the other Gunmen. I thought it was just her curious nature. . . More like her neglected libido, apparently. Ah, I don't know why I'm bitchin' so much. I've actually had a pretty good time, if I'm gonna be honest, much better than I thought I would. (And certainly better than sittin' home alone in my boxers, watchin' MTV's Rockin' New Year or somethin' equally mind-numbin' with just a six-pack for company.) It was great to get out and socialize--have a few beers, shoot the shit with some friends. And since I'm bein' completely honest, I suppose I was interested in seeing Frohike and Scully together, because, let's not mince words, that was the most unlikely couple I'd ever known. From what I could see, they got along very well. Frohike was by her side most of the night, but not in a domineering, possessive kind of way that some new husbands can have. She seemed to bask in his attentiveness; indeed, she almost glowed. Plus he made her laugh--a lot. Hell, she laughed more in one evening than I think she has in all the time I've known her. <And what an infectious laugh it is, too.> Her smiles (and there were a lot of them) were simply radiant--not those quirky little half-grins she usually gives. No, these were the kind that reached her eyes and made them sparkle. Damn--Frohike was one lucky guy. Not that I would have tried somethin' with Dana, mind
you. I knew I could never
compete against the memory of Mulder, and 'sides, those office romances
only lead to trouble. Found
that out the hard way a long time ago.
Maybe that's why nothin's ever happened between me and Like her ravings about John Byers. In fact, now that I think about it, I see a lot of me and Mo in Frohike and Scully. Or Scully and Mulder, for that matter. A deep friendship, a mutual respect, a lot of special feelings--but not love. Or rather, not a romantic love. I mean, Mel and Dana just didn't act like newlyweds usually act. You know--can't keep their hands off each other, making goo-goo eyes at each other, calling each other by silly little pet names. It was quite obvious they cared deeply for each other, but there was somethin' missin'. A spark, if you will. As I sat there and observed the two of them interacting, I could easily slip Mulder into Frohike's place without disrupting the picture; that's how similar the situations were to me. And I had an odd feeling that maybe Dana had found in Frohike a replacement for her ex-partner. I wasn't the only one who felt that way, either. A lot of gossip was flyin' around about Dana and her new husband, almost none of it nice. I defended her as much as I could--hey, it's nobody's business but theirs, right? It's not as if Mel weren't a nice guy, and there's more to a person than just his looks. And if Dana was happy, then we should all be happy for her. I just couldn't help but wonder how happy she really was. Suddenly there was some movement to my right as Mo stood up and announced, "You know, John, I think you're right. I'm going in." And with that, she smoothed down her sweater, fluffed up her hair, and headed off to make her move. Poor Byers didn't stand a chance. "About time," I muttered, and swallowed the rest of my drink. BYERS: <Ohgodohgodohgod.
Here she comes. Something
I've been longing for and dreading since she arrived four hours ago.> "Hi!" Big
sunny smile. <She's got
SUCH a beautiful smile.> "Hi." <Good,
John. Didn't stutter or
anything.> Conversation came to a halt, as we just looked at each other, grinning. She took a seat on the stool on the opposite side of our makeshift bar. "You've been keeping to yourself a lot tonight, Byers," she observed. "Well, someone had to keep the spirits flowing," I informed her, gesturing at the bar. Jimmy had abandoned his post a couple of hours earlier to spend time with Yves. Frohike was off socializing with Dana and her mom, and Langly was too busy with the baby to even notice anything else. So it was left to me, the responsible one--again. "Speaking of which, can. . .can I get you something?" She held up her empty bottle of Sam Adams. "Another one of these would be nice." "I think I can handle that." I reached into the small cooler filled with melting ice and pulled out another bottle, screwed off the cap and handed it to her. I was rewarded with another sunny smile. "Thanks." <Goodness, she is so pretty.> "You're. . .you're welcome, Agent Reyes." She laughed, a full, honest laugh. "Monica, please. I stop being Agent Reyes the minute that badge comes off." "Okay. . .Monica." I tried it on for size
and liked it. Liked her, too.
When I met her for the first time a few weeks ago there was just--I
don't know--a spark or something. I
haven't felt anything like it since that trade show, so many years ago,
when I met Susanne. It was the
same kind of attraction. Reyes
just instantly struck me as someone I'd like to get to know better.
Too bad I was too timid to do anything about it.
"Are you having a good time tonight?" I asked, politely. "Good. I mean. . .I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," I stammered. Conversation again came to an uncomfortable standstill. I hated this. I'm so bad with small talk and I always tend to get tongue-tied around women. Especially a woman I'm attracted to. Like Monica. She took a sip of her beer, watching me over the top of the bottle, her eyes never leaving mine. Does she even know how sensuous she looks when she does that? It should be against the law for a woman to drink from a longneck bottle. <Just get those thoughts right out of your head, John Byers.> I told myself, sternly. During the obligatory silence, I took a few moments to study her. She was dressed in faded straight-legged blue jeans, winter-white turtleneck sweater, and a pair of lived-in cowboy boots--silver hoop earrings and an oval Indian turquoise broach provided just enough decoration. She wore little make-up, but then, she didn't need much, just some eyeliner and pale lipstick; the slight blush to her cheeks appeared to be natural. Her soft dark brown hair was cut in such a way to frame her pretty face, and yet, it didn't look as if she put any real effort into it. Her even softer dark brown eyes sparkled with life, and reflected not just her obvious intelligence, but also a gentle, caring soul. She was almost the exact opposite of Scully: Dana, so business-like and meticulous, and Monica--laid back and smooth, free-spirited and cool, like jazz on a summer's day. <Wait, I think that's a line from a song.> Inventory over, it occurred to me that the silence had stretched to its absolute limit. Someone should say SOMETHING. I took a deep breath, but she seemed to have the same idea as me. "John." "Monica." We both chuckled nervously as we spoke at the same time. "You first." "You first." And we chuckled even more nervously. Monica held up her hand and said, "You go." Saying the first thing that came into my head, I
asked her, "Ah, um. . .well, it's almost I wasn't sure what to say to that, so I just went with, "Maybe this will be the year." She took another sip of her beer before agreeing, "Yeah. Maybe. What about you?" "Oh, I. . .I don't smoke." That little faux pas got a round of giggles.
"No, not that. Do
YOU have any resolutions?" "Same one as every year," I echoed her, and instantly bit down on my tongue. It would not be good manners to admit that I spend every year resolving to track down Susanne Modeski and live happily ever after. Okay, so when I actually had the chance to do it, I turned her away, but I've had many occasions to regret that impulsive decision. But. . .there I was, talking to a lovely, engaging lady, and for the first time since I could remember, she was more important than Susanne. And she was sitting there, staring at me with those big brown eyes, soft as velvet--just waiting for me to finish my thought. "To win a Pulitzer," I answered with a self-conscious grin. "Maybe this will be the year," she told me, repeating my sentiment. "Yeah, maybe." Another one of those uneasy pauses in conversation. Geez, she was going to think I was a total loser. <Say SOMETHING, you idiot!> "Monica." "John." We both hung our heads and laughed. She's got such a nice laugh. This time I held up MY hand and said, "You go." "Would you--that is--would you care to
dance?" she asked, bashfully. It
was so different from the self-assured Agent Reyes that I was momentarily
struck speechless. Finally, I
found my voice. "Sounds like a deal." I stood up and held out my hand to her; she clasped it and I led her over to a cleared patch of living room floor. It took a moment while we clumsily tried to figure out which arms go where, but we finally got it right, and began swaying to the gentle sounds of the Sinatra CD Frohike had slipped into the player. "Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you, Embrace me, you irreplaceable you. . ."1 I suppose I was a bit surprised when she leaned in and laid her head on my shoulder. It was rather forward, and yet, it felt right. I couldn't help but notice how good we fit together--she was just the perfect height for dancing like this, and her body seemed made to be held against mine. The scent of her shampoo assailed me, and I felt my mouth go dry. Instinctively, I bent my head to nuzzle her; I caught myself, though, just in time, avoiding a potentially embarrassing moment. "It's been so long since I've done this," I
confessed, wondering if she'd pick up that I meant a lot more than just
dancing. When was the last
time I held a woman in my arms like this?
Or felt these butterflies in my stomach? "You'd never know it, John," she assured me with a gentle smile. "You're doing fine." "Thanks."
We danced in silence, but unlike the awkward pauses earlier, it was
just an easy, comfortable silence. She
smelled so good--a light, almost fruity scent, not overpowering--just
perfect. Everything about her
was perfect. "You
know. . .there is one more resolution that I have this year," I
whispered, afraid to disrupt the peace surrounding us.
As she rested her head on my shoulder once more, I vowed that I would. DANA: "Move it, G-man. . .this broad's with me." Walter and I both turned to the source of that comment, finding Frohike standing next to us, hands on his hips. "Excuse me?" we both said, simultaneously, and I was amused to note Skinner's eyebrow quirked as high as my own. "Find yourself some other chick, Skinman. This dame is mine." No doubt about it--Mel was definitely looking for a beating. The only question was if Skinner would get to him before *I* did. "I've told you before, Frohike--can it with the Skinman," my boss growled in that 'don't-mess-with-me-I'm-an-assistant-director-of-the-F-B-Fuckin'-I' voice of his. Too bad the effect was ruined by the huge grin on his face. "Yeah, fine, whatever," Mel grumbled, as he grabbed me by the hand. "C'mon, we don't have all night." For a small guy, he sure can move. He had me over on the other side of the room and in his arms before I knew what hit me. "Ooooh, Mel--I love it when you go all alpha-male on me," I complimented, sarcastically. "Yeah, I thought that would turn you on," he replied with a smirk. "You're lucky he didn't kill you." "Who, Skinner? Eh, I'm not afraid of him." I suddenly had an image in my mind of my HUGE boss in a boxing ring with my diminutive husband and couldn't help but laugh, "I'll be sure to tell him that." "Hey, don't go out of your way for me," he protested. "Oh, it's no trouble at all," I teased, as I snuggled further into his embrace, and let him sway me to the melodious sounds of ol' Blue Eyes: "Don't be a naughty baby, Come to papa, do My sweet embraceable you. . ."1 After a minute or two, I found myself marveling, "My God, Mel--you're a great dancer!" He waggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. "You thought I was lying, did you?" "No--just exaggerating." As we floated across the floor, I mused, "Maybe you could teach ME to tango someday." "It's what I've been living for," he leered. "The dance, Frohike. The dance," I quickly amended. His leer grew. "We'll see." I couldn't help but laugh at his lechery. He just wouldn't be Frohike without the innuendos and double entendres, and I think I'd miss them if he ever stopped. As he twirled me around, I saw that Skinner hadn't wasted any time in finding a new dance partner. Don't know who was smiling more--him or my mom. All I know is it was great to see. "I think mom had a good time tonight, Mel. Thanks for inviting her along." "Well, it didn't seem right to leave her alone on New Year's, especially when she was so nice to us Christmas." "Oh, you're just thrilled because you've got her wrapped around your little finger," I joked. "Say what?" "She's crazy about you, Mel. Says you're the best son-in-law she's got." "I'm the ONLY son-in-law she's got!" he responded, indignantly. "Or at least I HOPE I am!" "You're still her favorite," I insisted. "And speaking of being crazy over someone--check it out." "Check out what?" "John and Monica." "Hmmmm?" "You mean you haven't noticed?" I gestured with my head at the other side of the room. Frohike followed my nod, to find Byers and Monica dancing cheek to cheek. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed. "Would you look at that!?" "Yeah, 'bout time, too," I muttered, good-naturedly. "What's that mean?" "Oh, just that Monica sorta has a little crush on Mr. Byers, that's all." It was such a relief to finally confess that to someone. (Mo had sworn me to secrecy – ESPECIALLY with regards to Mel.) "No freaking way!" he blurted out. "Yes freaking way!" I shot back. "You're kidding me, right?" "Do pictures lie? You're seeing it for yourself." "Yeah, but I'm not believing what I'm seeing.
Maybe there's something wrong with my glasses.
I mean, John? And a
GIRL?" "Is there a problem with that?" I asked, confused. "No, I. . .it's just. . .he's been pining after Susanne for so long, I guess I just never thought I'd see the day when someone else could catch his eye." Of course. The infamous Susanne Modeski. He had waited for her even longer than I had waited for Mulder--both of us with the same results. "Well, if anyone can turn his head, it's Mo," I told Frohike, assuredly. "If there's something she wants, she's not afraid to go after it." "I don't know if I like the sound of that," he said, cautiously. "What do you mean?" "I don't want to see John get hurt, that's all," he said, quietly. "Don't be such a worry wart, Mel. He's a big boy, you know. I think he can take care of himself." "You don't know Byers like I do. I mean, I could tell you stories that. . ." He stopped, and just glared at me. Guess I have to learn to control that impish gleam in my eye. "You little minx--YOU set this up, didn't you?" Gig was up. "Guilty as charged," I admitted. "When Mo started talking about Byers, well, I sorta encouraged her." "So Agent Scully played little miss matchmaker," he chuckled. "How could I not? Mo is a nice girl; John's a nice guy. They were made for each other. And you have to admit--he's been alone far too long." "He certainly has," he agreed.
We watched them for a few moments, long enough for Monica to step
on John's toes, which caused them both to burst into laughter.
<When was the last time I heard Byers actually laugh?
When had I EVER heard Byers laugh?> "They make a cute couple, don't they?" I observed. He nodded, as he began to sing, "Those wedding bells are breaking up that ol' gang of mine." I tittered, "Listen to us--they haven't even been on a date yet, and we've got them married! What's happened to us, Mel?" "I don't know, but I like it." "Yeah, me too." He spun me in a little half-turn, then suavely dipped me. Who could've guessed Melvin Frohike was such a smooth dancer? If I had known that before. . . what? Maybe I would have taken him up on his offers years ago? Don't know if I'd go THAT far. Perhaps it took until this point in my life to realize what a special man Fro really was. As he gracefully planted me back on my feet, I reflexively melted into him and sighed, "I wish this dance could last all night." "You're outta luck, kiddo," he chuckled.
"It's almost "Really?"
<My goodness, where did the evening go?> "Um-hmm--about a minute to go." "Oh. . ." "No, I. . .it's just--well, it's been a really strange year," I stated, lamely. That of course was the understatement of the decade. Between Mulder disappearing, then dying, then coming back to life only to disappear again; me finding out I was pregnant and not knowing if the fetus I was carrying was human or alien; trying to get used to a new partner; having to deliver William under the most bizarre of circumstances; Krycek's reign of terror coming to a violent end; Reyes moving into the Basement with us. . .it had been quite a landmark year. And the strangest of all--me and Frohike getting married. Strange year indeed! I could see all that flashing through Mel's mind as well, but all he said was, "Tell me about it." "And yet, even with everything that happened. . .I wish it wasn't the end," I murmured, sadly. "Well, next year can only get better," he
declared, with conviction. "I KNOW so. I mean, I'll have a full twelve months with you and Billy--that's not gonna suck." He certainly had a way with words. "Gee, and *I* get a full twelve months of round the clock sports, picking up your dirty socks, and reminding you to put the seat down," I scoffed. "HEY! I haven't done that in nearly, well, a week now," he decried, indignantly. "10. . .9. . .8. . ." everyone in the room started chanting. "It's gonna be a good year," I smiled. "It's gonna be a GREAT year," he corrected "5. . .4. . .3. . ." they continued. "Happy New Year, Dana." "Happy New Year, Mel." It was as if we were moving in slow motion, as we hesitantly inched closer together. I could hear everyone in the room echoing the TV, "One. . .Happy New Year!" And the next thing I knew, we were kissing. DOGGETT: I was the only one without a dance partner when the
bell struck I watched as they hesitantly moved towards each other, inching closer, as if uncertain of what they were doing. I found that a bit odd--I mean, they've been married over three months now. Surely they've got that whole whose-nose-goes-to-which-side thing all straightened out, right? Or maybe it was just they were nervous about being so demonstrative in front of an audience? Yeah, that would definitely be high on Scully's list. She was a pretty private person. (Hells bells, she didn't even have a picture of her and her husband on her desk or nothin'!) A small, friendly kiss on the lips, a light brush,
really. They backed away
slightly, only to lean back in again for another kiss.
A proper kiss. A
knock-you-on-yer-ass kind of kiss. Damn,
I could feel the heat and intensity of it from clear across the room.
By now, they had caught everyone else's attention as well--you
could hear a pin drop in that place. I
swear even the crowd in
But perhaps what I found more startling was the look on SCULLY'S face as she hugged him back--one of complete contentment. What I wouldn't give to be the one who put that smile on her face. Imagine, all that time, I was jealous of her relationship with Mulder. . .and it ends up being MELVIN FROHIKE who sweeps her off her pretty little feet. Oh, well, if it couldn't be me, at least she was with someone who treated her good, and loved her as she ought to be loved. Maybe we were all wrong. Maybe . . . maybe they really were in love, after all? The moment for reflection was over as quickly as it began, however; as the lovebirds parted, the looks disappeared, hidden behind masks of friendly smiles and nothing more. I got the feeling there was much more to those two than we would ever know. . . maybe more than they would ever know themselves. "Hey, guess what?" I was broken out of my musings by Monica's ultra cheery voice. "What?" "I've got a date for Saturday night!" she announced, triumphantly. "Thank God," I joked, and got a punch in the arm for my troubles. "Where you two goin'?" "Oh, no place special. Just dinner and a movie. Do you think I can talk him into 'Lord of the Rings'? I'm dying to see that film." She was speaking so fast I could barely understand her. A little quirk of hers when she was exceptionally excited. "From what I hear, all the guys are into that sci-fi stuff," I confided. "I think your chances are pretty good if you suggest that one." "I sure hope so.
First dates are usually a disaster.
It'd be nice if this one turned out okay.
By the way, ever hear of a place called Georgio's?
It's supposed to have good food."
<Jesus, she didn't even take a breath that time!> "Yeah, that's Byers' favorite restaurant," a new male voice answered as Dana and Frohike walked over to us. "Why do you ask?" "No reason," Mo replied, vaguely. "Just wondering." "You look extremely happy there, Monica," Scully said with a knowing wink. "Let's just say the New Year's off to a great
start so far," Mo enthused. <Man,
she is going to be unbearable at work until the weekend.> "Are you guys headin' out?" I asked, noticing Frohike was carrying their coats. Dana took the top one off his hands and helped her mom into it. "Uh-huh. It's getting late and we have to get grandma here to bed," she said with a laugh. "Hey!" Maggie protested, good-naturedly. "You know, I'd be more than happy to do that for you," Skinner broke in. Not quite sure who was more shocked by his comment--we all stood there stupidly, mouths agape. He seemed to realize what he had said and quickly backtracked, "I mean, if she wants to stay, I can give her a ride later. . . that is, I can take her home and maybe. . .ah. . ." By this point he was redder than Dana's hair, and we were all just about in hysterics. Pulling himself up to his full six-feet, he thrust out his chest and growled in his surly AD voice, "I'm getting out of this discussion while I can." Without another word, he strode off, to the accompaniment of our laughter. It's so much fun to tease the Big Guy. As Frohike was helping his wife into her coat, he commented, "Well, Maggie, unless you want to take Walt up on his offer, I'm just going to collect Billy and we can head out. . .hey, where IS Billy anyway?" That caused everyone to quickly look around the room, but the child was nowhere to be seen. "Last I saw him, he was with Langly," I observed. "Well, where's LANGLY?" Scully asked, a little anxious. Again, we quickly looked around the room, but the lanky blond was nowhere to be found either. "Don't panic, Scul--I'm sure they're around here somewhere," I assured her. Frohike added, "Yeah, hon, if he's with Langly, he's safe. And they couldn't have gone far." A fleeting look at Byers was all he needed--they immediately took off together to search the warehouse. Like a well-oiled machine, Jimmy then headed in one direction, Yves in another. Either they were used to Langly disappearin', or else they were all connected to that Gunman ESP thing they seemed to share. Not wantin' to stand around twiddlin' my thumbs, I grabbed Monica as Skinner stayed behind with Dana and her mom. With all of us huntin', it didn't take long before we heard someone shout, "Found them!" We followed the sound of the voice, runnin' upstairs where the sleeping quarters were located. At the doorway to one stood Jimmy, a real silly expression on his face. Steppin' forward, we saw what he was smilin' about. There, sprawled out an open futon was a snorin' Langly, the baby asleep on his stomach. Mo was the first to recover, "Awww, that's so sweet!" she cooed. "Wish I had a camera," Scully said, wistfully. "Got it covered." That was Maggie, who reached into her purse and pulled out a slim instamatic. At our incredulous looks, she just shrugged, "What can I say? I'm a grandmother, remember?" "Melvin, you BETTER make sure I get one of those," Yves demanded. "Looking for new blackmail material, Yves?" Frohike quipped. She sniffed, haughtily. "Blackmail is such an ugly word." An evil smile crossed her pouty lips, "But it DOES work in this case." "I don't know," Jimmy said with a smirk. "We could always use it for our Christmas cards next year." "Or it may look good on the front page of our
next issue," Byers added, mischievously.
<Has Byers EVER been mischievous?
Or was Monica already starting to rub off on him?> "Put me down for one of those," Skinner requested. "You got it, Walt," Frohike replied, offhandedly. "I told you. . ." "Don't call me Walt," everyone echoed. "I really don't need this kind of abuse," Skinner grumbled, walking off in a huff. Dana flashed me one of her patented 'Scully' looks. "I hope you guys know we're totally screwed when we go back to work Wednesday." "Wire-tapping detail for sure," Mo added, with an expression close to Dana's. Oh yeah--the Big Guy was definitely gonna get us back for this. "Girls--you took the words right outta my mouth," I groused. BYERS: "Langly? You wanna help me with this?" "No," came the petulant reply from the couch. "Ringo, come on. Don't be like that," I appealed. "I said I was sorry about the pictures." "Not good enough," he continued to sulk. I walked over to where he sat, playing with one of
his handheld video games. Taking
a seat beside him, I supplicated, "What was I supposed to do?" "You coulda stopped her," he mumbled, engrossed in his game. "How? Tackle her and steal the camera?" I joked. He dropped the game on the coffee table and pouted, "A REAL friend would have." "Ringo," I sighed, knowing it was a lost cause. He wasn't in a forgiving mood at the moment. Given a couple of days, he'd forget all about it. Of course by then, Maggie will have had the prints developed. "You have to admit--it WAS a really cute shot," I commented, pushing my luck. He all but flounced off the sofa, and huffed, "I'm going to bed." "Langly, wait--what about the mess?" All I got for a response was the slamming of his bedroom door. Okay, a couple of days may be slightly optimistic. . . I glanced around the room, not even knowing where to begin. Sometimes I really hated being the 'responsible' one. Somehow that always meant *I* got to clean up after the parties. Oh, well, no use complaining about it. . .there was no one around to hear me anyway. Guessing the stuff closest to me would be a good place to start, I picked up the nearly empty bowls of chips, pretzels, and nachos, and carried them into the kitchen. While I was in there, I capped the bottles of soda and mixers, and returned them to the fridge. Noticing the counters were wet and sticky, I wiped them down, then headed back into the main room. Checking the heap o' pizza boxes, I found a couple still contained actual food. I placed all the slices together in one box, and brought it into the kitchen. I was going to put it in the fridge (cold pizza was Langly's favorite breakfast, and it might help me get back on his good side) but figured Jimmy might want some when he got home, so I just left it out on the table for him. Thoughts of Jimmy made me look instantly at my watch.
Almost 1:15. <I
wonder where he is?> Maybe
I shouldn't have let him go with Yves after all.
She had taken him to go see 'how the other half rings in the New
Year'. Something told me I
didn't want to know what that meant. Quite
frankly, if she was so unhappy here, I'm not sure why she stayed until the
stroke of I don't think I'll ever understand that woman. On my next trip out to the living area, I gathered up all the dirty glasses. My goodness, there were a lot of them! I loaded them into the dishwasher, but it was far too late to actually run it. (Not unless I wanted Langly to throw another hissy fit because it woke him up.) Well, they could wait until morning. As I started packing up the stuff from the makeshift bar we had set out, I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. Reaching down, I picked up Frohike's 'El Lobo' hat from the floor. He'd be relieved about that. I seem to remember at one point Langly had it on William's head while they were dancing around, and then it just disappeared. I'd have to call Fro in the morning and let him know it was safe. Thinking of Frohike immediately brought to mind visions of 'The Kiss'. Once he and Scully had left with Maggie and the baby, it was all anyone could talk about. I have to admit--it went a long way towards fooling everyone. In fact, if I weren't privy to their little secret, I would have believed them, too. I will admit, I've had my misgivings about this arrangement of theirs. When Frohike first told me what they had done, I was positive he had lost his marbles. I thought his unrequited love for Agent Scully had finally been his undoing, causing him to jump into that 'companionable marriage' agreement. But over the past couple of months, I've seen a great change in my old friend. Oh, he's still the same intelligent, paranoid, hacking genius he's always been, but there's more to him now. I love spying on him as he baby-sits William; he's so good with that baby, and the child just utterly adores him. And when he talks about his home life, there's a joy to his voice that not even the best actor could achieve. He is happier now than he's ever been in his life, and as much as I hated to admit it, their 'marriage' has worked out better than anyone could have dreamed. Simply put, Scully and William have completed him. Which makes 'The Kiss' such a mystery.
It was the most loving and passionate kiss I've ever witnessed-- Then again, maybe he wouldn't. Contrary to popular belief, Mel is a man of honor, and would never brag about such a conquest. So, what was it? How did 'The Kiss' come to be? If it wasn't part of the act, to show their friends what a happily married couple they were, then how to explain it? And perhaps, more to the point, what did it mean to Mel and Dana? I looked back at my watch.
It was almost On the way, as I passed by the coffee table, I stopped. Sitting there, in the middle of the table, was an empty bottle of Sam Adams. . .and I had to smile. A date! I have a date! With Agent Reyes! It's just dinner and a movie, but it's still a date. Been a long time between those for me--I hope I can remember what to do, and not make a total fool out of myself. She seemed agreeable to my recommendation of restaurants; Georgio's has always been a favorite of mine. Wonder what movie she'll want to see? I'd love to see 'Lord of the Rings' again. I went to sleep that night with a goofy grin on my face, and thoughts of Monica on my mind. THE END 1) Embraceable You by Frank Sinatra. Written by George and Ira Gershwin Title: The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http:itak.slashcity.net Category: Het Romance Pairing: Byers/Reyes Rating: PG for mild language Summary: Byers and Reyes go out on a date. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Notes: This story is sort of a break from the Frohike/Scully storyline, but takes place within the Big Things universe. I just couldn't pass up the chance to write it. Title, of course, comes from the movie, The Maltese Falcon. Spoiler: Numerous references to X-F's 'Unusual Suspects' and 'Three of a Kind'. If you don't know these two episodes, one section of this story may be confusing. Special Thanks: As if you didn't know by now. To my wonderful beta, Kylara. . .not just for the great read-thru, but also for the major ego boost. You're one in a million, kiddo. And thanks as well to Linda for pointing out the make of Jimmy's car from 'The Lying Game'. The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of By: J. D. Rush Byers: I must've stood looking at her front door for nearly ten minutes, working up the courage to knock. All week long I kept thinking of this moment, what I would say, how I would act. Each time made me more nauseous than the last. What the hell had I been thinking when I asked her out? I couldn't even REMEMBER the last date I had been on. All I know is that George Bush was president. Papa Bush, that is. Figuring I couldn't put it off any longer, I finally took a deep breath and rapped twice. I heard a soft, "Be right there," the familiar click of a lock being turned, the faint creak of the door hinges as it opened, and there she was. "Hi, John," she smiled. "Right on time." "Hi, Monica. You. . .you look great." I hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, but she DID look great. She was wearing a pair of black jeans and a mauve scoop-necked sweater, which had little flecks of silver throughout. It was casual and dressy at the same time, and looked completely natural, almost thrown together. Meanwhile, I had spent nearly two hours picking out the right tie. "Thanks, you look pretty great yourself. But I seem to be underdressed," she said, gesturing towards my suit. "No, no--it's fine. Really. Georgio's isn't all that fancy. I mean, not that you don't deserve to go someplace fancy. I just thought. . ." She chuckled at my obvious nervousness.
"John, do you want to come in?" "Um, are those for me?" She was pointing to my right hand, which I had firmly pressed against my leg. I looked down and noticed the bouquet of flowers I had picked up on the spur of the moment on my way to her apartment. I was so jumpy, I had completely forgotten about them. Holding them out to her (disconcerted to note that my hand was shaking), I stammered, "Ah. . yes. They are." She took them from me and looked genuinely surprised.
"That was so sweet of you, John.
I can't remember the last time someone got me flowers.
Thank you." "Thanks. I moved in a couple of months ago when I got assigned to the X-Files. Still don't quite have it the way I want it--the feng shui just isn't coming together," she said, wistfully. Did I just hear her right? "Feng shui?" I inquired, curiously. "Yeah--you know, the ancient Chinese art of
placement," she started to explain.
"It says that there is a relationship between people and their
environments. . ." Her big brown eyes grew even bigger. "Wow! I don't think I've ever met a guy who did. I've been trying to explain it to Doggett for years now, and he STILL thinks I'm crazy." "Oh, I don't think you're crazy," I assured her. "That's nice to know," she smirked. Open mouth, insert foot. "I didn't mean. . .ah. . .that is. . ." "John, I'm just teasing. Let me put these in some water, okay?" "Yeah. Ah.
. .yeah." <Oh, boy, this wasn't going well at all. I
was so flustered I couldn't even talk straight.
She's going to think I'm a total buffoon if I didn't get my act
together, and fast!> I watched her as she walked over to her kitchen area, and searched through her cupboards for a vase. She settled on a colorful ceramic pitcher, which she filled with water; placing the flowers in it, she carefully arranged them as she asked, "So. . . any idea what movie you want to see?" "Anything you want is fine with me," I told her. "Have you seen 'Lord of the Rings' yet?" she suggested as she wiped her wet hands on a towel. <Did she just say 'Lord of the Rings'? Oh, God--it could be love. Or Kismet. Or SOMETHING!> "Actually, I did," I admitted. "Opening day. Langly waited overnight for tickets. Wanted to be the first on the block, so to speak." "Oh, all right," she replied, disappointment
in her voice. "I'm sure
there's something else good that's playing. . ." I was treated to another of her dazzling grins. "Great. Just let me get my coat and we can go then." As she grabbed up her leather jacket from the coat rack near the door, I gently took it from her. "Allow me, please," and I held it out to her; she slipped it on, then turned to me, an amused look on her face. "How gallant," she remarked. "Thanks, John." She scooped up her purse, shut down the lights, locked the door, and we were on our way. "Hey, nice wheels," she noted as we approached the black 2001 Pontiac Trans Am parked outside her building. "Oh, ah, thanks," I muttered, as I held open
the passenger's door to her. When
she again gave me that bemused look, I asked bashfully, "Am I over
doing it?" "I don't mean to offend," I promised her. "It's just my upbringing, I guess." She smiled in understanding. "I know. Personally, I think it's rather sweet." Folding those long shapely legs into the car, she added, "It's nice to be going out with a real gentleman for a change." Once she was settled, I closed the door and made my way to the driver's seat. <What the hell had I been thinking when I asked to borrow Jimmy's car? Jet airliners don't have such complex instrument panels, for Pete's sake!> Monica studied me curiously as I took a moment to reacquaint myself with all the unfamiliar equipment before finally starting up the car and pulling into traffic. "I really wouldn't have taken you for a sports car kind of guy," she reflected. "Oh, well. . .I saw it on the lot and fell in love
with it," I pretended. "Got
a pretty good deal, too." "I think you can learn so much about a person by the music they listen to," she commented nonchalantly, as she started flipping through the jewel cases. "Oh, um, yeah, I guess, but I, ummmm. . ." "Britney Spears?" "Huh?" Luckily I was stopped at a light or I might've driven
off the road. <My God, she
was just a kid! How could her
parents let her dress like that?>
"That's ah, that's not my CD," I confessed. Feeling I should come clean (before she found any more incriminating CD's), I admitted, "In fact, this isn't my car." "Hotwiring is against the law, you know," she teased. "No hotwiring involved," I promised, then added under my breath, "this time." She raised her eyebrow at that one. "Cute, John," she tittered. <Oh, if she only knew the truth.> "Actually, it belongs to Jimmy. I thought, well, it's more impressive than the van." I felt her hand rest on mine as I downshifted. "John, you don't have to go out of your way to impress me. You've already done that, just by being you." Thankfully it was dark out and she couldn't see me blush. She took her hand back and reached into her purse only to mutter, "Oh, damn." "Something wrong?" I inquired, concerned. "John, are you okay?" she demanded. She took my fib at face value. "Oh, okay." Once I started breathing again, I eased back into traffic, wondering if I was going to survive this date after all. * * * * * * * * * "Anything that you'd recommend?" Monica asked, busy perusing the 'daily specials' sheet that the waitress had left on the table. "Well, I've tried just about everything on the menu, but my favorite is the Rueben," I told her. "They make it with coleslaw instead of sauerkraut." "But if they don't use sauerkraut, then it's not really a Rueben, is it?" she pointed out. "No, I guess it's not, now that you mention
it," I agreed. "But
it's still pretty good." She thought about it for a minute then nodded. "Okay, you sold me. I'll give it a try," she said, putting down the sheet. "Wanna split some onion rings?" When the waitress came back, I repeated our order: two Ruebens and order of onion rings. She wrote it all down diligently, then asked if we wanted something to drink. I instantly rattled off, "Coke for me, and a Sam Adams for the lady." Only after she had left did I realize what I had done.
I just put my head in my hands and moaned pitifully, "I did it
again, didn't I? I'm so
sorry." Things went a bit smoother after the drinks and
complimentary breadsticks arrived, and we started the obligatory personal
histories. I found out where she
went to school: Sometime during our meal, we got to discussing movies. Her all-time favorite was 'The Maltese Falcon'. ("It's got everything: Humphrey Bogart, intrigue, Humphrey Bogart, mystery, Humphrey Bogart. . .") I was pleased to note that her eyes lit up when I mentioned mine was '2001--A Space Odyssey'. (Even though it DIDN'T have Humphrey Bogart.) From there we moved on to music. She revealed her favorite musicians were The Eagles, early Stevie Wonder, and Jimmy Buffett. ("I guess it's masochistic to listen to him in the middle of a DC winter though, huh?") I had countered with U2, James Taylor, and 'anything by Mozart', which got an appreciative nod from the young lady. We ordered another round of drinks and started comparing favorite TV shows. I laughed as she related she enjoyed watching old reruns of 'Columbo' and 'The Great Chefs of Europe' ("Which I usually watch while eating microwaved macaroni and cheese.") I responded to that with "The History Channel twelve hours a day; The Discovery Channel the other twelve." When the time for dessert rolled around, I got 'the' token argument--"No, I shouldn't. Really, I shouldn't. What do they have?"--before we decided to share a piece of cinnamon crunch cheesecake, and traded favorite authors. She chose Agatha Christie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. ("There's something so charming about those old classic mysteries, don't you agree?") I did indeed agree. . .when I wasn't engrossed in Arthur C. Clarke and Isaac Asimov (of course). I could have spent all night talking to her and finding out all these little insignificant significant tidbits about her, but a quick glance at my watch told me we had to hustle if we wanted to make the movie on time. As I called for the check, I noticed my date pulling her wallet out of her purse. "Monica, what are you doing?" I asked. "Going dutch?" she answered, as if it were obvious. "Nonsense, this is my treat," I asserted. "I invited you--it's my obligation to pay." "But. . ." she started. "I insist," I interrupted her, palming the check before she had a chance to argue further.
No doubt about it--this date was going to kill me. * * * * * * * * * The ride to the theater wasn't half as exciting as the one to the restaurant. Once we got there, I went to buy the tickets while she made her way over to the concession stand and picked up the popcorn and drinks. I thought we were going to get into an argument--she wanted to pay for the snacks--but I finally convinced her to take the $10 bill I had pulled out of my wallet. Her only comment to me was a gentle, "Stop trying so hard, John," before she headed off. I'll admit I was starting to feel a little uneasy about her persistence on paying her way. I had done the asking, so it was my duty to pay for the date, right? Then again, as she said, it was the 21st Century. I had to get with the program. If she could tolerate my over-exuberant courtliness, I suppose I had to deal with her obvious independence. We sat in the semi-darkened theater, waiting for the movie to begin, sharing the huge tub of popcorn she had purchased and answering the trivia questions that kept flashing on the screen. I was really enjoying myself when Monica let go with a deep sigh, "Jeez, I feel like I'm back in 8th grade and I'm out on my first date with Bobby Thayer." With those few words, I felt my stomach fall to my shoes and my heart shatter in a thousand pieces. A night that I found perfect, a date that I thought was going so well had been compared to something out of junior high school. If I thought I could have gotten away with it, I would have crawled under my chair and died. I don't know what got her attention--the stricken look on my face or the startled, sickly whimper that stuck in the back of my throat. All I know is in the next instant, she was quickly amending, "Oh, John, I didn't mean that in a bad way. It's just. . ." She sighed again, trying to find the right words, "It's just that this has been a very refreshing change from the normal dating scene. I'm so used to a guy spending the night sizing me up, trying to find the fastest way to get me into bed. You're just so different from other men." "So I've been told," I replied drolly, not altogether convinced. "I didn't mean THAT in a bad way, either," she explained, patiently. "You're quite a special man, John Byers." "And how would you know that?" I wondered, dubiously. "I get these. . .feelings. . ." she revealed, almost shyly. "And you have. . .a feeling. . .about me," I asked, hesitantly. She smiled softly. "Uh-huh. A very good feeling. I'm so glad you asked me out tonight." Before I could comment and tell her I thought she was special, too, the lights went down, and the film began. * * * * * * * * * * The movie was even more amazing the second time around, when I could lose myself in the story and not just the fantastic special effects and breathtaking scope of it. We waited through the closing credits, listening to the beautiful music, as the rest of the audience shuffled out; Monica still had her hand entangled with mine on the hand rest, something that had occurred somewhere around the middle of the film. Once everyone was gone, I helped Monica on with her coat, and we headed out to the car. She had been silent the whole time, not even commenting once on the film. I was starting to wonder if she had enjoyed it at all. As I opened the passenger's door, I found myself asking, "So, what did you think of it?" I never found out. Instead, she grabbed me by the lapels of my suit jacket and kissed me. On the lips. Both of them. Soft sweet lips pressed against mine for the first time in. . .how long? I couldn't think, couldn't reason. All I knew were her lips on mine and that I desperately wished it could go on forever. But 'forever' turned out to be less than a few seconds.
She pulled away from me, a smile on those wondrous lips, a smile in
those sparkling eyes. I stood
there, mouth hanging open, trying to process what the hell had just
happened. "What was that
for?" I asked, breathlessly. "Finish?" I squeaked.
After all, we had eaten dinner, saw the movie.
What else was there to do? <Oh.
Oh, God. She wasn't
thinking--no, it wasn't possible. Did
she want to. . .? On the first
date???> "Well, I thought we could go somewhere, get a coffee maybe?" she said, calmly. Coffee. She only wanted to do coffee. *I* could do coffee. "I'd like that. Any ideas?" "There's a little bistro right around the corner from my place," she suggested, as she got into the car. "They have great cappuccino and the most decadent French pastries." "Sounds good to me," I told her as I closed the door. But truth be told, no pastry could ever be as sweet as that kiss. * * * * * * * * * * "Hey, Mo--who's your friend?" the waiter greeted us as he approached our table. "Hey, Jason," she answered him with a smile. "This is John Byers. John, this is Jason." "ANOTHER John?" he exclaimed. "Do you have a rule you only date guys named John?" "Yeah, which I guess leaves you out, huh, Jay?" He clutched at his chest dramatically and groaned, "Mo, you wound me." "You'll get over it," she informed him. Leaning down towards me he motioned to Monica and said, conspiratorially, "Watch out, John--this girl's a heartbreaker." "I'd be more worried about my thumbs if I were
you, Jay." I just sat there watching their verbal exchange, not quite sure what to make of this unprofessional behavior. "Are you going to take our order or just annoy us all night?" Monica demanded. "Are you giving me a choice, Mo?" he shot back. "Nope. We'll have two cappuccinos and two Napoleons." He flashed her a sincere smile. "You got it, hon. Be right back." And he hurried off. She smiled over at me, which quickly turned into a look
of horror. "Oh, oh John.
I'm so sorry!" "What for?" I asked, puzzled. "I ordered for both of us and I didn't even ask what you wanted first," she clarified, clearly upset by her actions. I just laughed. "Guess that means we're even now, huh?" "Yeah, I guess it does," she said sheepishly, the cutest hint of blush hitting her cheeks. "So I take it you and this Jason are well acquainted?" I observed. She nodded. "Uh-huh. I started coming here shortly after I moved in. Jason owns the place and I guess we've struck up a weird kind of friendship." "I'm not so sure about that, Monica," I told her confidentially. "I think he's interested in you as more than a friend." "Actually, John, he's probably more interested in *you*," she replied, emphasizing the word meaningfully. "Me? Why would he be interested in me?" And then it hit me what she was implying. "Oh. OH!" "Don't worry--he's harmless," she assured me. "His boyfriend would kill him if he strayed. He's just really nosy about other people's love lives, and he thoroughly enjoys teasing me and my companions." "And that would be the 'John' he mentioned?" Did I sound jealous, or was it my imagination? "Yeah--the other John in my life. Agent Doggett. . .John. Whatever." She giggled, "I think I'm going to have to start calling him Jack, like his mother does." "I didn't know you two. . .?"
I let the sentence die. What
was she doing out with me if she was involved with her partner? Jay came back with our coffees and pastries at that point. Monica hadn't been lying--decadent was an apt description for the Napoleon that practically spilled over the edges of the plate. Once we were alone again, I picked up the conversation where we had left off. "Agent Doggett seems like a good guy--the few times I've met up with him." "He's one of the best," she readily agreed. "And a great friend, too. Actually, it's too bad it never worked out between us. He certainly would've been a step up from most of the men I've dated." "That bad?" I sympathized. "Let's just say there have been a lot of frogs but no princes so far. And after this last one, I've just avoided the dating scene all together." "Real winner, huh?" "Well, he wasn't a bad guy, but the breakup was pretty nasty. That's what I get for getting involved with a fellow fibbie, huh?" I broke off a bite of the pastry--ultra flaky and loaded with creamy custard. Perfect. Monica gave me a smirk that clearly said 'I told you so' before digging into her own delicacy. "He's an agent? I thought that. . ." I hesitated for a second, trying to pick out the right word, "fraternizing. . .was off-limits?" "Well, it's looked down upon, that's for sure. But I was rather young and naïve--still a wide-eyed rookie. And Brad was quite persuasive." "Brad?" "Hmmmm," she hummed, sipping her coffee. "Brad Follmer." I almost choked on my own coffee. "Brad Follm. . .Assistant Director Brad Follmer?" "You know him?" "Yeah, Brad was always on the fast track in everything he did--including me." She shook her head ruefully, "You didn't need to know that, did you?" I cringed inwardly.
"Probably not. So,
what happened? Did someone find
out about you two. . .?" "Sorry," she apologized. "That was rather tactless." "But honest," I pointed out. "I'll always be honest with you, John," she said sincerely. I paused to take another bite of my pastry, which also
gave some time to process all this new information.
"Okay. So if we're
being honest, is there any chance Brad's going to come after me?
Should I start wearing a bullet-proof vest or something?" "Thanks. That's
encouraging," I returned, sarcastically. It was such a simple request. And she HAD been honest about Brad. Taking a deep breath I started, "Her name is Susanne. Or rather, it was." Her eyes grew large. "Was?" "I told you, it's a long story." "Is this story going to end with her becoming 'Steve'?" "Not quite THAT drastic," I assured her. "Although I do know a Carl who became a Carol." She did a perfect imitation of Scully's quirked eyebrow. "Sounds interesting, but let's save that one for another time. I want to hear about this Susanne." So after she motioned Jay over for a refill, I began to tell her my tale. I told her about the beautiful, desperate blonde who walked into my life in 1989, bringing enough intrigue and mystery for a dozen Bogart films. I went on to explain how in a span of less than 24 hours she had captured my heart before she was captured herself, by forces of evil, right in front of my eyes. I described my years of searching for her, a cross-country crusade to find her, my all-consuming need to discover one scrap of concrete evidence that she was still alive. I felt it deep inside that she was, but I wanted proof. . .NEEDED proof! And then how, one day nine years later, I got my proof, and so much more. Another trade show, one last gamble in the gambling capital of the world. And there she was, as beautiful and as mysterious as the day she had been taken away from me. I found out she had moved on with her life while I was wallowing in despair and paranoid government conspiracies. She had been forced to work for the evil bastards that had kidnapped her, and somewhere along the way she had fallen in love and gotten engaged to someone else. I had no time to grieve my loss. She was in danger again--this time from the very man she had planned to spend her life with. She didn't know he was part of the conspiracy or that he planned to kill her to save his own life. We almost didn't figure it out in time, but once we did, wheels were quickly set in motion--and my future along with it. She had one chance to break away, a dangerous act that
put all our lives at risk, but one we had no choice except to try.
If the Black Ops wanted Susanne dead, we'd give them their wish.
As far as they are concerned, Susanne Modeski was shot to death in a
bloody attack in a I should have stopped the narrative there, but I confessed it all to Monica--how we created the false identity for Susanne, and forged the death certificate to make everything neat and legal. Then, when all the dust had settled, Susanne--ahh, Holly--had asked me to go with her. I revealed that for one brief moment I considered it, seeing all my hopes and dreams come true before I sadly, and regretfully, turned her down. How to do this day I could still see her in the cab as she drove away. How to this day I still carried around the ring she had given me. When there was nothing left to say, I heard Monica's
soft voice ask, "If you loved her so much, why did you let her
go?" "But you still love her," she stated simply. "Yeah. I
think I always will," I acknowledged. "No. I've had no contact with her." I felt my shoulders sag sadly. "It's just safer for everyone." "John, that was a very brave and courageous thing you did." "What? Changing her identity?" I scoffed. "That was just a simple computer hack." "No--letting her go like that," she said tenderly. "Well, you know the old saying--if you love something, set it free." I tried to chuckle, but it sounded strained. "I wish I could say something to make it better, John, but for what it's worth--thank you for sharing with me. It took a lot of trust to do that." I thought about what she said for a moment before responding. "You know, Mulder used to say, 'Trust no one.' Susanne used to say, 'No matter how paranoid you are, you're not paranoid enough.' I'm tired of feeling that way, of living my life always looking over my shoulder, sleeping with one eye open. I WANT to trust you. I think I need to. . ." "Wow, when you start talking, you're just full of surprises," she marveled.
"No, John, I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." With that, she reached across the table and took my hand in hers. I was busy staring into those velvet-soft eyes of hers
when we were rudely interrupted. "Hey
guys, I hate to break in like this, but we're closing up." "In that case, maybe we should be going," I said diplomatically, sliding my wallet from my back pocket. It got no further than that, however. Monica waved me off with a menacing, "Oh no you don't. You just put that right back where you found it." "But. . ." I tried to argue. "But nothing. You got dinner and the movie. THIS is my treat," she announced decisively, already pulling the money from her purse. "Since *I* did the inviting, it's my duty to pay, right?" Well, she certainly had me there, didn't she? <Welcome to the 21st Century, John.> * * * * * * * * * * I sadly watched as she put her key in the lock of her front door, knowing the date was coming to a close. It had turned out to be one of the best nights I could ever remember, and I was sorry to see it end. Once the door was opened, she turned to me and enthused, "I had a such a good time tonight, John. I might've gained five pounds, but I had a lot of fun. "Me, too. In
fact. . .I. . .I'd really like to see you again sometime." She sighed dramatically, "John. . ." but it
quickly turned into a huge smile she saw that I was just teasing her.
"Let's play it by ear, okay?
I'll give you a call." "Night, Monica." She stepped into her apartment, the door closing on her beautiful face. My feet barely touched the ground as I made my way out to the car. * * * * * * * * * * ONE WEEK LATER: " "Wait," I called out to her.
"I have a gift for you." "Well, I didn't want you to get half-way through the concert and realize you were out again," I smiled, cheekily. She laughed. Oh, her laugh was musical--I could listen to it all night long. "You know, Johnny--I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," she chuckled, as she looped her arm in mine. Bogie couldn't have said it any better. ++++++++++++++ Title: The Times They Are A'Changin' Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http:itak.slashcity.net Category: Het/gen; Het Romance Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: Dana is at a crossroads, and a choice has to be made Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Notes: Okay, these next three stories compromise my first story-arc. (Hey, if CC can do it, so can I! In this first story, I borrowed an incident from the season 9 episode, "Lord of the Flies" for this segment. It wasn't my intention, but Kylara convinced me it would be fun to include it. However, since this is still an AU, I'm altering when it happened to fit my stories. Hope this doesn't offend any canon purists. (Then again, if you were a canon purist, you probably wouldn't be reading this series!) Special Thanks: And, speaking of Kylara, I wanted to thank her once more for her patience, help, and great beta-skills. The series wouldn't be the same without her. The Times They Are A'Changin' By: J. D. Rush DANA: "You're late," came the accusatory remark from the kitchen area. I dropped my briefcase on the sofa and started to remove my coat. Didn't know what time it was, but I knew Frohike was right--it WAS late. I locked up my gun in the wall vault that he had finally gotten around to building for me and made my way to the kitchen. "Yeah, I know. Sorry," I supplicated. "I was worried," he told me, hands planted firmly on his hips. "I know. I'm sorry," I repeated. "I should have called." "I've been slaving over a hot stove," he huffed, dramatically. "Dinner's ruined." I had to keep from rolling my eyes. "Mel, I hate to tell you this, but you sound like a bad 50's sitcom." "Just call me June Cleaver," he said, drolly. Stepping forward, I ran a hand across his stubbly cheek. "At least June used to shave for Ward occasionally," I quipped. "Hey, so I have sensitive skin," he protested. "YOU try dealing with razor rash every day!" I couldn't help but laugh.
Frohike was the only man I knew who could grow a He started puttering around the kitchen, pulling pans and bowls out of the fridge when he mentioned, off-handedly, "Oh, by the way, you had a call today. From a Dr. Bronzino?" That gave me a start. "Dr. Bron. . .you mean, Rocky?" Mel turned slowly to look at me, his right eyebrow quirked high over his wire-rim glasses. "Rocky? You know a man named Rocky?" "Yeah, the entomologist I told you about. He helped us out on a case a couple of weeks ago." "You didn't tell me his name was 'Rocky'," he accused. "You didn't ask," I shot back. "So. . .what's going on with you and Dr. Rocky that he'd be calling you at your home, hmmmm?" he queried, as he began scooping food onto a plate, which he then put in the microwave. "And does it have anything to do with you coming home so late?" "Frohike, are you jealous?" I teased. "Me? Jealous of a guy named 'Rock-head'?" he bristled. "Never." I had to laugh. "I've never seen this side of you before, Frohike. You're awfully cute when you're jealous." "Cute?" he scoffed. "I've been a lot of things in my life, honey, but 'cute' ain't one of them." "Don't be so sure. So, did he leave a message?" "Yes," he answered, wiping his hands on a
dishtowel. "He wanted to
compliment you on your CPR skills." "I think this is grounds for divorce in most states," he announced, throwing down the towel in a symbolic gesture. "I'm sorry, Mel. Next time we stumble upon a lifeless bug expert, I'll let Monica handle the CPR," I promised. "That's more like it," he announced proudly, playful smirk on his face. At that moment, the microwave beeped. He removed the plate of homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes and placed it on the table along with a bottle of ketchup. "Now, sit down. I think dinner might still be edible." "Really, Mel, I'm not hungry," I protested. It was far too late to eat something so heavy--it'd go straight to my hips. But I had to admit the food looked and smelled delicious. My tummy rumbled softly since all I had grabbed around suppertime was a cup of yogurt. Grasping onto my shoulders, he pushed me down into the chair. "Sit." He then handed me a fork. "Eat." "Yes sir!" I mock-saluted as he went back to puttering, this time fixing us each a cup of coffee. I said a quick silent grace and was pouring some ketchup on my plate as he came back to the table. He placed a mug in front of me, then took a seat across from mine. For the first time, I noticed how tired and drawn he looked. "Frohike, you look like hell," I informed him. "Thanks, Dana, you certainly know how to make a guy feel good," he groused. "I just meant that you look as exhausted as I
feel. Everything okay?" "Ohhh, poor baby," I tsked, both for my son
and my husband. I remembered
William's first tooth--it had been a rough few days.
"He seems to be sleeping well now, though." I dropped my fork I was so startled. "FROHIKE! You didn't!" "Calm down, Dana," he tried to soothe.
"I just rubbed a little into his gums.
Nothing more. It's an old
folk remedy." He seemed to contemplate that for a moment, then
replied, sullenly, "You're right. I
shouldn't have given *your son* any liquor.
I'm sorry." We sat there in silence for a moment or two, letting the tension in the air defuse. I was just about to pick up my fork and start in again on my meal when Mel reached across the table, and took my hand in his. "I didn't mean any harm, Dana," he apologized. "I'd never do anything to hurt Billy, you know that. I was just trying to do good, that's all." I dared to look up at him, and gave a weak little smile. "I know you were, Mel, and I'm sorry about yelling at you like that. I truly didn't mean it. Please just excuse me--it was a really bad day." He took a sip of his coffee and asked, softly, "You wanna talk about it?" "Not particularly," I muttered. "Oh. Okay." I hated the pain in his voice. Hated myself for putting it there. We sat in silence--him drinking his coffee, me picking at my food. It was an awkward, uneasy silence, unlike our usual cozy camaraderie. I had the feeling he thought I was still mad at him. With the unease reaching the point of unbearable, I released a deep breath and sighed, "Skinner called me into his office." Perhaps surprised that I was talking to him again, he hesitated for a moment before reacting. "That doesn't sound good." "It wasn't. I'm off the X-Files--permanently." He indignantly slammed down his mug with such force that some of its contents spilled over the rim. "They can't do that!" Snatching up a few napkins, I began to wipe up the mess on the table. "They can, and they did. Starting Monday, I'll be in a new department with a new partner. At least I'll still be reporting to Skinner, so it could've been worse." "But that's not fair! The X-Files belong to you," he said, emphatically. Standing up, I walked over to the trashcan and threw out the soggy napkins. "Not any more. They belong to Doggett and Reyes. We knew it was just a matter of time, Frohike." "Does this have anything to do with the ribbing we gave Walt at the New Year's party?" I took my seat again at the table. "Mel, Skinner isn't that petty. He had nothing to do with the decision, I'm sure of that." I sipped at my coffee before I continued, "The Bureau has always thought the X-Files were a waste of money and man-hours. The last thing they'd do is assign three agents to them. I'm just the odd man out." "Why you?" he demanded. "Why not John or Monica?" Good question--WHY me? "Well, according to Skinner, I'm being given a 'chance to shine'. Everyone knows the X-Files are the joke of the Bureau, and he said that this was an opportunity to make a break from them, and the stigma of my association with them. Apparently, the Powers That Be what to see what I can do and what I'm made of." "More likely Kersh was just cleaning house," he grumbled. "You think Kersh had something to do with this?" I asked tentatively. "C'mon, Dana," he sighed. "Kersh has had it in for the X-Files since he got control of that department. He managed to finally get rid of Mulder, and since you were his partner, he probably wanted you out of there before you could 'contaminate' Doggett and Reyes." "Contaminate?" I repeated, taken aback. "Yeah. You know, going around, planting all of Mulder's strange ideas in their heads. Not to mention tipping them off to any plots or conspiracies." I couldn't help but laugh. "Now that sounds like the paranoid Frohike I married. Mulder would be proud of you for that one." It got quiet for a few moments, but the uneasiness was
gone. "So, how do you feel
about the transfer?" he asked, softly, breaking the silence. Sadly, he was right.
There was no anger, just a feeling of loss, an emptiness.
But as I had felt that way since Mulder left, I seriously doubted it
had anything to do with the job. "I'm
not. Maybe that's the
problem." "And that's a problem because. . .?" he prompted. I dipped a piece of meatloaf in some ketchup and popped
it in my mouth, deciding best how to phrase what I was feeling.
"I feel like I'm letting Mulder down.
He entrusted that office to me. I
was supposed to carry on his work. And
I barely put up a fight when Skinner yanked me off of them." "I don't know about that, Mel. I don't know much about anything anymore. Sometimes I feel like I'm just spinning my wheels at work. And I'm sure that no matter how good this new partner is--well, he won't be Mulder." "Could be a *she*," he injected. I added a bit more ketchup to my plate. "Yeah, could be. But either way, it just wouldn't be the same. Not as challenging, or interesting or. . ." "Weird," he supplied. "Definitely weird," I agreed. He drained the rest of his coffee before he commented, matter-of-factly, "You do have other options, you know." I swallowed a bite of mashed potatoes. "Like what? Petition Kersh to put me back on the X-Files? That's not likely to happen. Especially if your 'contamination theory' is right." "No, nothing like that. I mean, you could do something else, something outside the F.B.I." <Was he suggesting what I THINK he was suggesting?> "Do you mean-- resign from the Bureau?" <And did I just hear a hitch in my voice?> "Hey, it's an option. You DO have a medical degree. Maybe you could do something different with it." Those words. I
had heard them before, in a slightly different way, but the meaning was the
same. "You know, Mulder was
always telling me to go off and be a doctor." "I don't know, Frohike," I sighed, pushing my food around my plate. "I'm not sure practicing medicine is something I ever really wanted to do. I think that if the drive--the calling--was in me, it would've exhibited itself by now. Besides, their hours and schedules are even screwier than mine." He stood up and refilled both of our mugs; I thanked
him with a smile and a quick nod. "Okay.
So you don't go into practice. What
else can you do with all your training?" "And the hours are bound to be saner," he
supplied. "No more "Plus I could spend more time with William. And you." "Which wouldn't suck," he said, in his inimitable style. "Of course the pay would be less," I pointed out. "A lot less." "Then we'll get by on love," he joked. "In your dreams," I shot back. Taking another bite of potatoes, I contemplated the plan, and found myself warming up to it. "You know, Mel--that idea doesn't sound so bad." "But. . .?" he asked, his eyes studying me, all knowing and concerned. "There's always a but." I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess I feel like I'm letting Mulder down. I mean, the X-Files were his life, and when he left, he handed me the torch. How can I just walk away?" "You're leaving them in good hands, Dana," he assured me. "John and Monica will carry on the work--they won't let the F.B.I. shut down the X-Files again. They may not be as driven as you and Mulder, but they are just as dedicated to finding the truth. You know that." "I know. It's
just Mulder. . ." I sat there a few more minutes, enjoying my meal, and thinking. Maybe it WAS time for a change. Mulder had moved on with his life. . .why couldn't I do the same? Krycek was gone. Cancerman was gone. The Consortium, as far as we knew, had been destroyed--what else was there to do? Everyone needs a reality check once in a while, and perhaps it was time for mine. Decision made. Over
the weekend I'd call some of my old friends at "Hanging around you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some stuff to do for the paper. . ." He stood up and placed his dirty cup in the sink. He stayed there for a moment, head bowed, before he contritely whispered, "Dana--I'm really sorry about Billy. I promise it won't happen again." "I know," I reassured him. "You're doing a great job, Mel. You really are a wonderful dad." He turned, giving me such a sad little smile that I felt my heart flip. He was trying so hard to do everything right, and I never took the time to tell him how much I appreciated all he did. Well, that was going to change. As he passed my chair on the way out of the kitchen, I grabbed his hand. He turned back, looking at me in surprise. "Dana. . .?" "Mel--I. . .I don't know if I've said it but I want you to know that you mean so much to me. To have someone to come home to, and talk to, someone who cooks for me and spoils me like you do. I guess I never realized how lonely I was until I wasn't lonely anymore." I shook my head ruefully, "I'm probably not making much sense. It was a long day. But I just wanted to say thank you for all you've done for me. You're a special man, Frohike, and a very special friend." He reached out with his free hand and tenderly cupped my face. "Aw, honey," he sighed, "*I* should be thanking *you*. For giving me a family that any man would envy." With that, he leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. We looked each other in the eye for a beat, then two, before he glanced away, obviously ill at ease with the sudden sappy turn the conversation had taken. "I, ah, I REALLY have to work on that article," he finally said, with a self-depreciating smile. "I made chocolate pudding if you want some for dessert. And I'll see you in the morning, okay?" A final kiss on the top of my head, and he was gone. I finished off my meal--how lucky I was to have found a man who could cook!--then got up and washed what was left of the dishes. Once that was done, I cut up some of the leftover meatloaf and made us sandwiches for lunch. As I put all the food back in the fridge, I happened to notice the little cups of pudding. Oh, what the hell? I had already blown the diet anyway. A few spoonfuls of pudding wouldn't do much more damage. Grabbing a cup, I sat back down at the kitchen table with a medical journal I had been meaning to get to, leaving Mel the quiet of the living room to do his work. Not sure how time could fly so fast, but the next time
I looked at the clock, it was nearing With a silent chuckle, I headed off for bed myself.
++++++++++++++ Title: And Then There Was One Author: J. D. Rush E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com Website: http:itak.slashcity.net Category: Het/gen Pairing: Frohike/Scully Rating: PG for mild language Summary: Dana discusses her decision with Skinner; he doesn't take it very well. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never mine, unless I can convince CC, 1013 and FOX to give them to me. I'm not holding my breath. Author's Note: I know nothing about F.B.I.'s rules and regulations in regards to employment and transfers and such, so this section is basically fudged. Hope that doesn't take away from the story. I'd like to extend special thanks to both Goddess Michele and Lady Kate who tried to enlighten me--then I went and did what sounded good anyway. And Then There Was One By: J. D. Rush SKINNER: I looked at the sheet of paper in my hand again, trying to process what I was seeing. The words just didn't make sense to me. . .I felt as if I was reading a foreign language. I looked up at the young woman who had handed it to me; she was sitting in her usual chair, with her usual demeanor--calm, cool, collected. Me? I felt as if I could pass out. "Sir, are you okay?" she asked with her usual sympathetic voice, a voice I was never going to hear again. "Fine, agent," I responded, automatically, while feeling anything but. I tried to read the paper again--still no luck. Might've been Swahili for all I knew. "Skinner--?" she began, concerned. I finally placed the letter down on my desk and told her, resolutely, "No. I'm sorry. I can't accept this." That famous eyebrow shot up practically into her
hairline. "You CAN'T accept
it?" she squeaked. "What
do you mean by that?" "Sir. It's a request for reassignment. . ."
"I know what it is!" I snapped out.
"What is the meaning of this?" "Why? Why didn't you come talk to me first?" I barked, in full AD mode now. She hung her head, almost in embarrassment. "I suppose I should have, sir, but there just wasn't any time. I only got the call about the position Friday night. I agonized over it the whole weekend, and discussed it with Frohike. . ." I cut her off, angrily, "Frohike? You should have discussed it with me!" "Excuse me, sir, but Frohike IS my husband," she replied, coolly. "And I'm nothing--just your hard-assed boss, right?" Oh, man, I was going to be sick. She looked away for just a split-second before fixing her gaze on me once more and saying, gently, "No, you're much more than that, and you know it, sir. It's just that the teaching position opened up rather suddenly. If I delayed my request too long, there's a good chance the opening would have gotten filled." Pushing up my glasses, I pinched the bridge of my nose to try to stem the migraine that was already starting. "Jesus, Scully, why do you want to leave? Is it something I did? Is this about your removal from the X-Files?" I asked, exasperated. "No, not everything is about the X-Files,"
she sighed softly, and I know I'm shocked by that statement.
There was a time she'd NEVER say anything like that.
"Then is there a problem with Agent Mitchell?" I inquired. "I can get you a new partner in a new department, if you like. I just thought you'd be happy there." She paused for a moment. "Agent Mitchell is quite a piece of work, sir," she said with a smile. "I'm rather flattered that you teamed him up with me." Agent Laurence Mitchell was one of the best in the
Bureau. He was a newcomer, but
one already making his name well known in the agency.
He was on the fast track to the top, and would surely bring his
partner with him. It had been
such an obvious choice to me to team him up with Scully--we all knew she had
the tools needed to make Director one day.
"Then what's the problem? Personality
conflicts?" "No, we get along fine. He's an exceptional agent. I can see what all the fuss is about." "Yet, you want to leave," I stated. "Yes, sir. I've been. . ." She hesitated for a second, trying to pick out the right word, "conflicted. . . about my career for a while now. But this past week finally decided it for me." I rapidly thought back over the previous seven days, trying to figure out what had distressed Scully so much that she would think of leaving us, but I couldn't think of anything out of the ordinary. The case they had been working on had come to a successful conclusion last Thursday. True, it wasn't under the best of circumstances--a nasty standoff that resulted in the shooting injury of another agent--but the suspect had been apprehended, and was cooling his heels in jail awaiting arraignment. "I'm afraid I don't follow you, agent." "Special Agent Perkins," was all she said. "The man who was shot?
I thought he was doing okay." Shaking my head in confusion, I asked, "Then what's the problem?" "When Perkins went down, I had this thought flash through my mind that I'd be next," she responded simply. I reminded her, "You've faced that situation
before, Agent Scully." "Ah." I was starting to get the picture. "I've never been afraid of this job before,
sir," she elaborated. "I
may have gotten more than I ever signed up for, but I was never afraid of
doing what was expected of me. But
I'm not just living for myself any longer.
I have someone who's depending on me, more than even Mulder
did." "You know, Frohike told me his mom died when he was just a child, and I don't want that for my son, to grow up without a mother. And I know--I KNOW--that I have no say in that matter. I could get hit by a bus crossing the street, or get killed in a fire or a car accident or," she stopped, her voice catching as she said, "my cancer could come back. I have no control over any of that, but I do have control over the situations I put myself into. And last week was too close. I can't risk my life like that anymore, sir, or the life of my partner. All it would take is a moment's hesitation or a second guess on my part--I hope you understand." I did. All
too well. She was right to be
concerned for her partner--no outside distractions could be taken along into
the field. Sometimes
split-second timing is needed, and any uncertainly could mean disaster.
And there was no way I could ask her to put her life on the line
again, knowing her little one was waiting for her to come home.
I'd never be able to forgive myself if one day she didn't, and it
would be all my fault. <That's
what happens when you get too close to your agents, Walter,> I
scolded myself. <You lose
all objectivity.> "If you sign the papers today, I can get them up to Kersh and get the ball rolling," she added. "They'd like me to start on Monday." Monday. Come
Monday I was going to lose Scully, and, in effect, my last tangible tie to
Mulder. It was selfish of me to
want to hold her back, but the thought of coming to work and never seeing
either of them again was too much for me to deal with.
Giving it one last shot, I told her, "I could get you a desk job
here at the Her face lit up in appreciation that I would be willing
to do everything in my power to keep her there, but gave me a sad little
shake of her head. "That's
kind of you, sir, but I think it's time for me to move on.
I was called up originally to spy on Spooky, after all.
And now that he's gone, my work here is done." "You were one of the best agents I've ever had,
Scully. I hate to lose
you." "Like how to question a 100 year old hibernating
liver-eating mutant?" I joked. "Hey, someone's gotta teach these green agents, right?" she laughed. Even as I joined in her humor, I found myself saying, "I'm going to miss working with you, Dana." "I'll miss you too, sir," she started. "We may not have always seen eye to eye--" I couldn't help but cut in, "That, my dear, Scully, is an understatement." It got a laugh, but the slight embarrassed blush that touched her cheeks spoke volumes--I had hit a little too close to home that time. "That's true, sir. There were many times I didn't know which side you were on, many times I questioned your loyalty to us and to the X-Files, but over the years you've proven to be a valuable ally." "I just wish I could have done more," I whispered, knowing I had let them down so often in the past, forced to play all those pointless political games to keep them alive and their department functioning. Scully, especially, would never know the hoops I jumped through for Spender because he promised me a cure for her cancer. Talk about selling your soul to the devil. But to see her sitting in front of me now--her cancer in remission, happily married, mother to a beautiful little boy--it had all been worth it. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat. "You did all you could, and then some, sir," she assured me, almost as if she could read my mind. "There were times you went way beyond the call of duty, and certainly beyond F.B.I. procedure. And we barely even thanked you." "No thanks were needed," I replied gruffly, my voice raw with emotions I didn't want to acknowledge. "Just doing my job." "If you say so, sir," she smiled, humoring me, even as unshed tears sparkled in her eyes. "But if I may say, it was an honor to work with you--and a privilege to have you in our corner." With that, she stood up gracefully, and walked over to my side of my desk. I held out my hand, expecting a polite but remote handshake, as was Scully's M.O. But she surprised me by instead leaning down and tenderly kissing me on my right cheek. Before I could recover, she backed up a step, dipped her head in a silent 'good-bye' nod, and walked out of my office, leaving me alone. And suddenly she wasn't the only one with tears in her eyes. * * * * * * * * * * DANA: The going away party was short and sweet and a total surprise. I had been called up to see Skinner under the pretense of one final debriefing, only to find Doggett, Reyes, Kim, Agent Mitchell, and numerous co-workers and well-wishers crammed into his office. It had always looked quite cavernous before, but with so many people, there was barely room to breathe. Many had brought food and drink, almost all had brought gifts. No big speeches, no major toasts, no declarations of my dedication to the Bureau--just lots of people shaking my hand, kissing my cheek, and wishing me luck. The outpouring of true affection was gratifying, but I couldn't help feeling a stab of resentment, knowing that when Mulder had been sent packing, he received none of this. My former partner had almost given his life for the F.B.I. and was repaid with nothing more than a kick in the cahones. Still, whenever I began to dwell on it, another colleague would come over to give me a hug and wish me all the best. Ninety minutes later, not a soul could be found except for Skinner and myself. I looked around at the battlezone that was his office, sighed, and began cleaning up. "Scully? What are you doing?" "Sir?" I asked, holding a stack of dirty paper plates. "Let custodial services take care of that." "But. . ." "That's an order, agent." I had to smile at that. "I'm not an agent any more, sir, and you're not my boss." "And it's not like you ever followed orders anyway, right?" he added with a sly grin. "I did SOMETIMES," I shot back. "It's not MY fault Agent Mulder was such a bad influence!" He came over to me and took the plates from my hands, placing them back down on the conference table. "Don't worry about it, Scully. Come here--I have something for you." And placing one of his huge hands between my shoulder blades, he led me away from the table and propelled me towards his desk. Opening one of the bottom drawers, he pulled out a small brightly wrapped box. "I didn't want to give it to you with everyone here." "Oh, sir--you really shouldn't have," I told him, quite touched by the gesture. <He's blushing! I made my big, huge, macho boss blush! This is a moment to treasure.> "It's nothing much--just a little something to remember me by." I eagerly unwrapped it, to find. . ."A mug." Disappointed and ungrateful. <Nice going, Dana!> "Ah, thank you, sir." If he heard the flat tone of my voice, he didn't say anything. "When you put hot liquid in it, little flying saucers appear. See?" he pointed to the box. "It was either that or the glow in the dark Marvin the Martian boxer shorts." "Save those for when Mulder comes back," I joked, glad that he had shown a BIT of restraint in the gift exchange. His sparkling chocolate-brown eyes took on a haunted, hollow appearance. "IF Mulder comes back," he sighed. I placed my hand on his forearm, so small against his massive bulk. "He will, sir. I know he will. Someday. When he's ready." He looked down at me, a sad little smile on his face. "I hope you're right, Scully." Throwing caution to the wind, I wrapped my arms around his waist, and gave him a hug. "Thank you for the party, sir, and the mug. But truthfully, I'd have a hard time ever forgetting you." "I know the feeling," he murmured, returning the hug with gusto. "I'm really going to miss you, Dana. I'm not just losing my best agent, but my best friend." "Skinner!" I scolded, even as I felt my cheeks flush. <If I was his best friend, then the poor man was in worse shape than I thought.> "I'm not moving to the North Pole! You're more than welcome to stop by the apartment--our door's always open." The look he gave me was full of gratitude. "Thank you. I might have to take you up on that. But only if you call me Walter." "Walter." I tested it out. It felt so weird on my tongue, sounded so strange to my ears. But I found myself smiling, "I like that." * * * * * * * * * "You're late." <Oh, no. PLEASE tell me we weren't going to go through THAT again!?> "I know. I'm sorry," I sighed, giving my standard reply. "Another hot date with Dr. Bug-zino?" I couldn't help chuckling. Frohike STILL hadn't gotten over that little incident. "Noooo--they threw me a surprise 'going away' party. I didn't have time to call you." I wandered into the kitchen where Frohike was sitting alone at the table, open pizza box at hand. Well, at least I didn't ruin one of his meals this time. "Where's William?" I asked. "Put him down for a nap," he explained. "Langly wore him out playing today. . . or maybe it was the other way around." He paused as his eyes landed on the two huge shopping bags I was carrying. "What are those?" he asked, pointing with a slice of pizza. Dropping the very heavy bags on the floor, I answered, "My gifts." He let out a long, impressed whistle. "Man, looks like you hit the mother lode, huh?" "You can say that again." I took a seat opposite him and gestured to the box. "Any of that for me?" He pushed it over to me. "Knock yerself out. Ah, mind if I. . .?" The sentence dropped off as he nodded to the bags. "Knock yerself out," I echoed, snagging a slice of pizza. He wiped his hands on a couple of napkins, and handed a few to me while he was at it. Then, nimbly balancing on the back legs of his chair, he reached behind him, and opened the door to the fridge; somehow without looking inside, he managed to retrieve a can of Diet Coke, which he then passed over to me. Noting that I was now settled with dinner, he went about digging through the bags, pulling out my 'going away' trinkets. They ranged from the silly, like a child's F.B.I. kit
(including fake handcuffs, plastic gun and phony badge) to the useful (Mo
and Doggett had chipped in and gotten me a new leather briefcase) to the
numerous X-File jokes (a UFO screensaver and mousepad, pencils topped with
little alien-head erasers, a 'Nessie' beanie-baby, a "No, I can't say that I have," I admitted. "Wait 'til you see this!" He opened the box and pulled the mug out to give me a demonstration, only to find it stuffed with tissue paper. As he removed the tissue paper, something fell into his lap. I saw him pick it up, but was too busy trying to swipe a helpless pepperoni slice from one of the remaining pieces of pizza to notice what it was. "Ah, Dana. . ." he asked, hesitantly, "who gave you this mug?" My mission successful, I was popping the slice into my mouth when I responded, "Skinner--why?" "Did he also give you what was IN the mug?" he inquired, curiously. "I didn't know there WAS anything in the mug," I confessed. "In fact, I didn't even open the box." "I. . .I think you should see this." Having said that, he passed over a small blue velvet square envelope to me. I looked at it, mystified, before opening it and looking inside. When a glimmer of gold greeted me, I tipped the envelope upside down and dumped out its contents into my hand. I stared at it for a full minute, trying to sort out my feelings, unable to believe what I was holding. It was a beautiful, delicate gold claddagh necklace, with a heart-shaped emerald at its center. I was so caught up in my emotions, I barely saw the tiny card that had slipped from the envelope along with the necklace. Picking it up, I saw that it was a short legend explaining the meaning of the claddagh, with the hands symbolizing friendship, the heart representing love, and the crown signifying loyalty. Friendship, love, and loyalty--three things I've questioned of Skinner's character for years. Three things he now gave to me freely, no strings attached. "Damn you, Walter," I cursed softly under my breath as the tears started and refused to stop. Next thing I knew, the necklace was being removed from my trembling hand, and my cordless phone had replaced it. I looked up at Frohike questioningly. He simply asked, "Do you need his number?" "No," I blubbered, watching as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving me alone. The man could be almost as spooky as Mulder, the way he intuitively knew me inside and out. It took me a couple of minutes to work up the courage to make the call. I dialed the number by memory, my heart coming into my throat when I hear his familiar deep voice. "Hi, Walter?" I choked out. "It's Dana. . ." On to the Next Installment... |