Epilogue

The Lone Gunmen's Office
May 28, 1999
8:00 p.m.
 

"So what's taking them so long?"

"Dunno.  Your newer admirer sounded eager enough over the phone, in the background."

Scully threaded Mulder a look askance, in the throes of folding her arms over her chest.  Lowering her voice, "Maybe we can just skip them for dinner.  Invite them another time, maybe? Yes?  Another time?"

Shrugging, her growing miffier by the minute partner stepped in closer and gave the imposing, beat-up door some additional bangs with his foot.  "That's what usually happens.  Going out to dinner with them always gets pushed back for...'another time.'  So far, the time's never come.  Can't tonight be the night, Scully?"  Mulder shifted onto his right foot, taking a side step back behind his temptress of a partner.  "For as long as we've kno...well <I've,> known them, since I've known 'em longer, doing something socially with them's never happened, and we owe 'em large."  He waved his arms, in semaphore style, at the invisible visual pickup.  "Look alive, guys.  We know you're in there.  The van's parked at the curb big as life."  Snaking into Scully, he settled his hands on her accommodating shoulders.  He smiled, noting she made no attempt to brush him off, and murmured, "Langly sounded mighty big on being treated to eats other than Frohike's gastronomical anomolies for one night.  You've never had his deep-fried turkey pancakes, smothered in basil and garlic-laced pesto have you?"

Scully snorted, thanking her lucky taste buds she never had.  "Mercifully, no.  And while we're on the subject of being treated, does Langly's treating me to the movies count?"  A snide sounding upturn gradated her voice.

"No it doesn't," Mulder counterpoised.  Gently, he nuzzled her hair with the tip of his nose.  Tentatively, but with a gilding of possessiveness, his arms enveloped her upper torso.

What's with all this cuddly-wuddly action lately, Scully mused.  Ever since New York, then yesterday afternoon down in archives when he practically wrestled me to the ground.  Now this.  Has it become standard procedure to 'Mulderize' me every chance he gets?  "Why doesn't it?"

Mulder kissed her crown.  "'Cos <I> wasn't there."

The shiver of rankling shimmied through her.  "Whose fault was that?  You could've been."  Artfully, she wormed her way out of his tightening embrace, which she was finding a touch overbearing.  "In fact, it should have been you.  Although..."

"Although?" Mulder coaxed, a little put out.

"Langly's surprisingly good company once you get past the fronting.  You should have seen him in Vegas..."  Remembering back, she loosely alluded to his having shared half his windfall.  "Generous to a fault, even.  Wouldn't you say?"  Scully basked in the glow of Mulder's prickly look.

"So.  That's why you let them off the hook.  You were pai..."

He paused in deference to the ritual involved with opening the door, suddenly being performed on the other side.  "Evening, fellow team players.  Welcome."  Frohike opened wider, gesturing for them to come in.  "Sorry to keep you gentlefolk waiting."  He stood aside, allowing them to enter.  "There's a...there's something of a problem, amigos."

"Problem?" the Agents intoned, blending their voices.

"It's Byers.  He's very depressed.  Never seen him so down.  I didn't mention it over the phone.  What with it being real nice of you two wanting to take us out and all, but he says he's not coming.  Says he just wants to be left alone."  Frohike hurried to the sofa, cleared away some sundry disarray so they could sit.

Scully was about to reply, when Langly swaggered into the 'think tank,' carrying some video cartridges.  Putting them down on the far countertop, he padded over to the sofa.  "Hey, Scully, still layin' off the coffee and butterfat?"

"Bad big time, dude."  Her use of lively lingo made him do a double take.  "Nearly a week now, and I'd kill for some Sanka no less, but Mister No-Coffee here's playing hardball.  Won't even let me near grounds for sniffing purposes.  It's been a hairy week.  Or, is the more correct terminology, bummer of a week?"  Langly beamed at her in way of reply.  The surreptitious wink he pitched in her direction was graciously accepted with a perky grin.

Still awesome to the max, Langly reflected with affection, despite all the raw tonnage we soft-soaped her through.

"Just to be on the safe side, Scully," Mulder defended.

Rolling her eyes, she announced, "I weighed myself this morning--"

"With or without clothes?" Frohike burned to know.  Langly winced.

"FROhike," Mulder cautioned.  "Down, little fella."

Scully smiled her honey-dipped smile.  Does it seem, gnome boy...gnome boy?...now where did that come from?...don't know, but good one.  I haven't had my quantitative quota of raunchy innuendoes filled this day?  I work with Mulder, right?  Never letting it be said she couldn't hold her own as one of the 'boys,' her smile held, and, atypically, dabbling in the risqui, she continued, "I'll let you imagine.  I've been led to believe you <do> like to.  Imagine. That is...Frohike."  Together, Mulder and Langly broke out with a pair of appreciative wolf howls.  Score, they mentally tallied.  "I've lost nearly three-and-one-half pounds, which I could stand to lose.  So, eschewing fatty acidic foods for awhile isn't the worst thing.  At least a little longer.  Until any danger of relapse is past.  So, you see, Mulder, I am agreeing with you."  He extended his lower lip.  "Then, I'll gradually start reintroducing such goodies as Alfredo of Fettuccini fame, Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia, oh, and Phish Food and buttered anything into my diet again."

"Just so long as you don't lose in the wrong places," Frohike brazenly asserted, he being on the outskirts of randyville, at present, but his preparing to cross the city limits imminent, dependent upon her wanting him to.  "Some very nice places, my dear," he intimated with the jaunty raise of his eyebrows.  If Scully was game, so was he.  So far, she wasn't flinching in annoyance.  This was daily wish fulfillment come true.  Having to bear Mulder's reprimanding eyes upon him was his swift reprisal for such importunate temerity.  But he cowered not.  Frohike was made of bolder stuff.

"Never fear.  We Scullys have this God-given tendency never to lose beyond a subjective setpoint."  The pout!  Oh, man!  Work it, lovely lady, the saucy-eyed imp cerebrally cajoled.  "I certainly wouldn't want to get too bony for your exacting specifications, Frohike.  I'm aware of your, shall we say, corporeal proclivities." Rising from the sofa, she shocked the attentive males after tugging on his chin, sniggering.  Frohike thudded heavily on cloud nine.  A handy reason, a reason that normally made sense, was unavailable.  Who cared?  This was today, and it felt like fun.  She was having a ball slinging the suggestive banter around with her enthralled, now not so secretly admiring hacker who had gone a hemorrhaged shade of purple in the face.  Tsk, tsk, what do you think of your, demure (Ha!  Who's blushing now?) Special Agent, Hike?  Maybe it was for the vinegary expression that soured Mulder's face.  Or, simply for the very fact that she <was> one of the boys, and feeling comfortable with them was feted second nature.

Scully laughed again, unbuttoning.  "Tell me what you think, guys..."  She removed her thigh-length leather jacket in tantalizing style, loving their bug-eyed reactions.  "Too thin?"  Mulder gawked.  (Too much.  This must be a new number; never seen her wear that before...)

"No way," Langly voted spiritedly, beating Frohike to the verbal ballot.  A twinge of bashfulness caused him to look away then.  The older man remained reticent, but the sated look in his dancing eyes broadcasted to one and all a unanimous decision.  Scully would always snag his vote for unrivaled stone fox, hands down.  Classic beauty in her Donna Karin finery.  A creamy aureate hued skirt set, the contrasted top, which ostensively played up her feminine contours, a dewy rich beige.  The skirt alluringly just above the knee for a generous eyeful of leg.

"You are magnificent, my dear," Frohike afforded, happily breaking his silence.

"Is that your mashingly unbiased opinion?" Scully, in insouciance, teased.

"CHANGing the subject," Mulder interposed, frowning, not for the past imperfect life of him understanding what had gotten into her.  "What's up with Byers?"

"One word sums it best," Langly forcefully delivered with a derisive glint overshadowing his eyes, glasses aside.  His spate of embarrassment having quickly run its course.  "Hint, hint.  <She> accepted that position your former boss of the AD persuasion, offered.  Went off to her, per her insistence, undisclosed field office, Wednesday.  Leaving Dapper Dan strung out in blue funk city ever since.  Didn't even get to kiss her off properly, this time around, man.  Take the phone away from that chick, she'd be lost.  'Hike and me were sorta hopin' this buds' night out would snap him out of it.  But he's so bummed, guess not."

"I was figuring they'd have offered Susanne something here at home office since her former FBI stint is still fresh in the memories of several higher-ups, according to Skinner.  And, no.  He didn't divulge her future whereabouts to us either, if that's what you're thinking.  From what I gather, he owed her a favor."  Mulder pulled on his chin.

"Small world," Frohike remarked, more than a little surprised.

"Gettin' smaller by the nanosec," Langly concurred, not as fazed.

"Wonder if she ever told John about this of her past," Frohike speculated aloud.

Mulder stood then, too, handing Scully an exacerbated look.  "Chalk up another one for something else we didn't know.  Anyway, the formal debriefing took place Tuesday, which Scully and I, wonder of wonders, were allowed to attend.  Skinner just happened to drop by our new digs in the BC pool earlier this afternoon, slummin'.  He tipped us that Timmy's would-be 'coup d'nah' is in the hands of the CIA for further investigation.  His mentioning Susanne's history with the Bureau's Quality Assurance within the LQA and EHS Programs sounded like a can of worms better left unopened."

"Maybe she needs it to be that way...for now at least.  I don't think her request for anonymity is wholly selfish," Scully pointed out.  Her voice was level; her sentiment sublimated.  Mulder...if you only knew how many times I've wanted to take off, leaving all the dark alleys behind; start anew...but as easy as that sounds, it's certainly not...I must...stop.  Stop what?  You can't even finish that thought.  Stop being so predictable in the scheme of things!  Predictable...me?  Uh...  "Susanne strikes me as someone who travels with a lot of baggage.  Perhaps she doesn't want to burden Byers with any of it.  Make a fresh start for her own satisfaction.  Laboratory Quality Assurance, and Environmental Health and Safety are pretty high profile for someone with her credentials."

"The DOD and, or, the Feds could have purged her files before we 'hacked' on her," Frohike dished.  "Or, she could have done it herself.  Which would explain why she's always been mystery woman to us."

Scully radiated a sobering look.  "Maybe she wants low-key in the here and now for the time being."  Wanting, always being the key, she contemplated.

"Maybe."  Mulder, a nerve center of speculation, but hungry, more so, quizzed, "Where is he?" Concern for his tender-hearted friend was also a vital consideration.

"Hangin' out in his bullpen," Langly supplied, sounding just as concerned, "listening to his Rachmaninoff CDs."  Moving over to a stool, he plopped down.  "We're talkin' broody fugues to match his mood all the way, man.  Gimme the Kinks any day when I'm in a gran' funk, but it certainly wouldn't be over some lame chick like Susanne."

"Never let <him> hear you say that, Langman," Frohike cautioned.  "He's a pacifist, but he'd punch your lights out in a split second over a crack like that."

Seizing upon the conversational lull, Scully excused herself and headed off in the favored haunt's general direction.  "Let me have a word alone with him first.  If I need backup, I'll sing out for you, Mulder, to lend him your trusty shoulder to cry on."  Her co-worker shrugged.

The quiet males watched Scully disappear into the deeper catacombs of the hackers inner sanctum cumbered with the scatterings of their latest haul from a gadgets run.  Determination of a relaxed nature etched in her face.  They turned to each other, all sporting similar expressions of reflection on daunted faces.  With admiration dripping from his syllables, Frohike muttered, "A woman's touch..."

Nodding, and looking plaintive, Mulder spoke in kind, realizing, a little late, that his aspiration was something better kept to himself, "For <that> woman's touch, I'd give my right arm..."  Kidding a kidder again, he inwardly chastised.  ...She <IS> your right arm, Mister.  So why don't you tell her?  Blinking as though he were a somnambulate waking from a discordant dream, "What I mean is...uh...uhmm.  Well, I...oh, nev--"

"We <know> what you mean," Frohike assured, looking a trifle sheepish, but nearly as wistful.  "Get your act together, before she takes it on the road, man."

Langly was nodding too.  "Serious, she's sellin' me on kick-tail redheads in a big way.  I know she doesn't have any more sisters--no hurt intended here, Mulder--but think she's got some spiffy cousins that might be half as cool as she is, huh? Ya think?"

"Better to ask her about that yourself, Langly. I don't like going there, for obvious reasons."  Clearing his throat, Mulder redirected, "So...what <was> Silvio's input then?  Did the decryption he supplied match what you pulled off the satellite?  Or was that just mirror interference?  Now would be the perfect time to tell me while the three of us are feeling like Larry, Curly and Moe."

<><><><><><><><>

Byers looked up, and when he saw Scully regarding him thoughtfully, in this markedly neater room which was no bigger than a walk-in closet, he removed the headset.  After a few awkward moments, he stood.  "Uh, Scully," he began reluctantly on tenderhooks, "you know I'm not one to be rude. Much less to you, dear..."  She smiled at the way his voice had seemed to knot over the endearing term's usage.  "However, I wish to be left alone for the time being.  Until I'm...I...I'm..."

Going to him, but choosing to remain standing, Scully placed her hand on his left shoulder, easing him back down to the high-backed ergonomic chair.  The chair Mulder had given him a year and a half ago.  "Is there anything I can do?"

Staring at his hands, Byers shook his head.  "Nothing.  There's nothing anyone can do.  She's gone...again.  Of her own volition.  I don't know where; doesn't want me to know.  She has reasons."  Halting, he looked up at Scully with a woebegone droop to his eyes.  "They're hers, but it's small consolation.  I love her; need her.  Need to be with her.  Scully, she doesn't seem to acknowledge that.  Why?"  His voice caught, "Why..."  His voice trailed off, but, renascent, it built up, and he sighed.  "I asked her to marry me.  Again."

Dropping down on the compact Beddingfield settee beside the chair, Scully grasped Byers' fidgety left hand.  Its third finger still wearing the wedding band.  Several fictive threnodies, she'd analyzed for context as a junior in college, rippled in her mind.  "She loves you, John.  Doesn't she?"

"She does.  I know she does.  She never ceases telling me so.  When I take her in my arms, I know she does."

Squeezing his pliant hand, Scully gauged his steadfast gaze.  Weighing each word carefully, "Then, give her time.  All the time she needs to sort things out.  She's an enigmatic woman, but even the most enigmatic woman knows a good man when she loves him."  (The voice of reason cooed something cogent, tangently personal, over the canyons of her mind.)  Scully blinked with a sniff.  "You're a very good man."

"Just give her time?"

"Uh huh."  Scully massaged the soft skin between thumb and forefinger.  This man's hands are incredible, she marveled.  Sturdy, yet graced with a comforting gentleness.  "And yourself, too.  Gobs of it.  Don't surrender the love you have for her through lack of understanding.  If she's got any sense at all, and she must have some.  She loves you, right?  She'll re-connect."

Care lines disappeared.  "Just give her time...and myself too," Byers intonated, with a faraway expression nesting in the clarity of his beautiful eyes.  "I will, Scully.  I will.  I won't surrender hope.  My love...never."

"Good."

"And, Scully?"

"Yes, John?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

Byers turned his hand over in hers, clasping it fiercely.  "For caring."

"Sometimes, I think Ive forgotten how."  Scully creased her bottom lip which quivered slightly.  "Thank you for reminding me how priceless the ability to feel is.  Not to be forsaken..."  Patting his arm, she shook off the sudden spat of melancholy.  The shadow of a smile worked her lips.  Angling, "Ready for some dinner?  We'll scope out a half-way decent place, stuff ourselves, have a drink, or two, share a few laughs.  The five of us actually enjoying ourselves for a change, like...oh, what's that word I'm always threatening Mulder with?  Normal."  Following the finger snap, "Yep, that's the one.  Like normal people do.  What do you say?  Deal?"

Byers, still looking dubious, gave a better than half-hearted nod.  "Sure...why not.  Do me good, I suppose.  Better than sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Rachmaninoff isn't helping any."

"That's the spirit," Scully congratulated.

"How's it going in here?"  Mulder stuck his head in, testing the emotional waters, to see whether the woman's touch had won out.  "Hey, we're starved."

Rising, and coaxing a moonstruck Byers up with her, Scully winked at Mulder.  Mission accomplished, she inveighed by her chipper demeanor.  Following a little distance behind Byers upon leaving the room, she leaned into her partner and whispered, "I didn't sing out.  Impatience.  Thy name is Mulder."

"Realizing that, thy name is Scully."  He claimed her waist.  "We're all starving out here.  'Sides, I knew you'd bring him around, p-d-q.  I believe in you, Scully.  Always have; always will.  Hey, what's that for?"

Her look was pure wry.  "I want your avowal on tape.  Or, better yet, in writing, signature inclusive.  Tacked above your beloved poster, Mulder.  Next time we're in the throes of visceral disagreement, I'll point to your touching profession of belief, and--"

"And what?"  Edgily, "I'll concede error in judgment?  Lack of qualifying evidence on my part?  Don't know what I'm talking about--I'm nuts? I...I..."

"You won't blow me off," she behested.  Here we go...  "Mulder, it's not always about you.  Think back to a week ago, Friday...your insisting that the MUFON women all knew each other prior to intervention.  How could that be, since, like it or not, I'm one of those women?  I certainly never--"

"Okay, not you, but it might be plausible the majority could have.  The latest findings can't be discounted."  Shifting the tide abruptly, "And since when do I act like it's always about me?  We're partners--I <never> blow you off, Scully."

She almost fainted.

"Hey, what blows?" Langly demanded as they'd all entered the 'think tank' proper, his hearing, acute as ever, selectively speaking.

"Now's not the time for lengthy for instances.  And <never>?  Mulder..."  Lowering her voice which had efficaciously risen, "Obviously hunger has obliterated your memory.  Flashback:  Monday morning; around eleven.  Where did you disappear to for most of the day, leaving me to deal with a seething Kersh on the verge of apoplexy?  Just one of many cases in point.  Blown."

"Yeah, got that right not only does hunger blow, it sucks!" Langly affirmed.  "We're outta here, right?  I'm starvin'."

"Scully..."

"This discussion, later, Mulder.  After you've eaten, I'll refresh your 'convenient one.'  Or, is there any point bothering?"

"No, that's fine by me."  Mulder checked his watch.  "Long as I'm dining on a big, juicy steak smothered by fries in less than an hour, I'll promise you anything."  Patiently, she waited for him to retrieve her jacket, dutifully then, helping her on with it.  "Anything...even discussing my so-called blowing you off."

With the look of the famous cat of Cheshire fame languishing on her countenance, Scully rejoined, "I'll make sure you get back to me on <that>."

Now, standing by the door, raring to go, Langly rooted, "Steak an' fries?  Yeah--I'm definitely up for that, guys."

"I know just the steakhouse, lady and gents," Frohike tossed into the potpourri.  "Brestly's, over in Langdon Park.  Fairly new place, but the food's gonna put it on the map.  Uh, Scully, you're not a vegetarian, are you?"

"No, Frohike, I'm not.  Lately, I've developed quite a taste for raw meat, as a matter of fact."  Proffering her arm to Byers, she solicited, "Shall we?"  To which her attentive male companions for the evening nodded raptly, finagled her to let them vie for spots on both arms so all four of them could escort her through the opened door.

Eagerly, in ragtag fashion, they concurred, "We shall."

"You guys," Scully chuckled, as Frohike finished locking up, and hustled to reclaim his place on her forearm.  "No crowding.  Plenty of room for all..."

"What would you do without us, eh, Scully?" Mulder's eyes jumped with the asking of the loaded phrase.

"Yeah, Scully," Langly, jesting in kind, threw in with a toss of his blond head, made blonder by pale, full moonlight.  His broad hand securely affixed to her right upper arm, above Mulder's.

"Over dinner I'll give you my complete rundown of life without my <four> stooges," she assured, waiting for them to settle down before she took another staggered step.  "Are we in synch?"  Facetiously, "I'm not going to sprain an ankle to see the doubled pairs of you carry me off at the same time."

"Hey, it won't come to that," the rollicking squad promised practically semi-chorally.

"All right then, let's eat.  Now that you mention it, I'm starved too.  Forget about zero caffeine and fats tonight.  I'm splurging.  If I relapse, and start coming on to you, Langly, oh well...I'm fully prepared to take that chance."  She tried poking him in the ribs, and took Frohike and Byers along with the dipping into his side.  Mulder gaped.

"That wouldn't be so bad..."

"Langly..." Mulder and Frohike warned in stereo, shaking heads with peeved expressions.

"What?"

"You know what..."

"Man, talk about possessive...sheesh," he muttered way beneath his breath.  "Scully just does her thing, cool as she pleases, minus the flack.  Get a grip.  You don't see her gettin' all bent, do ya?  Some people just need to get real."

"Thank you, Langly, for that succinct insight.  Now, may we move along before it gets any later?"  She flicked her playful eyes.  Playful being the re-established tone for this anything but status quo evening.  One of carefree camaraderie, perhaps long overdue.  "If I'm lucky, maybe I'll never have to learn the hard way what it'd be like being without you, shall I say, 'wild and crazy guys.  As long as the wild an' crazy gets kept to a minimum.  You know...for sanity's sake.  We cool?"  Mulder gave her a bewildered look.  The heretofore unheard of verbal gambols, the slick double entendres, her seemingly genuine enjoyment of being in their company.  What had really gone down in Vegas?

"Frozen solid," Langly and Frohike vowed, as though under oath.  Byers squeezed her left upper arm, and joined with them in attesting, "We've learned our lesson...we think."

"Think again, guys," Mulder upended.  "In future, if you ever get the irrepressible urge to do a repeat hoodwink on Scully, for whatever reason...call me first."

"How's that Mulder?"  The Gunmen stopped in their tracks, steeped in curiosity.

"Why should they call <you> first?" Scully probed, feeling every inch the ringleader, albeit a tugged on one.  If he said what she thought he was hinting, there'd be two topics for hot discussion following dinner.

His laughter fell upon tweaking ears.  "So they can ask my permission.  Why else?"

"Mulder!  Later...my Neolithic wonder.  Later..."

"Like I said, man," Langly issued from the depths of his throat, "some people need to get real.  Seriously real.  Like we're lame not knowin' you've got dibs on Scully, Mulder.  Duh...."

"Excuse me?  Hello--nobody's got dibs on me unless <I> say so."  Frohike chortled.  With a self-satisfied smirk, Scully let that sink in.  "Coming, men?"  They nodded in submissive meekness, she setting the collective walk-off in motion this time.  Dizzingly unsettling thoughts whirled in Mulder's mind.  Then, with an indulgent air, she flourished, "Oh, I suppose that includes you too, Mulder."

"Sculleee..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fin

Ya'll been a great audience!