Dana Scully's Apartment
6:45 P.M.
 
 

"Hello?"

"Hello, Scully..."

"Hello, back at ya, Frohike.  What's up?"

"A-are you busy tonight?"

Scully wrinkled her brow, a sneaking suspicion creeping up on her and confirmed in the same instant of cognition.  "Uh, why do you ask?" she stalled, bringing the wide lip of her favorite cup to her puckering mouth for a sampling sip of green tea.  First the tea, to be promptly followed up by a slow, soul-soothing soak in a lively tub of Mr. Bubbles, with water as hot as her skin could stand.  Being alone with her simple pleasures on Saturday nights, after a grueling week such as this one had been, ruled!

Hesitating an extra second, distracted by the buzzy, annoying twitter of Langly and Byers in the background, talking at once, Frohike forged ahead, "Is Mulder there?"

"Uh...no.  Mulder's not here.  He hasn't taken up permanent residence," she said, and thought, 'Not yet, that is.'  "Are you looking for him?"

Frohike smiled, and mentally uttered, 'Good.'  Tonight was Scully's night; the salient capping of an undertaking well taken.  "Would you like to come over for some dinner at our pla--"

"Uh, er..."  He's sweet, she thought, a teasing smile forming, with her thinking how intrepid he'd looked suited up in cyber battle gear; trying to appear formidable, almost getting killed.  But, sighing, with a shake of her head, and letting go of the fleeting, pint-sized image, she countered, "Frohike, it's very considerate of you, but we've been over this befo--"

"No, no, dear, it's nothing like that."  Following a somewhat nervous spate of throat-clearing, he finished in his sincerest sounding cadence, "Byers and Langly'll be here too.  The three of us would be honored having you as our special guest for the evening."  Placing his palm over the mouthpiece, he whispered, "I think she's thinking it over."  Byers motioned to Frohike for his handing the phone over.  The older man shook his head adamantly, conveying in no uncertain terms, 'no way!'

In that moment, like a bolt of lightning, Langly struck.  He snatched the wireless out of Frohike's hand, and voiced his appeal.  "Like, pleeeeese, Scully?  Fro didn't incinerate the bird this time like it was for the picnic on Labor Day.  It's smokin'--that's figurative; not lit.  Fried to golden perfection.  No hype.  And I've already tasted the triple baked beans medley and mystery corn.  They're like so worthy.  Straight up.  Say you're comin' over, okay?  Fro even tried out this new recipe for this way serious double mud pie, which I've already had too.  Man, it's nectar.  Hey, ya gotta come!  Please, please.  Please?  We've got something real cool we gotta show--"

"Yo, man, gimme that," Frohike snapped like a brittle twig, trying to swipe the phone away from a startled Langly.  "What are ya tryin' to do?  Make it a sure bet she won't show?  You talk too much, man!"

On the other end, Scully strained to hear more.

The skirmish for the phone was settled by Byers, as he jimmied the device out of Frohike's vise grip with his honed look of noblesse oblige, and nimble finger action.  Although, since Frohike was currently engrossed in waging a war of wild wits with Langly, the task of apprehending the phone wasn't as hard as one might have figured, any other pedestrian day.  "Scully, it would mean a lot if you could see your way clear to having dinner with us.  May we count on you?  As Frohike pointed out, you'd honor us with your presence."

That man ought to be cloned, Scully considered, seeing, in her mind's eye the last of Mr. Bubbles' progeny burst in her imagination.  Mr. Finesse wins the decision, she awarded, and it's not the first time.  How can I refuse, in the light of that gracious invitation?

"What time would you and your partners in cyberspace like me to be there?"

"How does seven-thirty sound?"

"Like dinner.  See you then."

After Byers ended the call, which the Gunmen had seen in one of their rarer moments of non-paranoiac reasoning, to let it go unrecorded, his yammering cronies set upon him in earnest.  "Yes; at seven-thirty.  She agreed because I asked her properly."

"Well, la-di-da, John."

"Yeah, dude, so a big two points in triple overtime."

"There is one thing though," Byers said in such a way that made his buds hold their collective breaths for no apparent reason.

"What?" Frohike imitated, only with a sharper edge.  Langly propped his pointy elbow up on Frohike's shoulder, a favorite meditative pose, and badgered Byers as well with similar angsty looks.

"I think she suspects...I thought I detected a certain expectant quality in her voice."

Langly and Frohike exchanged stark expressions of disbelief.

"Ain't no way, man.  How could she?" Langly wheedled.

"Not possible, buddy," Frohike supported with a glancing blow upside the blond's head which was shaking back and forth in catatonic rhythm to a degree.  "Despite Blabberman, the wordy wonder here."

"I wouldn't be surprised, fellows," Byers countered in rare form.  "Mulder said he really couldn't talk yesterday, with her being right there, but even so, there's a reason she's a Special Agent.  Accent on the *special*.  Scully's quicksilver any way you look at her, which is precisely why she's the logical progression for what we have in mind, what with our having seen her in optimal butt whipping, take no prisoners action.  Not much gets by her, courtesy her not missing a trick.  She's quite a woman."

"Touche," Frohike chirped.  "Virtual perfection in and out of max res.  Maitreya is dead; long live the lethal new cyber femme fatale."

"Totally all the way down with First Person Scully," Langly hailed.  "She's just gotta give us the green light.  This could really be our big break, dudes."

His co-conspirators nodded reflexively in heady concurrence.
 

* * *

Lone Gunmen's Headquarters
8:18 P.M.
 

The free-form table, ergonomically adequate for its usual three, was a cozy, albeit cramped setting, for the Gunmen plus their FBI darling this night.  For once, Langly hadn't been stretching it.  Frohike had outdone himself, Scully readily conceded, as Byers passed her the baked beans, for a second helping, then the platter of deep fried chicken for her helping herself to a third piece.

"Delicious," she murmured, between savoring bites.  What are they up to, she deliberated, regarding her poker-faced hosts, having only Mulder's cryptic conversation with them yesterday afternoon to go on.  He'd really pushed her buttons once he'd ended the call and had kept infuriatingly mum about the esoteric one way confab, despite her best efforts to get him to spill.

*I aimed to please for you tonight, my lovely one*, Frohike congratulated, allowing the indulgence of giving himself a brace of mental back pats.  He was about to say how sensational she looked, dressed in one of his favorite black pantsuit outfits, with her hair up for a change, and she was wearing pearls, not the cross, when he altered course in mid stream of consciousness.  "Drop that pie, Mister!"

Langly froze as he'd done that sad time he was mugged in semi-broad daylight, across from the Washington Monument when he'd been on his way to meet, then ferry, a source to their covert digs.

"But, Fro--"

"But nothing, you bottomless pit.  That last piece's for our guest of honor," the feisty cook ordered, with intent to protect projecting from his eyes.  "Now chill with bein' so greedy, man."

Sheepishly, a contrite look became Langly's facial expression, although his slowness about relinquishing his hold on the best dessert he'd ever shovelled into his watering mouth betrayed his being loath to do so.  "Okay.  Sheesh.  Don't have a cow, Julia Childs."  He made room between the chicken and thebeans for the pie, directly in front of Scully's plate.  "Sorry," he said, sounding as though he were ten again.

"It's okay, Langly," Scully assured, identifying; seeing herself as that child as well, when either Charlie or Billy had routinely beaten her out for the last piece of whatever around 'ye ole Scully' dinner table.  It felt as if it were so long ago.  "Share?" she invited, prodding a brightening Langly with encouraging looks.

"Like it's okay?  You don't mind?"

"Langly..." Frohike rumbled, readying to remove the pie from his reach, in the midst of Langly reaching for it.  "You're the one who's had most of it!"

"She said it's *okay*," Langly whined.  "Don't make it personal, like usual.  Chill with the raggin'.  It's way tired, dude."

"Oh, personal?  Like usual?"  Frohike rolled his eyes, then nailed the younger man with them, and the indictment.  "Langly, you are so full of crap," he spluttered, having had his fill of the complainer with his torturing complaining for one day.  "You wanna hear real raggin'?  It's Thunderdome, let's go, Blondie, you as--"

Clearing his throat, and, what he hoped for as well, the air, Byers hastily intervened with a staid tone, "*Gentlemen*, we have a lady present, may I remind."

The uncomfortable lady shifted her chary eyes between the antagonists, then the fattening bone of contention.  Fact of the matter was, she was stuffed to the gills, having been barely able to finish the chicken leg and just managing to eat three more forkfuls of the honey-cured beans.

"I ain't scared of you, Do-hikeee.  Never will be.  You want TD?  Yo--you got it, man."

"I've been wanting a piece of you all day, Mister, with that punk-ass attitude of yours.  Outside, right now--I can take you any day of the week, geek!"

*Keep repeating to yourself...these are grown men...grown men*, Scully internally reminded. *Grown, highly intelligent men...yeah, right.  With the maturity level of my nephews.*

"Ooh, I'm like so totally scared.  I'm shakin' in my Cons, Diglett.  You're certifiable."

Knowing full well he was acting like a raving juvenile, with Scully in attentive attendance, Frohike stewed in his own riled juices.  The skinny, surly blond had the seamless knack for smashing down on all his wrong buttons, what seemed as though all the time now.  "Shut-up, Ringo, or I'll..."  Frohike let his voice die away.  Blinking, a wave of remorse washed over him.  *What am I doin'?  Losin' it like that, at a time like this*?

"I'll...oh, never mind."  He focused on the object of their inventive projection, who was sitting betwixt and between the three of them, at the moment making a valiant attempt to look as though their arguing was happening somewhere else.  "Forget it."

"Forget you," Langly fumed, jumping to his feet, looking as though he'd awakened moments ago from one of his weirder weird dreams.  Frohike stood too, embarrassed for them both.

Before the feuding Gunmen realized what Scully was doing, she was holding the pie she'd just lifted from Frohike's outstretched hand, which betrayed his agitation with its slight tremor.

She plucked up her fork, and bore down on the tip of the sole piece of chocolatey pie.

After the morsel's disappearance, and its being swallowed down, Scully directed at Frohike, "Melts in your mouth."  Smacking her lips for emphasis, she then said with a decisive hitch in her voice, meaning to sound unequivocal, "Can't possibly eat another bite."

She patted her abdomen whose protuberance was more discernible now, than when she'd first arrived for what was supposed to be for her dining pleasure.

"Langly, or Byers, or even you, Frohike...it's all yours.  No more in-fighting, okay?  Definitely not a boon for the digestive process."

Testily, Frohike looked to Langly.  He, in turn, with a shifty-eyed quality to his gaze, glanced over to Byers, who had strands of disappointment weaved in his face.  The erudite passed the loaded look back to Frohike who shrugged then, wanting to kick himself first, then Langly, where the sun never shines.

"The 'can you top this' na-nana-na-na ends," Scully said, laying her trump card on the table, "or I'm gone."  She set the piece of pie down near Langly's plate.

What clinched it for the Gunmen, especially for the former wranglers, was the infamous raising of a sculpted eyebrow.  She had her arsenal, and she chose, and used, her weapons well.

"And, I was really enjoying myself too; really, in your interesting companies, guys."  She failed to stifle the insistent series of belches which surprised them all upon their successful escapes; Scully most of all.  "Ex-excuse me.  I--oops.  Excuse me again."  Giggling a little, she took up her water glass, took a few gulps.  Then, she surprised them some more when she continued, "Beans, beans the musical fruit.  The more you eat them, the more you..."

Another belch, she couldn't suppress, and another..."Oops."  She took another sip or two.

The Gunmen grinned in unison, even Byers, waiting for their celebrative guest to finish the goofy rhyme.

"Pass gas...one way or the other."  Scully re-seated herself, as did Frohike and Langly.  Each rendered up his own unique apology, which she graciously accepted with a single nod.

"I'll get you the Rolaids," Byers suggested, already rising to his feet.

"Oh, no thanks.  I'm fine.  Really.  I promise I won't do, 'the other.'  On my Girl Scouts' honor.  My first merit badge was for being trustworthy...or was it for being resourceful?  Oh well, whatever."  She regarded her mellowed out hosts thoughtfully.  "Okay, guys, what's cookin'?"  Pointedly, for Frohike's benefit, she insinuated, "And I'm *not* referring to the mystery corn.  But, just out of idle curiosity, what puts the mystery in the corn?  Even after three servings, I haven't been able to put a taste bud on it.  Don't get me wrong, it's a real pleaser, 'Hike.  What's the secret, though?"

Her admirer winked at her, basking in the warmth of her inquisitiveness, and perhaps a smidgen of something a lot chummier.  This version of Scully was very much to his liking.  She had allowed herself to become disarmed, and so much more accessible; ripe for proposing their proposition.

"Picante relish, blended with sweet corn, garden fresh cilantro and red hot chili peppers.  Don't say I ever held out on you, Scully.  I'll shoot the recipe to ya before you go."

"Hey, thanks.  I'll try it out on Mulder sometime, when I'm feeling generous."  Following the lull in conversation, and after Byers went to get the antacid for himself, she watched Langly down the final fragment of pie.  When she saw that he'd swallowed, and followed it up with a Surge chaser, she said as softly as newly-fallen snow, "So, guys...  What've you got?  To show me, that is."

Frohike zinged Langly his finest, 'She's so witchy, man' look, to which the long-haired computerphile, known as Lonegunner1, or Goldilocks1013 in and out of numerous chat rooms, gave him a springy double thumps-up.

"Okay, so you're right *again*, Fro.  Big, bad mouth.  But I'm excited, and I'm excited all fifty-foot plus height of 'Zilla."  Langly waited for Byers to get settled, upon his return, before telling the agent the score.  "First Person Scully."

Gaping at him, she responded before realizing how uncharacteristically dumbfounded she sounded, "Wha?" Not bothering to hide her being thrown for a double loop, she volleyed, "First Person *who*?"

"First Person *Scully*.  That's the name of the virtual game the three of us developed--"

Cutting Langly off effectively with a shrill verbal wedge, "You did *what*?"

"This virtual game we created," he cogently plowed on, "with you being our version of that kick ass, bloodlusting cyber warrior chick, 'Traya.  Currently, it's in final drafting stages."  Sensing a certain hesitancy in his co-creators to fill her in, he happily continued, sounding like the kid with the brand new toy, which he wasn't ashamed to admit he was.  "Only, we programmed you, uh, Danathala, your virtual counterpart, to be a lot less flakey, than that program jumping babe.  Move over, Daryl Musashi, may he rest in pieces."

Sounding drugged, Scully wheezed, "Tell me you're kidding."  The trio shook their heads; nobody said another word.  Balking, and still in the throes of being wholly incredulous, almost pleading with Langly, whose face read like doubly encrypted script that he wasn't, she croaked, "I can't...be...lieve."  She stood then, locking onto the edge of the table, as though overturning it was the next option.

"You'd better be kidding, because if you're not, and you guys have made my worst nightmare come true, you know what I still owe you from Vegas.  I'll collect tonight, and I'll kick your ass first, Langly, even though I let you off on account of sharing your slot winnings.  All bets are off if you three hopped-up testosterone junkies have turned me into Afterglow's twin."

"Aw, c'mon, Scully."  Trying to change the subject, "Afterwho?" Langly intoned, following a deep, dry swallow.  He bounced his eyes off his alarmed cohorts, who looked visibly rocked.

Byers especially, who had initially tried to talk the other two out of engineering the game.

"You know," Frohike voiced in a low, metallic sounding drawl, "the ho Mulder told us about that they'd hauled in for questioning whose body Phoebe scanned to pattern her 'goddess' after."

"Oh, her," Langly said, more to himself, remembering.  When Mulder had told them about the spandex-sheathed sexpot, that was just about when Langly had lost interest in the conversation.  'Prosties' weren't his speed.  They were fun to ogle, sure; make rude remarks about.  Joke with Mulder over.  But not get all worked over.  Women who meant something, women like Scully, were.

"Never mind," Scully retorted harshly; perhaps a little too harshly, she considered, so she started again, this time, sounding as though she were talking to toddlers.  "Guys, violent video, virtual, whatever games represent a good deal of what I resent most about them.  Their accent on violence.  There's more than enough of it in this sad world at large.  Why must there be the fascination with it as a pastime? Maybe it's the estrogen, which I'm not apologizing for, but I just don't, and never will get it."

Shrugging, not wanting to be on the soapbox all night, she ended, "I suppose you think I'm being narrow-minded..."

"I understand, Scully," Byers assured.  Half-heartedly, Frohike and Langly looked as though they weren't totally without insight.  "I think it would be fair to say we all do; and we are sympathizers.  Despite our enthusiasm for the virtual jungle.  It's just that, well.  You were awe-inspiring, my dear.  Defending yourself and Mulder against all those indefeasible comers."  He gauged by the nudgey looks of his fellow hackers that he should go on; he had her ear.  "Aggression is as old as atoms; so is beauty.  We tried for combining the two.  Won't you at least have a look at what it is you're being quick to condemn?"

"Please?" Langly cast in.  "Wasn't like it was a snap to bring it from idea to software.  We swaged, sweated and slaved."

"For us three ol' stooges," Frohike bandied like Mr. P.T. Barnum himself as he made the bold move to link her arm with his, "my, dear?"

Three against one, Scully sized up.  Oh, yeah.  How fair is that?  She gave Frohike another peeved flick of her eyes, then relented, "Oh, all right."  As he led her off to the super computer which housed their lastest brainchild, with Langly and Byers bringing up the rear like expectant fathers, she cautioned, "I'm just looking.  It doesn't mean I'm going to like it..."
 

xXx

A half hour later...
 

"Reset it, Langly," Scully commanded, over the stridulation.  "I want to see that move I make again."  As he hopped to, in order to comply, she asked, "So this was Mulder's idea?"

"Yep," Langly confirmed, recalling how excited the four of them had been, and their congratulating Mulder on coming up with such an inspired brainstorm.

"Ooh, that little cadre of grey ones, emerging from the spacecraft, in the corner over there, never stood a chance," Scully exclaimed, as she catenated her split second retaliation via the senso-interpreting device, and watched herself as 'Danathala,' with Langly orchestrating the hostile action on keyboard, blast the living lights out of the invaders.  "What level is it now?" she asked in one breathless whoosh.  "You're mine, CGB Chimney!  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!"

"Three, with factor two gradient; the highest,"
Byers informed, pleased with his input since he had
been the one to suggest a multi-level scope of skill
proficiency.

"You've got the deadest eye in seven counties, Scully," Frohike awarded in high glee.  "You're winning again.  So, we take it you like?"

"Wait...hooha, take that, Flukeman!  Get your savage suckers off of that child!  Oh, no you don't--back into the sewer where you belong!" Nodding in approval, she fired back, "Big time, I like.  Which X-File program file designation did you give this one?  It's a toughie."

She watched the screen dim to black, wondering if she should stay longer to interface with the other two programs in play again.

"That was X-File number 1310; 'Shoot-out Beyond The Moon.'  A real rip, right?"  Langly removed the modulink-disk from the hard drive, hefting it from hand to hand.  "Nifty nodus, huh?  Correct-toe?"

"Well, I know I'm not telling you this to stroke your already inflated egos, oh yeah.  You guys are too much."  The Gunmen treated themselves to giving each other little punches, jabs and bats on the others' arms.  "Okay, okay, let's not get sappy.  At least not until I leave."  Then, thoughtfully she asked, "You think this game could rake in the big cash?"

"Absolutely; positively," Byers and Frohike assured.

"Do monkeys have tails?" Langly imposed.

"Well, not *all* monkeys," Scully said with candid inflection, and she wasn't thinking hominids.  Langly smirked, because he knew what she was driving at.  Just because she'd seen him eat four bananas at one sitting once was no reason to rub his nose in it every chance she got.  "I think your creation has definite marketable possibilities.  I mean, if you've thought that far ahead."

"Oh, we have thought that far ahead.  Ahead to the stock market, several of our favorite banks, the one in Switzerland in particular, and back," Frohike said just as candidly.

"And you say, basically, Mulder gave you this idea?"

"Basically, he used us as sounding boards to lay down the heavy basics.  Right up to the grungy pod fields buried under the snow and ice in Antarctica with the gestating aliens ready to hatch.  Check this baby out."  Langly put the previous modulink-disk back in its housing, and took out the one that contained several of Mulder's particular X-File favorites as gaming elements.

The Floridian sea monster, the virus-packing honey bees and the ever elusive Mothmen, to name three off the cuff.

"This one's insanely awesome," Langly said with a face-stretching grin.  "Powered up to the max."

"Guys, if you can make a go of this, go for it. You've got my endorsement, without reservations, whatsoever.  You need releases signed, just let me know.  The X-Files have paid us back in the worst ways all these years.  Pay back of a substantial monetary kind wouldn't hurt.  It's mighty generous of you to cut Mulder and me in, if this flies.  Oh...  You have no idea how much I appreciate your *not* turning me into a silicone dripping hooker from way back."

"Credit where credit is due," Byers said looking very pleased with himself.

"The FPS-looking outfit I'm wearing.  That's all right.  Whose idea was Danathala?  Oh, and forgetting about my initial reaction, guys, that name rocks."

Byers said proudly, "You were unanimous with the four of us.  Who else could have been the most logical choice, Scully?  Along with Mulder, of course, you're our hero."

"I second that," Langly hustled in.

"And, you know where I stand on that issue," Frohike said with an array of twinkles pluming like fireworks in his eyes, "Scully..."

"Scully?" Scully arched.  The backdrop of their suddenly perplexed looking faces setting the stage.  "It's Danathala:  Governmental conspiracy busting--alien blasting--monster obliterating avenger, from now on."

"You go girl," the Gunmen cheered.  Somehow the sensed in each other their wanting to scoop her up and hoist her atop their shoulders.  Restraint won out over the sudden impulse, though.

"What choice do I have behind something like this?"  While watching Langly plug in the new mod-disk, she knew who she'd be calling as soon as she closed the door behind her when she got back home.

Oh, Mulder. . .what am I going to do with you?. . .

xXx

End