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.

"Uh-huh, a great time. Good music, good friends," she held up her bottle, "good beer--you guys sure know how to throw a party."

"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 midnight, and I guess. . .I mean. . .do you have any New Year's resolutions?" <Oh, REAL subtle there, John!>

"Same one as every year: to try to stop smoking," she answered without hesitation. "I usually make it a couple of weeks--one time I made it all the way to March. But I just can't seem to kick it."

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.

"I'm not a very good dancer," I admitted, uncomfortably.

But that just seemed to put her at ease. "That's okay. . .neither am I. But this is a good song, and if you promise not to step on my feet, I promise not to step on yours."

"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.

"Really? What is it?" she asked, curiously.

"To try to work up the courage to ask you out." <My GOD, did I just say that out loud?> 

At that, she raised her head to look at me, and the smile I received outshone any that she had flashed all night. "Well, I hope that's ONE resolution that you intend to keep, John."

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 midnight."

"Really?" <My goodness, where did the evening go?>

"Um-hmm--about a minute to go."

"Oh. . ."

"You sound disappointed."

"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.

"You think so?"

"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 midnight. Hey, no biggie, okay? I'm used to it. Skinner had Maggie in a full-scale bear hug--poor woman probably couldn't breathe. Byers, I noted, gave Mo a chaste kiss on the cheek; she beamed, he blushed. Cute couple. Yves and Jimmy were just sorta staring at one another, possibly each waiting for the other to make the first move. (That Yves was one sexy woman, but I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her.) And as for Dana and Frohike. . .

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 Times Square was stunned into silence. After a second or two, they parted--Frohike wore a shy, almost embarrassed smile, while Dana's cheeks blushed a deep red--then they fell into a tight loving embrace. 

From where I was standin', I could see the look on Frohike's face as he held Dana in his arms--the look of a man who has died and gone to heaven. It had been quite obvious all night that he utterly adored Scully, and for that, I was glad. I knew that he would always do right by her and William--and no one deserved it more than those two.  

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:

Tuesday, January 1, 2002

1:08 A.M.

"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 midnight. It's like the way she's always mocking and ridiculing us, acting as if we're the lowest forms of life on this planet, yet she continues to show up on our doorstep, looking for our help, and enduring our abuse. 

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--Hollywood could only hope to ever duplicate it. Just like Frohike's stories of his life with Dana, there's no way they could have faked the emotion behind it. Yet, I was almost certain things had not changed between them. That is, I'm sure if Frohike and Scully were--well--*you know*--he would have told me. 

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 1:30, and I was far too tired to ponder such a complex issue. I couldn't wait up for Jimmy any longer--I had to get to bed before I collapsed from exhaustion. I turned off most of the main overhead lights, leaving one on so our wayward companion wouldn't kill himself when he finally came home, and shuffled off to my bedroom.

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