gimgolas

Sweet cat that needs a loving home

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 20:20:35 GMT

Hello,

I don't know if anyone still visits this site, but on the off-chance someone stumbles upon it, I thought i'd give this a shot.

A couple of months ago, my aunt passed away. She left behind two cats. I couldn't take them in because of severe allegeries. I was able to place them in a no-kill pet shelter in North Kingstown, RI, called The Pet Refuge. One of them, April, has been adopted out, however, the other one, Nutmeg (see icon picture), still doesn't have a home.

She is a beautiful 3 year old calico pixie-bobtail, and is one of the sweetest, friendliest cats you'll ever meet. She loves playing and being petted, and is very affectionate. She would make someone a great companion.

You can check out more pictures of Nutmeg, and her general bio, at www.nkeapl.org. And if anyone out there reading this is in the general area, stop by the shelter and give her a look.

Thank you.

Peace,
J.D. Rush

Memo about The Big Things Series

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:50:47 GMT

Hello!

I've never written directly on my journal, but I thought the time had come to finally get my entire Big Things Come In Small Packages series up and in one place. Below you'll find 36 chapters of this series, in chronological order. The other four chapters have already been posted to this journal, but they're scattered around. If you're looking for them, they can be found on these dates (in sequential order):

Learning to Fly--June 24, 2007
Movie Night--August 5, 2007
Three's Company--October 31, 2007
Maybe Baby--April 20 and 24, 2008

I had a lot of fun writing this series, and I hope you have fun reading it!

Peace,
J.D. Rush

Big Things Series Begins--The First Story

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:49:26 GMT

Title: Big Things Come in Small Packages

Author: J.D. Rush

Summary: Frohike visits the tasty one, and things will never be the same.

Rating: G thru NC-17 (eventually)

Pairing: Frohike/Scully (no laughing!)

Spoiler: The X-Files: Season 8 finale; fleeting reference to Arcadia/LGM: Tango de los Pistoleros; fleeting references to Three Men and a Smoking Diaper, Diagnosis Jimmy, Planet of the Frohikes, and Eine Kleine Frohike. (more to follow?)

Disclaimer: The characters of Scully, Frohike, and William, not to mention any X-Files/LGM guest stars, belong to CC, FOX, and 1013. Nuff said.

Author’s Note: This is my first attempt at a het story, so bear with me. This is a series of little vignettes about Frohike and Scully--what I wanted to do was write a 'serious' romance between these two characters. It started as a simple, short, one-shot story originally called, Big Things Come in Small Packages. But when the 'sequel' came to me, I discovered a whole bunch of mini-stories about these two, and decided to bundle them all together under the original heading.

Timeline: Okay. I admit to some ignorance with the X-Files timelines, so take all this with a grain of salt. William was born in mid-May, 2001. The first section of the story takes place approximately three months later, in mid-August. Each successive section will be dated from that point on. (Also, I've given Frohike back his pony-tail. Forgive me this artistic license--it's a major fetish of mine!)

Special Thanks: Once more to my beta and friend, Kylara.

Feedback: yes, please! yanksfan462@aol.com

Big Things Come in Small Packages

By J.D. Rush

AN OFFER SHE CAN'T REFUSE

Saturday, August 11, 2001

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."

He smiled. I don't think I ever remember seeing Frohike smile. "Back to work already, huh?"

I shrugged. "Well, I'm not back full time. But Agent Doggett asked me for some help on a couple of his open cases. What brings you out here this late at night?"

He shuffled his feet uneasily. "I have something to talk to you about."

"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. . ."

"No that's okay," he cut me off. "I'd rather not."

He was acting strange. Very strange. Even for Frohike. "Uhhh. . ."

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.

And I was left alone in my living room, clutching the rose in my left hand, my right touching my still tingling lips, already regretting my rash decision.

THE END

Big Things series: Going Postal

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:45:54 GMT

Title: Going Postal

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Big Things Come in Small Packages'

Rating: mild PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: Frohike gets a letter, and his life will never be the same.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

GOING POSTAL

Thursday, October 4, 2001

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.

The smile. That blinding smile. "Well, I might change my mind unless you start calling me 'Dana'," she said with a laugh. "Can't say I ever imagined my husband calling me 'Scully'."

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?"

She just gazed at me with those crystal blue eyes of hers. "When you came here before, the offer was marriage, Frohike. Is that offer still on the table?"

"Of course. I just thought that you'd be more comfortable, well, if you had a way out, that's all."

The smile again. "Actually, I'd feel less comfortable raising William together if we're living in sin." I had to laugh. . .the last thing we'd be doing in this house is 'sinning'. It simply wasn't part of the deal. "And besides, we'd still have a way out if we can't get along," she added. "It's called 'divorce', and it could make me a very wealthy woman."

"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."

Her words warmed my heart, but they couldn't silence my fears. "Still, you can’t honestly say I'm the man of your dreams, right?"

She paused for a moment before she spoke. "Well, I think just about everyone has an idea in their head of what their perfect mate is supposed to be like. But love isn't all cupids and hearts and running through the fields while choir music plays in the background. That's the illusion of love, one we’re taught about in fairy tales and movies and love songs. We hear the message so often that we eventually believe that a passionate love affair is then entire meaning of life."

"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?"

"Our contract. Or at least the outline for one. I didn't have enough time to work up a. . ."

"Why do we need a contract?" she interrupted, quirking one elegant eyebrow.

"Well, it spells out our obligations to each other, and. . .and the limits of this arrangement. What we expect from one another, and, well, behavior that won’t be tolerated." <Specifically the no-nookie clause> I thought wryly.

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."

"But I figured you'd feel better if the rules were spelled out." <Especially the sex one,> my brain insisted on reminding me.

Sighing patiently, she replied, "Frohike, you're an honest man, a good man. If you promise me something, I trust you not to go back on that promise. If you said that sex would not play a part in this pact, I don't need a silly piece of paper holding you to it. If you want a pre-nup agreement, we can call in a couple of lawyers, but is it really necessary? We'll share the expenses, share the housekeeping, share taking care of William. . .and in return, neither of us will want for companionship. It doesn't sound like such a bad deal to me."

So intelligent. So practical. So logical. And so freaking beautiful. "Sounds like the best deal I've ever heard," I told her honestly.

"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.

Now, if I could only keep up my own end of the 'hands-off' policy.

THE END

Big Things story: Going to the Chapel

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:44:40 GMT

Title: Going to the Chapel

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Going Postal'

Rating: mild PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: The big day has arrived.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

GOING TO THE CHAPEL

Saturday, October 6, 2001

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."

"So do you," she said, her smile growing bigger.

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?"

Dana laughed. God, I loved her laugh. "She thinks the cheese fell off my cracker, if you get my drift. But after everything I've done the last few years, I don't think anything surprises her anymore."

"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?"

"Do you?" I shot back.

"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 Grand Canyon. Oh man, what the hell did we just do?

THE END

Big Things story: Confessions Part 1

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:43:06 GMT

Title: Confessions Part 1

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Going to the Chapel'

Rating: mild PG for language

Pairing: none; Gunmen friendship

Summary: Frohike has to confess something to Byers.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

CONFESSIONS PART 1

Sunday, October 7, 2001

"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.

"It's Jimmy, right?" he stated, confidently. "Look, I know you guys don't get along and everything, but we can work it out if you just. . ."

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?"

"All three of them, yes," I deadpanned.

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. . .?

<Just say it, Frohike--get it off your chest.> "No, John. No sex. It wasn't part of the deal. Just friendship."

"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.

"It's not loveless, John," I corrected. "There's a lot of love. . .just no sex."

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.

"The same."

He heaved a deep sigh. "So, in effect, she's taking your time, your affection, and your money. . .but she won't even take your name?"

"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."

I gave a laugh as I watched him cart the box out, appreciating the fact that I truly had the best friends in the world.

THE END

Big Things story: Mother and Child Reunion

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:41:50 GMT

Title: Mother and Child Reunion

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Confessions Part 1'

Rating: mild PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: During the honeymoon, Frohike spies on Scully and William.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

MOTHER AND CHILD REUNION

Sunday, October 14, 2001

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 North Beach. It may have been a bit cold for the seashore, but the view was stunning and it was very peaceful this time of year without all the tourists hanging around. I thought it'd be nice for Dana to get away for a little while before she was due back at work on Monday, and once she saw where our 'mystery trip' had ended, she completely agreed. We spent three wonderful days just walking along the shoreline, talking and laughing and playing with William. I'm sure it wasn't quite the romantic honeymoon of Scully's dreams, but it seemed to fit our relationship--very quirky.

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.

However, alone with her son, sharing the most intimate of mother/child bonding, she could let her guard down, and be the woman she spent all her time trying to keep hidden from the world--and I found myself falling deeper in love with her each time she made an appearance.

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."

"Won't you miss the excitement? The adventures?"

Now it was my turn to laugh. "Are you kidding me? Miss waiting in a van for three days in sub-zero temperatures? Or kidnapping chimps from research centers? Or impersonating Nazi offspring?"

"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."

THE END

Big Things story: Mr. Wizard's World

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:40:36 GMT

Title: Mr. Wizard's World

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Mother and Child Reunion'

Rating: mild PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: A diaper-lert? Why didn't *I* think of that?

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

MR. WIZARD'S WORLD. . .

Monday, November 5, 2001

"Frohike, can you come here a sec?" I called out to Mel, who was tinkering in the living room.

"What's up?" he called back.

"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 Bell. And Edison," I countered.

"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?"

THE END

Big Things story: Where Were YOU When. . .?

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:37:20 GMT

Title: So, Where Were *YOU* When. . .?

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Mr. Wizard's World'

Rating: PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: The Mafia, The KGB, The CIA, LBJ. . .vote for your favorite.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

SO, WHERE WERE YOU WHEN. . .?

Tuesday, November 20, 2001

"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 Dallas. Only the C.I.A. wields that kind of power. I mean, his BRAIN is missing fer Christ's sake! How do you misplace a freaking brain?!"

"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 Bethesda. And what about that palm print that magically appeared on the murder weapon three days AFTER the good ol' F.B.I. went over it with a fine toothed comb and found nothing, huh?"

"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 Dallas was botched up from beginning to end. Besides, why would they have a total fuck-up like Oswald, who wasn't even a sharp-shooter, do the job when they have their own professional assassins? It doesn't make any sense. . .unless the C.I.A. USED the mafia to pull off the hit. The real assassins--mafia hitmen--were stationed around Delaney Plaza and the grassy knoll, and did the actual shooting, while Oswald, the designated patsy, took the fall."

"I can see that."

"You can?"

"Sure. It makes perfect sense."

"It DOES?!?"

"Uh-huh. But it's not *my* favorite theory."

"YOU have a favorite theory, Dana?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

"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. . ."

THE END

Big Things story: Rub a Dub Dub

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:35:54 GMT

Title: Rub-A-Dub-Dub. . .

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'So, Where Were *YOU* When. . .?'

Rating: PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: Frohike and Scully share some quality time together.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

RUB-A-DUB-DUB. . .

Wednesday, December 5, 2001

"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.

THE END

Big Things story: Tiny Bubbles

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:34:30 GMT

Title: Tiny Bubbles

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Rub-A-Dub-Dub. . .'

Rating: R, for some naughty m/f situations

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: Scully takes a bath. . .and more.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

Author's Note: Go Raiders!

TINY BUBBLES

Tuesday December 11, 2001

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 Texas vampires!>

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, "Anderson at the 15, he's at the 10, no one's gonna stop him. . .TOUCH-DOWN!!"

"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 10 P.M. "You boys are up late," she observed.

"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 fiery 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!"

THE END

Big Things story: Confessions Part 2

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:33:08 GMT

Title: Confessions Part 2

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Tiny Bubbles'

Rating: PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: Scully confesses to Skinner; Frohike confesses to Scully.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

CONFESSIONS PART 2

Monday December 17, 2001

"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."

"Past your bedtime, agent?" I teased.

If it wasn't so dark in the car, I could've sworn she blushed. "Let's just say I'm a bit out of practice, sir. I'm not used to these late nights anymore."

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."

"Don't tell me you're a sports widow?"

"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 Vancouver."

Christmas cards? Since when did Mulder send CHRISTMAS cards? And from Canada? He was up in Canada? I didn't want to know what he was doing up there. But at least he was alive, and hopefully, safe. "Any mention of when he'll come back?" I queried, not able to hide the hope in my voice. I really missed him, maybe more than I ever thought I would. I only wished I had some way to contact him.

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."

"I don't doubt your judgment, Scully. I'm sure he must be an extraordinary man to have finally won you over. I guess we all just always assumed you'd eventually end up with Mulder, that's all."

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?"

"No, not at all." I paused for a second then acknowledged, "Well, okay, so you two did make a very attractive couple--but it wasn't just that. You two were so much more than friends or partners, anyone could see that. And after everything you two went through all those years for each other--I've just never seen two people closer than you were. Like you were soul-mates."

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 1:30 a.m., so I knew it was even later than that.

"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."

She flashed me one of those 'Scully eyebrows'. "You ARE kidding, right?"

"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?"

"Yeah. She was a very special lady."

"You know, Mel. . .I think that's the first time I've ever heard you ever say anything about your family."

"Yeah, well. . .not much to say." I tested the water with my pinkie--about another minute would do it.

"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."

"Hey, no need," I assured her. "It was a long time ago, and she had been sick for quite a while. It was probably for the best." Honey! Damn, how could I forget that? I went over to the fridge and pulled out the little plastic bear bottle.

"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.

"A brother?" she asked, while looking at the mug cautiously.

"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?"

"Him? You mean Milton?"

"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."

"Vietnam?"

"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."

I took a pull of my brandy. "Nope. I went, too."

Her eyes opened wide in amazement. "You served in Vietnam?"

"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."

"And that upset your brother?"

I finished up my brandy, and pushed the mug aside. "Not that per se. See, when I got back to the States, I fell in with a bunch of peaceniks. 'Make love, not war'--you know the type." She nodded, sagely, but she was too young to remember that time. Probably saw it in documentaries and stuff.

"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? Long Beach. Married, a couple of kids. He's a lawyer--figures. He was always the 'good one', as he'll be the first to tell you."

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 Milton thinks--Gramma did a great job raising her boy. She'd be real proud of you."

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."

"Just how long have you been wanting to say that to me, Frohike?" I teased.

"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.

FROHIKE:

Oh man, she was wasted! Guess that potion was more potent than I remembered. I led 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."

THE END

Big Things story: Ain't No Sanity Clause Part 1/2

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:31:27 GMT

Title: There Ain't No Sanity Clause

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Confessions Part 2'

Rating: PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: It's Frohike's first Christmas with the Scullys. Will it be his last?

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now. Title is a reference to a line in the Marx Brothers' classic, "A Night at the Opera".

Author's 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

December 25, 2001

"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?"

I shrugged, "Not like it'll be the first time," and I instantly wished I could have taken the words back. No need confessing something like that and ruining her day.

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."

I snorted. "Yeah, right."

"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 Maine postmark. (At least we knew he was back in the country.) And there were even some from Skinner, Kim, Doggett, and Reyes.

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 an 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 North Beach.) Looking back at me, I could see unshed tears in her eyes. "Frohike. . .this is. . .I can't put it into words."

"So, you like it?"

"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.

She stood by the edge of the sofa, continuing to prattle on. "I just know you're going to hate it. I should have gotten something else, but it seemed like such a good idea and. . ." I tuned her out as I unwrapped the box, and began to laugh.

"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 Washington Post?"

"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?" Her 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."

"I'll try to do better," I promised her.

"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!

+++++++++

CONTINUED IN NEXT ENTRY

Big Things story: Ain't No Sanity Clause Part 2/2

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:30:04 GMT

CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS ENTRY

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! Turkey and ham, dressing and homemade cranberry sauce, and more side dishes than you could shake a stick at. Everyone had brought their own specialty--Dana's was mashed sweet potatoes. I had watched her make them, and she had thrown in everything but the kitchen sink. Apparently, it was everyone's favorite dish, because it was the first to go.

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."

"Well, I hate my first name," I explain for about the thousandth time in my life.

"So did Fox but it didn't stop me from using it, if only to annoy him."

"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."

I did a quick glance down at my short, dumpy body (which looked even dumpier in the stupid suit I was wearing) and grumbled, "Hardly."

"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. . ."

She dropped her arms and placed her hands on her hips. "Mel! What on earth gave you the idea that I didn't like you?"

I shoved my hands in my pants pockets, and mumbled, "Just. . . just this feeling I've got, that's all."

"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?"

Her mother turned back to me and winked mischievously. "Fine, honey," I laughed. "Everything's fine."

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. . .

It was all I could do.

THE END

Big Things story: Out With the Old Part 1/2

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:26:30 GMT

Title: Out With the Old, In With the New. . .

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'There Ain't No Sanity Clause'

Rating: PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully mainly; LGM friendship; Byers/Reyes (kinda)

Summary: Grab some champagne, and toast the new year!

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

Author's Note: 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 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. (They were not, however, involved in the final little epilog segment. That one's my own--any mistakes are mine.)

OUT WITH THE OLD, IN WITH THE NEW. . .

Monday, December 31, 2001

9:05 P.M.

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?"

Byers stuck out his hand and greeted, "Of course. It's nice to have you, Mrs. Scully."

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.

Trying to regroup from the whirlwind that had just swept through past us, Scully cleared her throat and announced, "Mom, this is John Byers. The man who just kidnapped my son is Ringo Langly. The young man over there who's manning the bar is their newest partner, Jimmy Bond. And this is. . .?"

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.

But of course she ignored me--like she ever takes me seriously, right?-- and held her hand out to my wife. "So, THIS is the famous Dana Scully. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. And may I add your personnel photo doesn't do you justice."

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 Southern Florida," Frohike deadpanned, as he made his way to our group, and sat on the armrest next to his wife.

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:

11:42 P.M.

"For Pete's sake, Monica, stop making cow eyes at the guy and just DO it!"

We were closin' in on the midnight hour, and I was startin' to wonder if my partner was gonna live that long, 'cause I was just about ready to strangle her. "It wouldn't be nice if we didn't go," she had told me. "We'll just stay a few minutes," she had promised me. "Just long enough to toast the New Year," she had insisted.

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 Mo. I can't deny the chemistry's always been there, and she's a helluva gal. We even dated a couple of times many moons ago, but it just didn't feel right. So we both settled for friendship instead. Been friends now a long, LONG time--hell, she's probably the best friend I got. I'd do anything for her, and likewise, her for me. Sometimes, though, that means endurin' things no man should have to. . .

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.

CONTINUED IN NEXT ENTRY

Big Things story: Out With The Old Part 2/2

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:24:10 GMT

CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS ENTRY

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

Big Things story: Stuff Dreams Are Made Of (Byers/Reyes)

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:22:37 GMT

Title: The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Out With the Old, In With the New. . .'

Rating: PG for language

Pairing: Byers/Reyes

Summary: A (nervous) first date.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

Author's Note: 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.

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

Saturday, January 5, 2002

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?"

"Huh? Oh. . .yes. Thank you." I stepped into her foray, stiffly, as if I were walking to my execution.

"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."

Her response helped me to relax a bit. "You're welcome. I thought. . .I mean. . . nice place you have here," I commented, to keep the conversation alive (and the stutters at bay).

"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. . ."

"And if we make adjustments to those environments we can achieve a harmonious flow and balance in our lives," I finished for her. "I. . .I know what feng shui is."

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 don'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. . ."

"No, no--we can see 'Lord of the Rings'," I rushed to assuage her.

"But if you've already seen it. . ."

"It was a great film," I interrupted. "I. . .I was hoping to see it again."

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?"

"Well, it IS the 21st Century, John," she informed me. "A lot of women might be offended."

"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."

"That's very important," she mused. "Mind if I put on some music?"

Good. She didn't want to talk cars. I would've been in left field with this one. "No, please, go right ahead," I insisted. But instead of reaching over to the radio, she picked up the box of CD's on the floor near her seat.

"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?"

She held up a CD with a half-naked young girl on it. "Is there something you want to tell me, John?" she asked with a huge smirk.

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.

"Thank goodness," she chuckled. "I thought I was going to have to lower my high opinion of you."

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.

Shaking an obviously empty box, she quietly cursed again; in the light of the dashboard, I could see it said, 'Nicorette'. "I'm ah, I'm out of gum," she admitted, chagrined. "Is there a drug store on the way to the restaurant we can stop at?"

I was glad to see she was sticking by her New Year's resolution. I never smoked, so I could only imagine how hard it was to quit, and I admired her gumption in trying. "I think so. Does that stuff work?"

"Five days so far and I haven't shot anyone yet," she answered in all seriousness.

"Congratulations."

"Of course, I've gone through nearly a case of the gum instead," she continued, off-handedly. "Have you ever checked the price of this stuff? It's cheaper to buy the damn cigarettes. Guess that's what I get for being so orally fixated."

At that, I slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel suddenly, swerving the car towards the curb to the accompaniment of a chorus of angry horns.

"John, are you okay?" she demanded.

I was shaking so hard I could barely respond. "Yeah. . .ahh, a squirrel," I lied, as her words--and the images those words caused--echoed in my head. "It ran into the road."

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 an 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."

If I was expecting a condemnation, I was in for a disappointment; she simply deadpanned, "At least you remembered my brand."

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: Berkley, Brown, Penn State, William & Mary, and 'a couple others I don't remember'. When I asked her what she was trying to become, she had joked, 'a graduate'. Seems her father had finally put his foot down and told her whatever she was majoring in at that point in time would be it. "I was just lucky it was religious studies and not something heinous, like animal husbandry or something," she laughed.

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.

She wasn't deterred. "Fine. But I get the tip." I opened my mouth, but she just put up her hand to silence me. "John--*I* insist."

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. "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.

"Just trying to relieve some anxiety, that's all," she replied. "I find that at the end of the night, there's so much apprehension about the goodnight kiss. Should I? Shouldn't I? Will she get upset if I do? If I don't? Now that we've got it out of the way, we can finish the date in peace."

"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."

"Oooh, yeah--hurt me, baby," he cooed, playfully.

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?

"We don't. We haven't. I mean--we tried dating many years ago, shortly after his divorce. But it didn't work out. It was like dating my older brother. We're just friends. Honest."

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?"

"I know OF him," I corrected her. "He rose through the ranks pretty quickly. Something like that doesn't go unnoticed."

"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. . .?"

"Nah--the romance just soured. Then again, 'romance' isn't quite the word I'd use to describe what we had. It was more hormonal than anything else."

"And now we've definitely entered the realm of too much information, Monica," I notified her.

"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?"

She laughed. I had made her laugh. Could life get any better? "I don't think you have anything to worry about, John. Brad's a lot of things, but vengeful ex-lover isn't one of them. He's far too cool a customer for that. And besides I have your back."

"Thanks. That's encouraging," I returned, sarcastically.

We both concentrated on our dessert for a minute or two. When Monica next spoke it was to ask me, "What about you? Any dangerous women in your past I should be concerned about?"

I almost couldn't answer her--she had a small dollop of custard on her upper lip that she was casually licking away. It was so unintentionally erotic, and it only served as a painful reminder how long between dates it had been for me. "Only one," I was finally able to get out. "But it's a long story. . .and I'm not sure a first date is the right time to discuss it."

"John, I've been doing almost all the talking tonight. I'd like to hear about her."

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 Las Vegas casino in 1998. Only a handful of people know that while Susanne ceased to be that day, Holly Coleman was born.

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?"

"Actually, I like to think I had a momentary attack of sanity. The thought of being on the run for the rest of my life wasn't very appealing no matter how much I loved her. Besides, she's probably safer this way. It's easier for one person to disappear than two."

"But you still love her," she stated simply.

"Yeah. I think I always will," I acknowledged.

"And you haven't seen her since Vegas?"

"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.

"I'm sorry--I shouldn't have. . ." I mumbled, embarrassed at my outburst.

"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."

"Just a few more minutes, Jay? Please?" she all but pleaded.

"Mo--we locked up over a half-hour ago," he practically apologized. We both instantly looked around the café. . .he was right. We were the only two customers left in the place. "If you stick around much longer, I'm going to have to put you to work washing dishes or mopping floors."

"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 gave me one of her special smiles, the ones that make her eyes shine like diamonds. "I'd like that a lot. How do you feel about the symphony?"

"The symphony?" I repeated stupidly.

"Yeah--I have a contact. He can get me tickets to the Baltimore Symphony for next Saturday, if you want. It's Mostly Mozart night," she added, mischievously.

"That sounds wonderful," I eagerly agreed. "Um. . .who pays for what?"

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."

"Great." I shuffled nervously, not really wanting to leave, but not sure how to delay the inevitable. Finally, I managed to stammer, "Ah, since you already gave me a good night kiss back at the cinema, does that mean I have to wait until next Saturday to. . .?"

She laughed, even as she reached over, cupped my face in her surprisingly strong yet elegant hands, and kissed me again. This time it was more gentle, and I got to savor the sweetness of her mouth and the softness of her lips. As she pulled back, her long fingers swept through my beard. "Night, John," she whispered.

"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:

"7 o'clock, right on the dot," she greeted me at the door with a kiss on the cheek. She had dressed up for the evening in a little black cocktail dress and a pair of strapped black heels; a pearl choker and earrings completed the ensemble. She looked absolutely beautiful. "Just let me grab the tickets and we'll be ready to go. . ."

"Wait," I called out to her. "I have a gift for you."

She gave an exasperated sigh as she turned back to me and scolded, "John, you have to stop doing that. You don't need to bring me something every time we go out on a. . ." Her words were cut off as I handed her the box with the color ribbon attached. "Nicorette?" she gaped.

"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.

THE END

Big Things story: Times They Are A-Changin'

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:20:36 GMT

Title: The Times They Are A-Changin'

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of'

Rating: PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: Scully's world is changing. Perhaps it's time she change, too.

Author's Note: Okay, these 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'

Friday, January 11, 2002

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 5 o'clock shadow WHILE he was shaving. I brushed him off with a wave of my hand, "Excuses, excuses."

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."

Shit. The creep WOULD mention that. "Oh, well, um. . .he was unconscious when we found him and. . .he needed help and since I AM a doctor. . ."

"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?"

"Yeah--just Master William had a second tooth break through this morning, and he's been insufferable all day."

"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."

"Hope so. It took me nearly an hour to put him down. Finally gave him some brandy--put him right out."

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."

"Frohike, I will NOT have you giving my son any liquor!" I exploded. "Don't you know that even a tiny amount of alcohol can be toxic to a child? And there's always the possibility that if the gums are broken it could cause an infection. Not to mention the fact that repeated exposure to liquor can give him a taste for it! I think that nine months is a little young to be turning him into an alcoholic, don't you agree?"

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."

The emphasis on the phrase 'your son' stopped me in mid tirade. Had I really just said that? I exhaled slowly, calming myself, then said quietly but resolutely, "OUR son, Mel. OUR son."

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 want 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.

"How do you THINK I feel?" I retorted.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. You don't seem morally outraged like I'd expect you to be."

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."

"How so?" he asked, curiously.

<Did I dare say it? It was scary enough to think it, but to actually SAY it?> With no way to stop them, the words tumbled out. "The truth, Mel? I'm actually more relieved than anything else."

"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."

"Maybe because deep down you know it's time to move on," he postulated.

"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."

"Maybe he had the right idea."

"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?"

I pondered that for a moment while I took another bite of meatloaf. "Well, I could always teach. I did that at Quantico when I was first recruited and I had really liked it."

"And the hours are bound to be saner," he supplied. "No more 9:00 p.m. dinners."

"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. . ."

"Dana, the X-Files were Mulder's obsession, HIS quest. It was never yours. You MADE it your quest to please him. You've given so much of yourself over the years. . .maybe it's time to give TO yourself for a change."

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 Quantico and ask them to keep an eye out for any teaching positions--just in case things didn't work out with my new partner. "How did you get so smart, Frohike?" I marveled.

"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 midnight. As I passed through the parlor on my way to my bedroom, I noticed Mel curled up in one of the lounge chairs, fast asleep. Poor guy--William must've been quite a handful. Carefully, so as not to wake him, I powered down his Notebook, making sure to save anything he had been working on first. Closing the laptop, I put it on the table beside his chair. Next, I gingerly removed his glasses, placing them on top of his computer. Noting the slight chill in the air, I took the blanket from the foot of the couch, shook it out, and covered my sleeping friend. "Goodnight, June," I whispered, playfully, and kissed him on his cheek. His bristly cheek. My June REALLY needed a shave.

With a silent chuckle, I headed off for bed myself.

THE END

Big Things story: And Then There Was One

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:14:23 GMT

Title: And Then There Was One

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'The Times They Are A-Changin' '

Rating: PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully; Skinner/Scully friendship.

Summary: Skinner is being left behind.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we know the song by now.

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

Monday January 28, 2002

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?"

"Exactly what I said," I answered a tad harsher than I intended. This was NOT the way I wanted to start my week.

"Sir. It's a request for reassignment. . ."

"I know what it is!" I snapped out. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I wish to leave the Bureau and go back to Quantico, sir," she explained deliberately, not in the least intimidated by my outburst. "I wanted to tell you personally rather than having it delivered in the interoffice mail."

"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."

"He is. In fact, he was released from the hospital yesterday. Clean in and out through the shoulder. He's going to be in rehab for a while, but he'll be fine."

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."

"Yes, I have," she agreed. "But not as a mother."

"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."

I felt the hint of a smile tug at my lips at her subtle dig. "Indeed."

"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 Hoover. You wouldn't ever have to go out in the field. A good job--one with a lot of room for promotion."

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."

"I hate to leave, but I'm not going far," she insisted. "I'll only be down at Quantico teaching pathology. Maybe the occasional seminar on interrogation techniques."

"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.

Friday, February 1, 2002

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 Roswell bumper sticker, etc.) He was enjoying them all when he happened upon the mug Skinner had gotten me. "Oh, wow, these mugs are so cool," he told me. "Ever see one in action?"

"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. . ."

THE END

Big Things story: Be My Valentine

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:01:38 GMT

Title: Be My Valentine

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'And Then There Was One'

Rating: PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: Their first Valentine's Day. . .awwwwww!

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we all know the song by now.

Spoiler Alert: Fleeting moment from "One Breath". You fans will know what it is.

BE MY VALENTINE

Thursday, February 14, 2002

DANA:

I tore into the kitchen like a bat out of hell and grabbed my lunch bag out of the fridge, barely taking notice of Frohike attempting to feed William his morning cereal, before I ran out of the room again.

"Hey, Dana--aren't you joining us for breakfast?" Mel called out.

"Breakfast?" I sniped, as I popped my head back around the corner. "Mel--it's quarter-past eight! I'm late. I'm VERY late! Why didn't you wake me up!?"

"Well, you were sleeping so well, and I know you've been tired lately and. . ."

"And now I'm late," I cut him off. "Don't ever do that again." Just the THOUGHT of the morning commute was giving me a headache.

He dropped his gaze towards the bowl of cereal and stirred it distractedly as he muttered, forlornly, "Sorry--thought I was doing something good."

Oh, yeah. Serious headache coming on. How can he make me feel so guilty over nothing? Because it WAS over nothing. And I had seriously overreacted. Sue me. I'm not at my best before my first cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry, too, Mel," I apologized. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that. Look, I don't have time right now--we'll talk tonight, okay?"

I didn't even wait for an answer--precious seconds were ticking away. I snatched my coat off the rack in the hall, and just as I reached for my briefcase next to the telephone stand, I saw them: a card and a small heart-shaped box of chocolates sitting on top of my attaché. <Oh, God--no. It's Valentine's Day. SHIT! I didn't think he went in for sappy, commercially produced romantic claptrap like this.> "Frohike?" I asked, warily. "What is this?"

He came around the corner, the baby on his hip, pretending to investigate. "Don't know--but it looks like someone's sweet on you. Why don't you read it and find out?"

Oh, jeez, I did NOT have time for this, but since I had already been a royal bitch to him, I really had no choice. I opened the card--a silly little piece of fluff with teddy bears and hearts--and laughed when I saw whom it was from: William F. Scully. "Wow, he's got great penmanship for an infant," I commented.

"Must be one of those prodigies you hear about," he joked.

"Thank you. Both of you." I leaned over to give my son a kiss--or rather, I tried to. William still wasn't very adept at eating his cereal, and both he and Mel were literally covered in it.

Frohike pointed to a spot on the baby's cheek and quipped, "Here's a clean spot."

I gave Will a kiss, and Mel one, too, while I was at it. "See you boys tonight." I turned to leave, getting halfway out the door when Frohike said, "Dana?"

I turned back. "Mel--? I. . ."

"I know--you're late," he finished. "Here." He handed me another Mylar sack, similar to my lunch bag. "Danish and coffee."

If I hadn't been so late, I'd have hugged him, and never let go. "Frohike, I owe you."

"Yeah, I'll add it to my tab. Hey, Billy--wave bye-bye to mommy." With Mel holding his little arm, and helping him out, he did, giving me a big two-toothed grin at the same time.

It almost killed me to leave them like that.

+++++++++++++++

"Hey, Dana."

"Hi, Andie." The cheerful blonde was sitting in the teacher's lounge when I entered, working on her daily New York Times crossword puzzle. Andrea Sutton had been one my mentors when I first came to Quantico from med school, and she became almost like a sister to me. We somehow managed to lose touch over the years, but one of the joys of this new job was the chance to be able to renew my friendship with her.

"We missed you at this morning's bull session. Tomas brought in Krispy Kremes."

Damn. I LOVE Krispy Kremes. (Well, the diet-fairy would be happy I missed out.) "Yeah, I was late. Barely made it to class."

"Alarm didn't go off?"

"You could say that. Mel didn't wake me up--said I needed my sleep. Didn't even get a chance to eat breakfast and I'm STARVING!" All I had put in my system so far was the coffee Frohike had packed for me, which I drank on the way to work over two hours ago.

"Well, there may be some donuts hanging around, but all the good gooey ones are gone."

"That's okay. I just need a cup of coffee. Mel packed me a Danish."

She just looked at me and smiled. "That was sweet of him."

"Yeah, it was." I went over to the microwave to warm up my pastry while Andie poured us some coffee. "You wanna hear really sweet, though? He got me a little candy heart and a card from my son."

"Now THAT is just too cute," she giggled. "You're so lucky, Dana. This Mel sounds like a great guy."

I felt a big smile crossing my face. "I am. And he is."

The microwave 'pinged', and I grabbed my breakfast. "You know, if we take this down to my office, we can go over those lecture notes I was telling you about."

"Works for me," Andie answered, already leading the way, mugs in hand.

We had no sooner gotten to my office and made ourselves comfortable when there was a knock on the cracked-open door. A head poked into the gap--it was Dean, one of the security guards. "Dr. Scully? I hate to bother you, but these just arrived for you upstairs." And with that, he walked into my office, holding a glass vase containing a dozen long-stemmed red roses. I was too stunned to even say thank you as he turned and left.

Andie couldn't wait. She pulled off the card and handed it to me. "Who are they from?" she asked eagerly.

I held the little card between trembling fingers. Who would send me roses for Valentine's Day? Mulder? Hardly. He doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. Skinner? No. Maybe for Mother's Day, but not for Valentine's Day. And never roses. I slipped the card from its little envelope, and stared incredulously at the inscription:

"To the classiest dame in town, from the luckiest man of them all."

--Frohike

"Well? Who are they from?" Andie asked again, impatiently.

It took a moment for me to get my brain in gear and my mouth working. "My. . . my husband," I finally managed to get out.

"Oh, my goodness!" Andie declared, obviously impressed. "Dana, this one is a keeper!"

"But I. . .I didn't get him anything," I moaned in distress. "I mean, I didn't think he went in for all this romantic nonsense."

"He never sent you flowers before?" she queried.

I thought back to when I was dying in the hospital. . .well, ONE of the times I was dying in the hospital. Frohike had been the only person who had brought me flowers. "Yes, he has," I admitted, "but I never thought he'd. . .oh, hell, what am I going to do?"

"Look, it's very simple," Andie told me, calmly. "Just go down to Victoria Secrets and pick up a nice silk teddy."

"For my husband?" I yelped.

"No, silly--for you! Hubby just gets to unwrap the gift, if you get my meaning," she said with a quick meaningful elbow jab to my ribs.

I gasped for air--and all I could think of is that I must've looked like a fish. The thought that me and Frohike could. . . oh, God. "Ahhh--maybe not. I'll just pick up something on the way home for supper," I decided. "That way he won't have to cook tonight."

"COOK!?!? He COOKS for you, too?!?" she squealed, her voice going up a couple of octaves.

"Well, yeah. He and the baby get home before I do," I explained.

"He picks up the child at day care for you?" By now her voice was so shrill dogs could hear her a mile away.

"No--he, ah. . .he watches William during the day," I tried to clarify. "He's in business for himself and. . ."

She stared at me for a beat, clearly thinking I was out of my mind, before she stated, slowly and deliberately, "Let me get this straight. Your husband baby sits your child, cooks your meals, packs you breakfast because he lets you sleep late AND sends you a huge bouquet of roses for Valentine's Day? Oh, honey, forget the teddy. . ."

"Was planning to," I muttered.

"We're talking the whole Victoria Secret's line on this one--the bra, the panties, the stockings, the garters. Should I cancel all your classes for tomorrow? I have the feeling you might not make it in!" she chuckled as she gave me a knowing wink.

The thoughts running through my brain were shocking and exciting and thrilling and. . .oh, God! My bubble bath dream immediately sprung to mind as I imagined it coming true. Or maybe in the shower? Or on the wet tiled floor? Or maybe someplace normal, like a bed? My bed? Melvin Frohike in my bed?

Oh, yes. On my frilly, feminine bed. He'd take me and ravage me in an act of savage passion that would leave us both breathless and weak-kneed for a week.

No, wait. Not Mel. He talks a good game, but if push came to shove--he'd make love to me. Slow, gentle, tender love, unlike anything I'd ever felt before. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes, he'd worship every inch of me as if I were a goddess. He'd treat me like fine china, handling me with kid-gloves. Gloves. His gloves. Yes. He'd be wearing those little leather gloves. Definitely the gloves.

"Dana, are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"You zoned out on me. And you're so red, you look like you're going to pass out."

My hand flew up to my cheek to find it burning white-hot. "Ah, Andie. . .I'll be right back." Fleeing before she could ask me any further questions, I dashed out of the office and ran to the ladies' room. The sink was beckoning to me, and I answered its call. I turned on the cold water and splashed some into my face, trying to cool down, trying to control my hyper breathing. <Get a grip, Dana. It was just a dream, remember?>

But I didn't know if I wanted it to be just a dream any more.

What the hell was happening to me? When had I started thinking of Frohike like this? Having all these sexual thoughts about him? It didn't start with the dream, although that was probably the first time I ever acknowledge my changing feelings for him.

Okay, so he wasn't handsome. Since when did that ever mean anything to me? I had dated men in the past that didn't fit the conventional definition of 'handsome'. And there was something about Mel that was strangely alluring. Maybe the way he carried himself, or his air of mystery. Whatever it was, I had found myself more and more attracted to him in recent weeks.

And yes, he wasn't exactly the most cultured man around, but again, what does that matter in the long run? It's what's inside someone that's important--and deep down, Mel is one of the most beautiful people I've ever known. He may not be Oxford finished, but he was his own man, one who didn't compromise his beliefs for anyone.

Was it because he treated me like a queen, pampering me to within an inch of my life? Maybe I was getting close. All the little things he did for me, to make me happy, to make my life easier, to show how much he appreciated me--they really did go a long way.

But I think what changed my image of Mel was the way he interacted with me on a daily level. He treated me with kindness, devotion, and respect. The vows of 'love, honor, and cherish' that he took weren't just words to him. He made me feel special--not just by the things he bought me, but simply by the way he gave of himself, letting me know every day that I was the most important person in his life. I've known for years how much he lusted after me, but until the day he proposed to me, I didn't know how much he truly loved me.

Now I did. And trust me, nothing was sexier than that.

Somehow, someway, I made it through the rest of the day, but I'm still not sure how. I was in a fog most of the afternoon, which probably explains why no one was surprised when I left after my last class at 2:00--something I NEVER did. I drove to the mall in a daze, parked the car in a daze, and walked into Victoria Secrets in a daze. And all the time, the voices echoed in my head:

All these thoughts ran through my head as I browsed through the slinky merchandise. No matter what Andie said, it just didn't feel right. With a sigh, I circled around--finding myself facing the store across the way. A computer store. THAT'S IT!! Frohike would LOVE something for his computer. But even as I was sprinting across the hall, I realized it was a stupid idea--I mean, how romantic can you get, Dana? Computer stuff? But still, I gave it a try. . .and I did finally find something I was sure he'd like.

++++++++

I was sitting on the couch reading when Frohike walked through the door. He saw me lounging in a pair of gray leggings and a sky-blue angora turtleneck sweater--definitely not the clothes I had left for work in this morning--and asked, anxiously, "Dana? You're home already? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," I quickly assured him. "I just had a couple of errands to run, so I left after my last class."

"You shoulda just called me," he insisted. "I'd have done them for you."

"I know. But these were of a--personal nature," I responded vaguely.

"Oh. A PERSONAL nature," he repeated, skeptically. "Perhaps it's better that I don't know after all. It might demystify some of that 'feminine mystique' of yours."

I laughed, even as I got up and went over to where he stood. I took William's car carrier from him so he could remove his coat; a quick downward glance at my adorable child showed he was fast asleep. I placed the carrier on the coffee table and gave him a quick kiss on his cold little cheek, deciding I'd change him out of his snowsuit when he woke up. With William out of commission, I had the perfect chance to spring my surprise. While Mel's back was turned to me, I pulled a wrapped rectangular box from behind one of the sofa cushions. When he turned back to me, I held it out and exclaimed, "Happy Valentine's Day!"

He took the gift from me and stared at it for a moment. "Aw, Dana--you didn't have to do that," he told me, clearly uncomfortable.

"Well, I had to do SOMETHING to thank you for those beautiful flowers you sent me," I explained. "You really surprised me--I didn't think you believed in this sappy manufactured holiday."

"Normally I don't," he agreed. "But since it was our first one, I figured I should do something special."

"Oh, they were definitely special and very unexpected. Thank you."

"So you liked them?"

"Are you kidding me? I was the envy of every woman in my department. I better watch out or one of them might steal you away from me," I teased.

That got a hearty laugh. "Not in THIS lifetime," he promised me as he unwrapped the thin box and lifted the lid. He looked at what nestled inside, then looked up at me, his face showing his bafflement. Then he looked back at the gift before stammering, "Ah, Dana. . . it's . . .nice. Thank you." He again looked at me, his face still scrunched up in confusion. "What, um, what exactly is it?"

"It's a picture frame that you can attach to your computer monitor," I informed him, proudly.

"Oh. Okay. Thank you," he said again, a little more convincingly now that he knew what it was, but still obviously perplexed by the gift. After a pause, he asked, "Any chance I could have a nice picture of you and Billy to put in it?"

I found myself practically bouncing with uncontained enthusiasm. "Look under the tissue paper," I told him excitedly. He was going to LOVE this!

"What the. . .?" He pulled out the small cardboard rectangle--if he was stumped before, he was totally flummoxed now. "An appointment card? For what?"

"A family portrait sitting. For the three of us," I explained, broad grin on my face. "We don't have a shot of the whole family and mom's been bugging me for one. Plus we need one for the apartment, and I want one for my desk and. . ."

I watched in dismay as Frohike's eyes filled with tears and he whispered a husky, "Thank you, Dana."

"Mel, this wasn't supposed to make you cry," I told him, worried at how emotional he was getting.

"I'm not," he protested, even as he wiped the moisture from his cheek with the back of his hand. Looking back down at the frame and the appointment card, he shook his head in amazement and smiled. "How did you ever know?"

I shrugged my shoulders, trying to appear cavalier, but inwardly pleased that I had done such a good job. "Lucky guess. You like it?"

The smile got even bigger. "I love it."

"So. . .I can return this?" I pulled a skimpy little see-thru pink teddy, trimmed with fake ostrich feathers, from behind one of the other couch cushions.

His eyes almost bugged out of his head and he let out a nervous chuckle, "Yeah. It's not really my color." Shaking his head one more time, he murmured, "I don't know what to say."

"You'll be my Valentine?" I supplied helpfully.

"You have to ask?" He stepped forward, wrapped me in a loving embrace, and kissed me. And it was like the first time he kissed me, and like the kiss under the mistletoe, and that blinding kiss at the New Year's party--all fireworks and sky rockets and sonic booms and as I felt his tongue lick across my lips I began to reconsider my decision not to drag him off into my bedroom after all.

But whatever momentum we were building up came to a sudden halt when he gently pulled away from me. And I could see it in his eyes, how much he wanted me, how much he desired me. How much he wished he could make love to me. But that wasn't part of the contract. And Melvin Frohike was a man of his word. So he pulled away, continuing to honor our agreement, continuing to suffer his frustration nobly.

If he only knew he wasn't suffering alone.

"I. . .um. . .I better get dinner ready," he stammered, trying to hide his real feelings.

I swallowed hard, trying to gain some composure myself. "No need. I picked up some cheese steaks on the way home."

His eyes got as big as saucers and sparkled like a million stars. "You didn't?!"

"Hmmm-mmm--they're warming in the oven," I answered smugly. "And there's a six-pack of Bud Lite in the fridge."

"You are an angel! I love you, Dana." And with that, he scampered off to the kitchen.

"I love you, too, Frohike," I whispered to myself when he was out of earshot. Maybe someday I'd be able to say it to his face. I folded up the little negligee and placed it back in its bag, fully intending on returning it in the morning. And then I thought differently of it.

While Mel was busy getting dinner on the table, I slipped into my bedroom, and hid the nightie in the back of my dresser drawer. Who knows--it may come in handy someday.

THE END

Big Things story: They Say It's Your Birthday

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 18:00:05 GMT

Title: They Say It's Your Birthday. . .

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows ''Be My Valentine'

Rating: PG for mild language, and general schmoop.

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: It's a special day for Dana Scully, and Frohike has a special gift for her.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we all know the song by now.

Spoilers: Reference to a line from "E.B.E."; and some stuff stolen from "Tango de los Pistoleros".

Author's Note: I was not trying to make light of current world events in regards to the story the Gunmen are working on. . .well, except for the figure skating. You'll see. I am NOT implying anything--please don't sue me.

Special Thanks: To my trusty beta, Kylara. Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to help me out. I know you didn't have much warning on this one, and I really appreciate it!

THEY SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY. . .

Saturday, February 23, 2002

FROHIKE:

"Looosie, I'm home," I announced as I walked through the front door. I didn't need to see her to know she was rolling her eyes at the bad Ricky Ricardo imitation.

"Did you wrap up what you had to at the Warehouse?" she called out as I was removing my coat and scarf.

I walked into the living room where she was busy at the computer, apparently surfin' the net. "Yup. Another issue in the bag."

She looked me up and down, and did her famous eyebrow quirk. "Ummm. . . didn't you forget something, Mel?"

"Hmmm? Oh yeah." I snapped my fingers as I went back into the foyer and scooped up the bag I had left on the sideboard. "Picked up the milk you asked for."

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of William?" she explained, patiently.

Slapping myself in the forehead, I groaned pitifully, "OH! Billy! Dammit, I KNEW I forgot something."

"Frohike. . ." The patient tone was gone, replaced with that 'don't screw with me, flyboy' attitude that women always seem to be floating my way.

"Relax, I left him with the guys. He and Langly were having such a good time that Ringo asked if he could sleep over. I didn't see a problem with that."

That got a slight chuckle from her. "You know, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes at the New Year's party, I never would've been able to picture Langly together with a baby. They sure seem fond of each other."

"You're not kidding," I agreed. "Langly's so crazy about William, he's pissed with me that HE didn't think of the idea of marrying you first."

"But a sleepover?" she pondered, dubiously. "I'm not so sure about that. I mean, what about his things. . .?"

"Not to worry," I cut her off. "We've got more of his junk over there than here--diapers, food, clothes, toys. Plus it's not like the guys are totally incompetent. They've had a lot of experience with Billy. And it's only one night--he'll be fine."

She clicked her mouse and logged off her system. "Well, I wish you had asked first, " she chided, gently.

"I know, and I'm sorry. Guess I just thought it'd be nice if we could spend some time alone for your birthday."

That got her attention; her bright blue eyes grew large as she repeated, "My birthday. . .?"

"Bet you thought I forgot, huh?" I smirked.

"Actually, I didn't know you knew," she replied, clearly startled.

"You'd be surprised what I know about you, my dear," I leered.

"No--I wouldn't be surprised in the least. That's the scary part." She shut down the computer and, crossing her arms over her chest, turned to me. "So, while I know I'm probably going to regret asking this--what are your plans tonight?"

"Uh-uh. . .don't want to spoil it for you. Let's just start with you getting dressed up and make yourself all pretty--not that you have much to do there." I had to hold back a laugh as her cheeks blushed so sweetly. "Then meet me at the front door in 30 minutes."

"Any clue where we're going?" she asked as she stood up and started for her bedroom.

"Nope. None at all. But I think you'll like it. Now, get going--time's a-wasting."

* * * * * * * *

She was right on time, but then again, she's always so meticulous. I was pleased to see she had chosen a midnight blue taffeta evening dress that really brought out the color of her eyes. It was knee-length--to show off her sexy legs--and backless, with tiny spaghetti straps--to show off her creamy white skin. She had pulled her hair up into a French-twist, leaving little whispy curls that spiraled around her ears. For jewelry, all she bothered with were a simple pair of gold hoop earrings and her ever-present claddaugh necklace.

In a word, she was breathtaking. I felt positively troll-like in my standard funeral suit, although I did add a couple of dapper touches, with one of those red cross-switch ties instead of a typical necktie, and a thin black silk ribbon bow around my ponytail instead of the usual elastics, going for that whole romantic/ foppish/Renaissance Man look. (Hey, it worked for Mel Gibson in 'The Patriot', right?)

As she approached, I clasped my hands to my chest and pronounced, "Be still my heart, Dana. You look. . ."

"Hot?" she finished.

"Tasty," I corrected her.

She brought her hand up to those forbidden bright-red lips and tittered, "You're sick, Frohike."

As I helped her on with her calf-length black cashmere coat, I joked, "I try my best."

"And you succeed on a grand scale."

I gave her a playful little tap on her backside and commanded, "Get going, party girl," as I locked up behind us.

"Your car or mine?" she teased as we made our way out to the street, already knowing the answer. There was no way on God's green earth I'd step foot in her Volvo. "No self-respecting child of the 60's would be caught dead in a Volvo," I once told her. A while back she had mentioned that she might trade it in for a mini-van. . .I didn't talk to her for three days.

I take my cars VERY seriously!

I just glared her as I led her to my classic cherry red 1965 Pontiac GTO. "Get in, you brat." She had to move the open package of Saltines and the almost empty boxes of animal crackers that were scattered on the passenger seat before sitting down. She just looked up and gave me a knowing smile as I closed the door.

Okay, so now my secret was out. She knew how much I loved Billy--enough to let him eat his snacks in my precious auto, even though he tended to leave sticky spit-covered crumbs all over the place. You know, I had seen it happen to many good friends over the years, never dreaming it could ever happen to me. But it did.

I had become domesticated.

It didn't happen overnight, and I'd be the first to say I still have a long way to go, but anyone who knew me would say I had come a long way already. I've really cleaned up my act these last few months. I'd cut down on my drinking and my cussing, wanting to set a good example to young Billy. And I had shaped up somewhat in regards to my appearance. I'm not saying that I'd ever be mistaken for Robert Redford, and I still had my own 'style' ("somewhere between leather daddy and skid-row bum", as Langly would say) but I was more concerned with shaving and making sure my hair looked half-way decent, and other such whatnots. Hey, I finally had someone to look good for, a goddess who was my whole reason for being. The least I could do was look presentable for her. I didn't have much to work with, but I did the best I could.

Done with my musings, I wandered over to the driver's side and got in. Slipping the key in the ignition, I tripped the starter, and the car was instantly flooded with the sounds of Ernie singing, "Rubber Duckie". Dana burst into gales of laughter as I frantically fumbled for the eject button and flung the offending tape into the back seat.

"Real romantic there, Mel," she snorted in between guffaws.

Oh, yeah, I was just putty in Billy's hands. Could be worse, I suppose--Dana was stuck with Raffi tapes in her car.

Once Dana was under control, and we were under way, things went more smoothly. An easy silence surrounded us, the only sounds coming from the Sinatra Saturday show playing on the radio. (MUCH easier on the ears than Sesame Street.) I knew Dana was extremely curious about where we were going, but she bit her tongue--well, for a while at least. Finally her curiosity got the best of her and she blurted out, "Frohike, if you made me get all dressed up to go grab a couple of chili dogs and some strings of bowling, I'll have to kill you. You do know that, right?"

"I could never do that, hon," I assured her with a wink. "It's league night." At her annoyed huff, I quickly added, "Don't worry. . .you'll like it. I promise."

My answer did little to satisfy her. I could feel the tension radiating from her as she stewed in the passenger seat. If there's one thing Dana hates, it's a mystery. I think if she could have, she would've put a gun to my head and demanded the information. Luckily, it didn't come to that as I pulled up in front of our destination. "Frohike. . .what are you doing?" she asked, clearly bewildered.

"Taking you for dinner," I answered. "Isn't that obvious?"

She practically squeaked, "This is Antonelli's Ristorante!"

"Yeah, I know."

"It's one of the most exclusive restaurants in DC--not to mention one of the most expensive," she expanded.

"Sure beats the bowling alley and a chili dog, huh?" I joked.

"Mel, you can't afford this," she insisted.

I turned to look at her in the faint light of the car panel and asserted, "Dana. It's your birthday. I want to do something nice for you." Then I added, "Besides, they're supposed to have great shrimp scampi."

"But. . ." she tried to argue.

"But. . .if you don't get your behind in gear, we're going to forfeit our reservation," I interrupted her, as the valet was approaching the car. "And it took me three weeks to get it!"

* * * * * * * * *

Once I had checked our coats, the maître d' ushered us to a secluded table towards the back of the restaurant. The whole place was dimly lit inside, as most of the light came from candles and a roaring fireplace. It created a very romantic atmosphere, something that was further enhanced by the small live combo playing soft dinner jazz unobtrusively on a stage near the dance floor. I felt as out of place as Jimmy at a MENSA meeting.

I noticed almost everyone watched us as we made our way to our table. It was easy to sense their jealousy since I was escorting the most beautiful woman in the joint, and I could almost hear their thoughts: 'What in the world is SHE doing with HIM?' Couldn't blame them really--I found myself thinking the same thing sometimes.

Hell, many of them probably thought Dana was my daughter. I can't even count the number of times we've heard people refer to Billy as my 'adorable grandson'. The first couple of times were kinda funny, and we had a good laugh about it when we got home. Then the next few times we tried to correct the mistaken well-wishers, which just lead to embarrassment all the way around and made things worse for everyone. Now we just grit out teeth, thank them, and clear out as quickly as possible.

But then I guess it beats the other obvious assumption--that Dana was rented arm candy, if you catch my drift.

Either way, I was determined not to let it ruin this special night. I placed my hand at the base of Dana's back (subtly letting the spectators know she was at the very least my date) and helped steer her to our destination.

If Dana felt any of the anxiety within me, she didn't reveal it. I think she was too busy taking in her surroundings (once an investigator, always an investigator) and probably counting off in her head how much this was going to end up costing me. She gave me a grateful little smile as I pulled her chair out for her, and quietly thanked the maître d' when he left us alone with our menus.

Before I could even open it, though, the wine steward advanced on us. I listened to his shtick, as he rattled off vintage wines that would cost more than a year at Harvard for Billy, then I ordered a bottle of Merlot I had read about on the 'net which had gotten pretty good reviews. The cultured punk-ass gave us a snotty, "Excellent choice, sir," (read: "You cheap bastard!") then stalked off to fill my request. I caught Dana watching the scene in amusement before going back to looking over her dinner choices; I picked up my own menu to do the same.

One look at it told me that my S.O. might have been right this time. Man, the prices were so bad they weren't even listed! Never a good sign. (If you have to ask the price, you can't afford it.) But it was for Dana, and it was a special night, and the sky was the limit.

We studied the entrees for a few minutes until Dana finally settled on the Chicken Piccata with bow-tie pasta. I had to give her credit--she didn't go with something cheap, like a salad, which would have made me look bad in front of the waiter (yup, he IS a cheap bastard!), nor did she go for the filet mignon or lobster, which would have put me in the poor-house.

Dana Scully was all class.

By the time our waiter arrived, we were ready: chicken for Dana, shrimp scampi for me. (Hey, if I was going to go broke on this meal, I was getting a taste of that famous scampi!) When I placed the order in Italian, I saw the admiration on my wife's face and couldn't help but laugh, "Don't be so impressed--I coulda just ordered Chef Boyardee Beef-a-Roni for all I know." The waiter thanked us for our order, and headed off to get our appetizers. (Clams Casino. . .I figured what the hell? I'd probably be filing for bankruptcy after tonight anyway.)

While we wouldn't know for a bit if I had messed up the dinner order, at least I got the wine right. I'm no expert, but from the small sample the steward poured me to taste, I knew I had picked a winner--dark, rich, and strong, like a good wine should be. He poured us each a glass, and left the bottle with us. Dana took a lady-like sip from her glass and smiled, a look of surprised pleasure on her pretty face.

Chalk one up for the Fro-miester.

"So, what story were you so busy working on today?" she asked, taking another sip of wine.

"Front page exclusive," I confided. "We have evidence that the collapse of Enron was because it had been channeling funds to the Al-Quida network in exchange for false stock tips, subsequently resulting in the current world-wide recession."

She just blinked those big blue eyes once, then twice, before commenting, "That sounds a little far-fetched, Frohike, even for you guys."

"Hey, don't be so sure. Remember a little scandal in the 80's called Contra-gate?"

"I'm surprised you weren't able to work the Olympic figure skating scandal into it," she chuckled.

"What do you think Byers is working on right now?" I quipped.

She studied me for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether I was joking or not. When she concluded (correctly) that I wasn't, she simply sighed, "You know, Mulder was right about you guys--your ideas ARE downright spooky."

"Coming from him, I'll take that as a compliment," I shot back.

"Well, just make sure you grab an extra issue for me--I might actually read it for a change." I discreetly stuck out my tongue at her, which caused her to giggle--just as discreetly. She covered it up by taking another small drink of her wine and gazing longingly the couples on the dance floor. When she turned again to me, I knew the question before she even asked it: "Do you want to dance, Mel?"

I had discovered New Year's Eve how much my wife loves to dance, but I also knew she probably never had much chance to in her life. At least not much in recent years anyway. "After dinner," I promised her. "Our appetizers should be out any minute now, and besides, we already have our drinks." At her blank look, I elaborated, "You shouldn't leave your glass unattended--you never know what could be slipped into it when you're not looking."

She nodded solemnly. "You know, you're right. It's been a while since I've had to be on 'full-systems alert'. Guess I'm out of practice in regards to my survival instincts."

"Just second nature to me to constantly be on my toes." I saw the smirk cross her full lips so I snipped, "And no, that wasn't an opening for any short jokes."

The smile I got that time was broad, full of blinding white teeth. She took another sip of her wine and replaced the glass on the table; playing with the delicate crystal stem she replied more seriously, "It's so easy sometimes to forget the way things used to be--always looking over my shoulder, always feeling like I was in danger. These last few months have been the calmest, most stable I can remember in a long time." She reached out and took my hand in hers. "You make me feel safe, Mel. And I have to admit--it's a good feeling."

I felt my heart swell with pride and joy. Bringing her hand up to my lips, I tenderly kissed it, saying, "Anything for you and William."

Her hand gently caressed my cheek and I found myself melting into her touch. She opened her mouth to say something, but just then our waiter arrived with our clams, effectively cutting off whatever she was about to tell me.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We were each working on our second glass of wine when our dinners arrived. I had to smile as Dana took a bite of her pasta and gave a tiny ecstatic moan. "Good?" I asked, unnecessarily.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Mmmm. Wait 'til you try it."

Well, I didn't need to be told twice. I dug into my own meal, and whole-heartedly agreed with her assessment. This dinner might eventually cost more than my first car, but the food had more than lived up to the hype.

It was so good, in fact, that I had a hard time remembering where we had left off in our conversation. Seeing Dana wasn't jumping in to pick up the thread, I started a new one in between bites. "So, is the job getting any better?" I knew she was having a hard time adjusting, but she didn't talk about it much. I had the feeling she didn't want to burden me with her troubles. If only she would understand that she could NEVER be a burden to me.

She swallowed her biteful of chicken before answering, "Somewhat. I miss the excitement of being out in the field more than I thought I would."

"My wife--the adrenaline junkie," I teased.

"Well, I don't miss getting shot at," she corrected. "And there are certainly cases I would just as soon forget."

"Like the flukeman?" I supplied.

"Definitely the flukeman," she agreed. "Oh, and I can also live without some of those fleabag motels Mulder always used to find. . .not to mention all the greasy-spoons we'd end up eating in." She pointed to her plate, "Now THIS is real food!"

"Well, just don't get used to it," I told her. "I love ya, baby, but we'll probably be eating ketchup sandwiches for a month after tonight."

Popping a bow tie into her mouth, she gave me a big smile and said, "It'll be worth it." After a moment, she put her fork down, and sighed, "You know, I think I miss the hands-on work the most. There is so much I learned out there. I got to see and experience things that I could have never dreamed of."

She paused to take a drink of her wine before continuing, "The saneness of what I'm doing now is a nice change of pace, but I wish I had more students who were actually interested in pathology and forensics and not just curious about my work on the X-Files."

"Well, that's only natural," I noted. "The nature of your past assignment makes it interesting and unique and open to questions."

"I know," she conceded. "I guess I had hoped the novelty of it all would have worn out by now, but they just seem to be even nosier than ever. And if one more person calls Mulder 'Spooky'. . ." She stabbed viciously at some pasta on her plate, the gesture not lost on me.

"You should be flattered, actually," I commented.

That gave her pause, and she looked up at me. "How so?"

"You two are legendary at the Bureau," I said, stating common knowledge.

She cast her eyes back downwards and shook her head modestly. "Mulder, maybe. But not me."

"Don't sell yourself short, Dana," making my point by shaking my fork at her. "You were an exceptional agent. And you're a fantastic mom. And you're going to be a helluva teacher."

The right side of her mouth quirked in a half-smirk, "Aren't you just a bit prejudiced?"

"Maybe," I acquiesced, "but you know what they say: some people are born great, others have greatness thrust upon them." I paused before adding, softly, "You were definitely destined to be great."

Her gentle blue eyes alighted on me, and I felt my heart flip at the flush that hit her cheeks. If she only knew how beautiful she is when she blushes like that. To hide her embarrassment, she picked up her glass and took a sip of her wine. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she asked me, "Do you really believe in destiny, Frohike? That if I had never been teamed up with Mulder, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you? Or do you think we were fated--preordained, even--to meet one day?"

You know, that had never occurred to me--the utter randomness of our lives. I mean, everything that I had become could be traced to that one odd day back in 1989 when Susanne Modeski had walked into that convention center. Because of her, I met Byers. . .and because of them both we had first encountered Special Agent Fox Mulder. And through Mulder, I had met, and fallen in love with one Agent Scully.

Whew! Now THAT's a head trip for you!

"What *I* think is that you have had enough wine for tonight," I kidded, not used to this philosophical side of my friend. "But I have to say that if it was the work of higher powers, I'd like to thank the Big Man upstairs." (And a shout out to Ms. Modeski, while I was at it. Or Holly Coleman. Or whatever her name was now.)

At that, she gave me a smile that lit up her whole face and shined in her eyes. "Yeah, me, too," she whispered, and went back to her dinner.

* * * * * * * * * * *

When the time came, she refused dessert, but I ordered a slice of 'Mocha Mania' cake for myself. She kept looking around the restaurant suspiciously, until she started giving me the creeps. Finally I asked her, "Dana, are you okay?" But she didn't answer me; she just continued to sweep those alert baby blues of hers across the room.

She didn't calm down until the cake was brought to the table and placed in front of me with zero fanfare, along with a small carafe of coffee. Only then did she inform me, "Sorry, I was afraid you were going to have the wait staff come out with a cupcake singing 'Happy Birthday'," she admitted, sheepishly.

"More like, For She's a Jolly Good Fella'," I informed her. "There's still a copyright on 'Happy Birthday'. But I'm sure if I slip 'em an extra fiver they'll be willing to. . ."

"Don't you dare!" she stated emphatically. "Not unless you want to be sleeping in your car tonight."

I grinned. "That's what I thought. So how about this instead?" I pulled a single candle out of my coat pocket, stuck it in the cake, and lit it. Pushing the cake closer to her, I said, "Make a wish." She thought hard about it for a few seconds, then puckered up and blew out the candle. "So, what did you wish for?" I pressed.

Shaking her head, she smirked, "Oh, no--if I tell you, it won't come true."

"Fine. Be that way," I baited playfully. I really wanted to know, but if it would lessen the chances of it coming true, I could wait. Brandishing the dessert fork, I handed it to her and declared, "Birthday girl gets the first taste." Didn't even get an argument from her. I took my coffee spoon and joined her; soon we had devoured the heavenly pastry.

As Dana was licking the last of the frosting from her fork, I announced, "Okay, so we've had the birthday dinner, the birthday cake, and the birthday wish. . . now all we need is a birthday gift." I reached into the other coat pocket, pulled out a little black velvet box, and slid it across the table to her.

"Frohike. . ." she sighed dramatically, even as she reached for it. "You shouldn't have." She carefully flipped open the cover to reveal the diamond ring sitting inside. It was something that had always been in the back of my mind since we had gotten hitched (diamonds ARE a girl's best friend, after all), and I've looked everywhere for the perfect one. When I saw this one in a jeweler's window a couple of weeks earlier, I knew my search was over--all I had to do was wait for the perfect moment to give it to her.

The setting was simple: a half-caret round diamond flanked by two smaller ones. Nothing gaudy--just stunning and different and elegant. Just like my Dana. She stared at it, open-mouthed for a full minute. "Frohike. . .?" she said again quietly, her voice catching on my name.

I quickly explained, "Well, we weren't engaged long enough to get you a ring before we got married, so…"

"I. . .I can't accept this," she declared definitively, closing the cover and pushing it back to me. "It's too much money."

"But Dana. . ." I began before she cut me off.

"Look, Mel--I don't know what bank you robbed to afford tonight, and quite frankly, I don't WANT to know. But whatever you did. . ."

I stopped her in mid-rant. "Honey, it's okay. I just decided to take your advice."

"About what?" she inquired, curiously.

Taking a deep breath, I revealed, "I. . .I sold one of my patents."

She gasped. "Oh my God! The diaper disk?"

"No, not that one. An experimental car-tracking device I developed a while back. I called it the Fro-jack."

"Do I want to know WHY you needed a car-tracking device?" she snidely asked.

"Probably not. But I made a little bit of money off of it. Enough for tonight, and some spare change in the bank."

"How much spare change, Frohike?" she inquired.

"If I tell you, I'm afraid you'll only love me for my bank account." I took a sip of coffee and whispered, "$5000."

She almost choked on her own sip of coffee. "Five thou. . ."

"Not so loud," I scolded, with a smile. "They'll want a bigger tip."

"Oh my God!" she squealed, delightedly. "Frohike, that's wonderful!"

"He, uh, the guy I sold it to, was quite happy with it. Wants to look over some of my other stuff, too. There's no guarantee, but maybe I can bring some extra money into the household."

She sat stunned for a moment before stammering, "I. . .Mel. . .I don't know what to say."

Voicing my biggest anxiety, I queried, "Are you proud of me?"

She was absolutely glowing. "Very proud."

"Then you'll keep the ring?" I asked, hopefully.

She looked down at the little box on the table and, nodding her head in the affirmative, gingerly reached out for it. "I would be privileged." She took the ring out of its box and handed it to me. "Will you do the honors?" she asked, shyly.

My hands were shaking as I carefully slipped it on her finger; I brought her dainty hand up to my lips and gently kissed it, whispering, "Happy birthday, Dana."

"It certainly is," she beamed, unshed tears sparkling in her spell-binding eyes as she stared at the ring on her finger. "It's so beautiful, Mel. . .just like something I would have chosen. I don't know how to thank you."

"You already have, my dear," I told her. "The day you said, 'I Do'."

She shot me 'The Look', and muttered, "Frohike--that was the most disgustingly sappy thing I think you've ever said."

"Sober, yeah," I agreed.

With a tolerant shake of her head, she remarked, "This is without doubt the best birthday I have ever had. Of course now I'll have to try to outdo it for yours. When is it anyway?"

I tried to brush her off, "Doesn't matter."

"Of course it is," she insisted. "Please tell me."

Knowing she'd keep at it until she got the information she wanted I reluctantly answered, "November 9th."

"MEL! Why didn't you tell me?" she admonished.

I just shrugged my shoulders. "It's not important. Really. Don't even acknowledge it anymore."

"But. . .now I feel bad," she pouted. "You went through all this and I didn't do anything for you."

<Oh, if she only knew. Well, maybe it was time to enlighten her.> "Do you remember the night 'The Godfather' was on TV, and I asked you to watch it with me? You said you were busy, but you ended up making us a batch of microwave popcorn and joined me anyway?"

She gave me an puzzled look. "You mean, that was. . .?"

"Uh-huh. Now tell me. . .how could my birthday get better than that?"

"Like this." And with that, she stood up, leaned over the table, and kissed me tenderly. When we parted, she took my hand, pulling me up as well. "C'mon, 'El Lobo'--you promised me a dance."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Needless to say, one dance turned into a dozen. Oh man, you should have seen the envious looks I got for every guy in the place. Well, eat yer hearts out, boys--she was all mine. In between spins around the dance floor, we sat and talked over a couple more cups of coffee and shared another slice of 'Mocha Mania' cake. We both seemed to be relishing our time alone together--it was the first time we had been out just by ourselves since getting married. Our first date, if you will. And it didn't seem like either of us wanted it to end.

The night was wonderful, but it flew by far too fast. Before I knew it, we were back home, and I was helping her off with her coat. She turned to me in the vestibule and smiled shyly. "Thank you, Mel. This was one of the best nights of my life." The next thing I knew she was in my arms, and I was kissing her.

We've never talked about the kiss at New Year's. And likewise, the one on Valentine's Day. Both times, I felt less resistance from her, more enthusiasm. In fact, she had almost seemed surprised when I pulled away from her the last time, almost as if she expected, WANTED, it to continue. I had been sure it was just my fevered imagination. . .

Until now.

This kiss was explosive. That's the only word I have for it. Dana's lips were unlike any I have ever kissed. Hot and sweet and so soft as to be unreal--the passion behind them was pure and dynamic, yet almost tentative, almost as if she was afraid of unleashing her full potential. Not even Mykita at her most volcanic could compare.

Dana's kisses teleported me to a place even Paradise would envy.

I felt her hands wrap around my neck, her fingers entangling themselves in my ponytail, as mine slid over her slim waist and down her shapely hips. I wanted to pull away, determined to honor our agreement, but my lovely Dana was making my resolve dissolve, and when her tongue slipped between my lips, I was lost forever.

Not content to let her have the upper hand, I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her in closer; she pressed her body to me, molding herself to me, moaning softly into my mouth. I felt myself harden as years of waiting and dreaming seemed on the verge of coming to an end. Somewhere in the back of my mind I worried that she was doing this out of gratitude because she was thankful for the ring and for the nice birthday dinner. It didn't mean to her what it meant to me--it never could. But experiencing the fire that burned beneath the cool exterior of Dana Scully soon put those anxieties to rest. If she was faking this, give the girl an Oscar.

We were still locked in our impassioned embrace when the phone started to ring. I thanked the Powers Above when she decided to let the machine pick it up, but when we heard the panicked voice on the other end, the kiss, and the spell, were instantly broken:

"Scully? Frohike? It's Langly. Pick up. Oh, God. . .it's William. . ."

That's as far as he got when Dana practically hurdled the sofa to reach the phone. "Langly? It's me," she proclaimed breathlessly, due to a combination of our kiss and her athletics. "What's going on? What's wrong with William?"

I was pacing around as Dana listened to Ringo, frustrated that I couldn't hear his end of the conversation and having no idea what the hell was happening. Suddenly I saw my wife's stiff shoulders slump a bit, the tension draining from her. "What's his temperature, Langly?" A beat, then, "Well, take it." Another beat. "There should be a rectal thermometer somewhere in his stuff." Another pause. "Yes, I said rectal." One more pause before she huffed, "Put Byers on the line."

She went through the same spiel with John, then there was a long silence from her side, so I figured Abbott and Costello were following her directions. I knew the moment they were back on the line because Dana's brow furled and she mumbled, "100.8? Well, that's not good, but it's not bad, either. He may have just eaten something that didn't agree with him, or maybe he picked up a small bug. Give him some watered down juice--apple or grape, if you have it. . ." She paused, obviously listening to a question they were asking, then continued, "No, it won't really stop the diarrhea, but he needs plenty of fluids to prevent dehydration."

Again she was silent, and I couldn't help but feel some pride at how seriously my boys were taking the whole situation, to ask so many questions of Dana. Finally she responded, "Well, Pedialyte is better, but I doubt you have any lying around the Warehouse. Don't worry--we have some here." Another moment of silence before she shook her head (even though they couldn't see that) and answered, "No, don't give him any baby Tylenol. His fever's not that high. Just make sure he has plenty to drink. . . I'm on my way." She finally looked up at me, and this time *I* was the one doing the head shaking. Placing her hand over the phone she asked, "What's wrong?"

"You stay here--I'll go get him," I told her. "You should be by the phone in case they need more help or if things get more serious."

"You sure?"

I was already grabbing my coat. "No problem. Tell them I'm coming." She did, then hung up.

"Mel? I'm sorry about this," she apologized. "What a way to end the evening."

Shooting her a rueful grin, I joked, "Hey, it was nice while it lasted."

"Yes, it certainly was," she replied, wistfully. "Please drive carefully."

I gave her one last quick kiss on the cheek and said, "Don't worry--I'll be home soon." And I dashed out the door.

DANA:

As I sat back down on the couch to begin the waiting game, I gazed down at my beautiful new ring, and couldn't help but curse my luck. <Dammit. . .my birthday wish almost came true that time.>

THE END

Big Things story: Home Sweet Home

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 17:57:50 GMT

Title: Home Sweet Home

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'They Say It's Your Birthday'

Rating: PG, if that.

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: Home is where the heart is--but maybe home should be someplace else.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we all know the song by now.

Author's Note: Um, I guess since it's been a while, maybe an update is in order. This is an AU series where Scully is married to Frohike. Stop making that face--it'll freeze that way. It's a 'companionable' marriage. . .but there's no guarantee it'll stay that way. Mulder is nowhere to be found. . .but there's no guarantee THAT'LL stay that way, either. After being removed from The X-Files, Scully has taken a job teaching at Quantico; Frohike continues to work with The Lone Gunmen, and plays 'Mr. Mom' to William.

Also, while I've stolen--ahhhh BORROWED--elements from the 9th season, I've pretty much abandoned canon at this point. There are no super soldiers, Scully is not an uber-bitch, she still trusts both Skinner and Doggett, she and Mulder did NOT do 'the wild thing' (no matter WHAT CC and the shippers say), and William is NOT a psycho baby. CC may be a considered a genius, but he's really out to lunch this year.

Now that we're on the same page, on with the show.

Home Sweet Home

Tuesday March 5, 2002

"I can't believe they called you to come get me."

My husband leaned into the gurney and carefully brushed the hair away from my forehead. "Huh--I don't suppose it has anything to do with this bump on your head?"

"Small bump," I grumbled. God, I hated hospitals. So glad I went to Quantico. . . I couldn't imagine having to spend every day of my life in one of these places. I seemed to end up in them enough without trying.

"It's still a bump, and they didn't want you driving. Not that you have a car to drive," he added, not unkindly.

"Where IS my car anyway?" I asked, curiously. The last I saw it had been pulled off the side of the road and was being hooked up to a tow truck. Then the ambulance doors closed.

Mel stepped over to a chair in the corner and picked up my discarded jacket. Holding it out to me, he said, "It was brought to a nearby gas station. I got the name from AAA. We'll check on it when we get home."

I hopped off the stretcher, disconcerted to discover my legs were more than a bit wobbly. I tried to lie to myself and say it was just due to lack of use--I HAD been sitting here for nearly two hours, after all. As Mel helped me on with my coat, I noticed something--or rather, someONE was missing. "Frohike, where's William?"

"Safe," he quickly assured me. "I dropped him off before I made the trek out here."

"That was probably a good move."

"Yeah, sometimes I'm on the ball. Ready to go?"

I grabbed up my purse, and made a face as I looked around the tiny curtained-off ER stall. "More that ready."

Placing a guiding hand around my waist, he chuckled, "Then let's roll."

* * * * * * * * * *

We had been on the road for a while when I finally asked, "Mel, where are we going?"

"I told you. To pick up William."

"But this isn't the way to mom's house," I pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. I couldn't reach her."

"Or the Warehouse."

He shrugged, "Well, the guys are out of town on a story."

"Then where are we going?"

"You'll see," he answered, cryptically.

So, I sat back and just enjoyed the ride, letting the fresh twilight air clear my head a bit, and trying to piece together what had gone wrong. One minute I had been on my way home, stuck in standard bumper-to-bumper early evening rush-hour traffic--the next I knew I had been hit from behind and found myself involved in a four-car collision. I guess it was a good thing my Volvo hit that Explorer in front of me, since it stopped the chain reaction.

We all exchanged insurance info once the highway patrol showed up, and the other three drivers drove off. I was the only one who had been injured, albeit barely, and even though I protested, the responding officer had insisted on calling an ambulance. I don't think he wanted to be held liable since it was a head injury. I suppose if I had been in his position, I would have done the same thing--but it still pissed me off. And since my car was leaking some kind of liquid (most likely coolant, according to the officer), a tow-truck was called as well.

Over all, it hadn't been one of my better days.

I came out of my reminiscing long enough to take a look out the window, instantly recognizing where we were. I should, after all. I had only driven it for nine years. "Frohike. . .this is the way to the Hoover," I observed.

"Um. . .yeah. . .I guess it is," he replied, distractedly.

"Why are we going there? I thought you said we were picking up Will. . ." I paused and shook my head. "No. Don't tell me you. . ."

"Dana, I didn't have a choice," he insisted.

"You could have bought him along."

"I didn't know how long we'd be. I figured it'd be better if he were safe. You even said it was a good move, remember?"

"That was before I knew you dropped him off at the F.B.I. Building!"

"Honey, I swear to you, if I had another choice, I would have taken it."

"Fine." I let it drop. There wasn't anything I could do now that the damage was done anyhow.

The rest of the trip was made in silence--I think Mel was afraid to say anything further and get his head bitten off again. Once he parked in the visitor's parking lot, I led him into the building. I greeted Sarah Dawson, who was manning the Security Desk. We chatted for a few minutes, getting caught up on old times before she handed us the visitor's log to sign. It felt weird being on this side of things. This wasn't the first time I was delegated to 'visitor' status, but now that it was permanent, I wasn't sure I liked it all that much.

Once we were signed in, we were granted our passes, and together we walked over to the metal detector. The young man on duty recognized not just me but Mel as well, and tried to wave us through. But I knew Sarah was watching, and I didn't want him to get in trouble, so I dragged a protesting Frohike ("Those things screw up your DNA molecules!" he hissed) through the annoying machine.

Finally, we made our way over to the bank of elevators. First one down emptied its load of passengers, and Mel and I got on. I went to press B for the Basement, but Frohike stilled my hand, and pressed '4' instead. Thank goodness we were the only two on the elevator as I let out a huge groan, "Oh, Frohike, you didn't."

"Reyes and Doggett weren't answering their phone," he practically whined. "My hands were tied!"

After the longest elevator ride of my life, we strolled down the endless corridor until we got to the AD's office. I led Mel into the anteroom, only to discover Kim missing from her desk, and the door to Skinner's sanctum closed. "Could he have gone home already?" I muttered distractedly. "It's still early."

"Well, it's nearly 6:30," Mel pointed out.

"For Skinner, that's early," I countered.

I watched as Frohike moved over to the office door and pressed his ear to it. After a few seconds, he announced, "No, someone's definitely still home." With that, he knocked once and opened the door; I followed close behind.

The scene that greeted us was priceless: big, bad AD Skinner was sitting on the floor with his secretary. They were both playing with my son, and all three of them were surrounded by a variety of colorful baby toys. At the sound of the door opening, Kim looked up and gasped, "Sir, I think we've been busted."

Walter leaped up as if his pants had caught fire, and he stormed over to us, pretending to distance himself from the positively adorable scene we had interrupted. I found myself trying to suppress a smile as he asked, in his gruffest no-nonsense voice, "Dana, how are you?"

I was able to compose myself long enough to tell him, "It's just a bump, si. . . Walter. I've gotten worse on even the most routine X-File investigations."

He reached over to gently push up my bangs and observed, "This looks nasty."

"That's what *I've* been trying to tell her," concurred Dr. Frohike.

"Really, guys, I'm fine," I cut in quickly. I was NOT about to let these lay-people diagnosis me. "I've survived a lot worse. I'd just like to get home and get some rest. It's been a long day."

"Is that wise?" Walter asked, fretfully. "I mean, if it's a concussion. . ."

"Walter, I appreciate your concern, but I'm the doctor, remember? I think I know what I'm doing."

He studied me for a moment before relenting. "Well, if you're sure. . .Kim?"

The young woman approached us, carrying a giggly William. As she handed him over to me, she gushed, "You're so lucky, Dana. He's an absolute joy."

William seemed happy to see me, if his excited 'Ma Ma Ma's" were any indication. "Thanks, Kim, for everything. I really owe you and Walter big time for this."

"It was a pleasure," she assured me before turning to her boss. "Sir? If you're finished with me, I'm going to pack it in for the night."

"You do that, Kim. We've both had a busy day," he said, with a nod towards William, which caused his pretty assistant to laugh. "See you tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir." With that, she headed out to her desk and started to collect her things. I've always liked Kim--she was friendly, professional, dedicated, and completely loyal to Skinner. And in this town, that was the name of the game.

"I'll get him, hon. You should take it easy," Frohike asserted, as he took William from me, getting a round of "Da Da Da's" in the bargain.

Sheesh, it was just a bump! "Mel. . ." I said, warningly, but I could tell from the look on his face I wasn't going to win the argument, so I backed off and sighed heavily, "Fine."

While we were busy with our little showdown, Walter went around gathering up all the scattered toys. He threw them all into William's baby bag, which he flung over his shoulder before grabbing his briefcase and suit jacket. "You know, I think I'm going to head out with you guys," he rumbled.

"BEFORE 7:00? Walter, you're getting soft," I teased.

He shut off the lights and closed the door behind us. "Maybe things are just easier for me around here without you and Mulder? No more late nights trying to make sense of those reports, no more migraines over those creative 302's. . ."

"Aw, you had fun, Walter, and you know it," I chided him.

"I don't know, Dana. Sleep has its own special appeal," he deadpanned.

Mel and I scampered after him, needing two steps each to match one of his long strides down the near-empty corridor. As we all stood waiting for the elevator, an idea suddenly came to me. "You know, I haven't had dinner yet. We were going to stop off for Chinese on the way home--do you want to join us, Walter?"

Skinner just looked at me, a war of emotions playing out on his face. I could see he wanted to accept, but something wouldn't let him. "No, thank you. I. . .that's kind of you, Dana, but I really should be getting home. I have these folders that need looking over. . ."

"Weren't you the one who was just crowing about how your workload is lighter now that I'm not here anymore?" I reminded him. "It's JUST dinner."

"Yeah, c'mon, Walt. It's the least we can do for bailing us out like you did," Mel added, and I could have hugged him for it.

"Guh Guh Guh ," William chimed in with his own happy two cents worth.

Walter's apprehension melted away as he gazed at my son, and with a smile he said, "How can I refuse an invitation like that? I'd love to."

* * * * * * * * * *

"So, how's Billy?"

I collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted. Dealing with my hyperactive child was just the perfect ending to the perfect day. "He's wound up like a top. I don't think he'll go to sleep for hours."

"It's all Walter's fault," Frohike pronounced, as he walked into the living room. "Billy was really taken with him."

"And he with William. I never imagined my boss would be so good with children."

"Ex-boss. Here."

I grasped the steaming mug that Mel handed to me and took a deep appreciative whiff. "Mmmm . . .Swiss White Chocolate, my favorite. Which one did you take?"

He sat down beside me on the sofa, a mug of his own in his hand. "Café Vienna. And if you tell the guys I'm drinking this floo-floo International Coffees shit, I'll get your gun and put us both out of our misery."

"Aww, come on, Mel. It'll do you good to get in touch with your 'feminine side'."

"I've been there. It wasn't a pretty sight." With that, he kicked off his shoes and rested his feet on the coffee table.

Normally, I'd scold him for doing something like that, but tonight, after the kind of day I had, I joined him. Sighing contentedly, I said, "So, any luck with the garage?"

He took a drink from his cup and made a face that clearly said 'hey, this isn't so bad' before he answered, "Nah, they were already closed for the night. But the answering machine had a pager number for emergencies. I left a message to call us."

"Thank you, Mel."

"Hey, no problem. You were busy with Billy and I was waiting for the water to boil anyway and. . ."

I interrupted him gently, "No, Mel, I meant, thank you for everything. Not just for calling the garage and making me my drink. But also for coming to get me at the hospital, making sure William was safe and sound, even though all our usual sitters were indisposed. And especially for helping me to get Walter to that restaurant. I think he had a good time."

"He certainly seemed to--couldn't shut him up there for a while." I giggled as Mel started playfully nudging my feet with his own. "He's really an okay guy once you get him out of the office."

"I know. That's what I'm finding out." I took a sip of my coffee--ooh, that hit the spot--and reflected, "I think he's lonely."

"Yeah, I got that impression, too."

"Maybe we should have him over sometime for dinner?" I suggested. "Him and Kim."

"Kim? His assistant?"

I drank deeply from my coffee. "Well, they looked so cute playing with William. I was just thinking that maybe, with the proper nudge in the right direction, maybe we could get something going OUTSIDE the office, too."

He scoffed, "Dana, no offense, but I don't think Kim is his type."

"Why not? Don't you think she's pretty?

"Are you kidding? She's totally hot," he amended.

I elbowed him in the ribs and kidded, "Should I be worried?"

"Not in the least," he replied, acting offended. "I was just offering you my opinion, that's all. I TOLD you I have a weakness for redheads."

"Right. So if she's such a fox, why wouldn't she be Walter's type?"

"Funny you should use the word 'fox', he mumbled.

"I'm afraid I've lost you."

He turned to me and inquired, "Didn't you notice that Skinner spent an inordinate amount of time talking about Mulder this evening?"

"Not really--I mean, not for Walter. He talks about Mulder a lot anyway." I just stared at Mel for a moment. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing. It might be nothing. I'm just pointing out what I saw. . .and heard." He shook his head and muttered, "Forget I said anything," before he went back to his coffee.

As his words sunk in, *I* shook my head. No. Impossible. He couldn't be suggesting that. . . "Frohike, are you saying Walter Skinner, Mr. By-The-Book-The-F.B.I.-Is-My-Life Walter Skinner, has the hots for Fox Mulder?!"

"All I know is every other sentence out of his mouth tonight was 'Mulder this' and 'Mulder that'. I mean, I love the guy, too, but I can go a whole five minutes without saying his name." He shrugged, "But then you know Skinner better than me. If you say this is normal behavior for him, I won't call you on it."

"Mel, I'm sorry, but just the idea of Walter and Mulder together. . . that's too strange for even an X-File," I laughed.

"Hey, after hanging around with you and the G-man for over eight years, I've seen stranger things than that," he countered.

I quickly thought over the last few months, all the times I've been in Walter's presence, and Fro was right. My ex-boss DID spend a lot of time talking about my ex-partner. No matter what our topic of conversation, he always managed to steer talk back to Mulder, and we'd end up reminiscing about our rogue friend, or discussing where he was now and what he could be doing.

And with that knowledge, I found myself rapidly flashing back over the last eight years. All those times the two of us sat in Skinner's office while he grilled us--the tones in his voice, the looks in his eyes. Not to mention all the times he went out of his way to pull Mulder's ass out of the fire. My God, could I have been so BLIND? Was it really possible?

No, it was just late, and I had had a bad day, and I was simply susceptible to suggestion, that's all. There was nothing untoward going on between Skinner and Mulder, of that I was sure.

Just as I was coming to this conclusion, however, the phone rang. Mel put his cup down on the coffee table and answered it while I leaned back and enjoyed my coffee. He was only on a couple of minutes, his end of the conversation limited to basically grunts and 'Uh-huhs' and 'Yups'. Once he hung up, he turned to me and announced, "Well, that was the garage. They said your car should be ready in a couple of days."

"A couple of days?" I groused.

"Seems some damage was done to the radiator when you hit the Explorer, plus they have to buff out those dents in the front and rear bumpers."

"How much?"

"Reasonable. I wouldn't let him touch it if I thought he was ripping you off."

"You know, maybe I should just trade it in for that mini-. . ."

"Don't even finish that sentence, Dana," he growled, menacingly.

"A couple of days," I moaned. "How will I get to work?"

He threw his arm over my shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. "Take some time off, sweetheart. It'll give you a chance to heal."

"It's just a bump, Fro," I said for the hundredth time, "and I can't take some time off. I have classes, exams. . ."

"Well, what about your friend, Andie?" he suggested. "Couldn't she take your classes for you?"

"I can't ask her to do that," I insisted. "She's already carrying a full load." I paused to take a sip of my drink, a plan slowly forming in my head. It was sneaky and underhanded, but I'm sure Mel would forgive me. Leaning my head on his shoulder, I looked up at him through my eyelashes, and cooed, "I don't suppose I could borrow YOUR car?"

He just looked down at me and laughed. "Dana, are you flirting with me?"

"Maybe," I whispered, batting my eyes at him. "Is it working?"

That got him laughing harder. "Honey, I'm really enjoying the show, but my answer's no. You're not used to the way my car handles. . ."

"And you don't want anything to happen to it," I finished sulkily, sitting back upright.

With a put-upon sigh, he replied, "No, Dana. To YOU. I could give a damn about the car. I don't want anything to happen to YOU. "

I dropped my eyes and quickly apologized, "I'm sorry, Mel," feeling ashamed of myself for thinking the worse of my friend. "That was uncalled for."

One gloved hand slid lovingly down my face. "It's okay, kiddo. You had a rough day. I understand."

"Yeah, but I seem to have a tendency to snap at you when I've had a bad day," I pointed out.

"As long as I'm providing a service," he joked.

"An indispensable service," I joked back.

He picked up his mug and took a sip; after a moment, he said, "I could always drive you in."

I shook my head. "No. That's sweet of you, Fro, but Quantico's out of your way. WAY out of your way," I emphasized.

"Yeah, I wish you worked closer."

"So do I," I agreed, wistfully. I was used to a short commute to the F.B.I. Building. Now it was over 70 miles one way. . .which seemed much longer during rush hour.

"It's too long," he stated.

That point was rather obvious: the 90 minutes I was stuck in traffic everyday had gotten stale rather quickly. "Well, it's no more than anyone else in this country, and decidedly shorter than some people."

"But Dana, you're exhausted. And you barely get to see William anymore except in the morning and to tuck him in at night--IF you're lucky. I thought this job was supposed to give you MORE time with him."

"At least I'm not being called out of town every other week," I grumbled. <Talk about your small blessings.>

"Well, you know the saying: if the mountain won't come to Mohammed. . ." he muttered, vaguely.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Since we can't move Quantico closer to us--maybe it's time to think about moving closer to Quantico," he explained.

"Are you serious?"

"You said it yourself. The commute is hellish for both of us. Maybe we could find something halfway between both of our jobs. And it'll be good for William, too. I mean, this is a nice place, Dana, but there's nowhere for the kid to play. No backyard, a busy street with lots of cars. . ."

"You know, you've got a point there. And this apartment IS small. . .maybe we can find a bigger one."

He took a sip from his mug before he replied, "Actually, I was thinking of a house."

"A HOUSE?" I squeaked, incredulously. "You want to buy a house?"

"Yeah. Something permanent to set down some roots. Give William some stability."

"But what about the expense?" I bemoaned. "Houses cost so much money."

He cut me off before I could go on any further. "Actually, once you get past all the closing costs and stuff, there's really no difference between paying a monthly mortgage and a monthly rent. And at the end of it, you have something you can call your own. Plus the interest rates on mortgages right now are some of the best in years."

I had to admit he had a good point--several good points in fact. This apartment was quite small for the three of us, and there really weren't any safe places for Will to play once he got older. But a house? "Mel, I. . .I hear what you're saying but this is a big step you're talking about. A giant step. I. . .I don't think I can make a decision that big in just one night. I mean, we're not exactly talking about buying a toaster oven here."

"Honey, I know that. This is a huge decision, and I don't expect you to make it just one night. But now that the topic has been introduced, we can discuss it whenever you're ready." He reached over and started massaging my neck and shoulders. <God, this guy's got great hands!> After a few minutes of exquisite kneading, he crooned, "Now, what I think you should do is turn in early. You had a pretty rough day."

"Mmmmmm," I sighed, even as I melted further into his touch. "I think I like the sound of that."

With a final pass of his hands and a kiss on my right cheek he let me go, asking, "Need any help?"

"No, I think I can find my bedroom on my own." I stood up and stretched. "Are you going to join me?"

"Why, Dana, I never thought you'd ask!" he purred with his patented leer.

It dawned on me what I said, and I know I blushed to my toes. "Not that, you pervert," and I gave him a playful shove. "I mean, are you turning in early, too?"

He sighed dramatically, "Well, since you've withdrawn the offer, I think I'll just hang out here for a while. There are some online sites I've been wanting to check out, and I think there's a Lakers game scheduled later on tonight."

"Oh, okay." I put my empty mug on the coffee table, and was just about to head off for bed when something occurred to me. I leaned down and gave him a huge hug.

"Hey, what's this for?" he asked, puzzled, even while he wrapped his arms around me and returned my embrace.

"Just--thanks again for everything," I whispered, sincerely. "Sometimes I think you're a godsend."

In a real bad John Wayne imitation, he replied, "Simply doin' my job, ma'am." He gave me a kiss on the cheek and a playful little shove. "Now, go get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

But sleep didn't come easily for me, despite my exhaustion. My brain just refused to shut down, as it played our conversation over and over again. A house! My goodness, we had been married less than six months and now we were contemplating buying a house together. Okay, if we're being honest--*I* would be buying the house. We lived on my salary, after all, so it was a pretty safe bet that I would be footing the bill for this expense, too.

But the more I thought about it, the more I warmed up to the idea. I've always wanted a place to call my own, something with some security, something I could invest in for my old age. A place in a quiet little community with good schools where William could grow up happy and healthy. And Frohike WAS right--this apartment may have been nice while I was single, but it really wasn't designed for a family, as we had found out.

As I finally started to feel sleep claiming me, it was with images of real estate ads dancing in my head.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Hey, sweetie. How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty good, actually." I walked over to the counter, poured myself a cup of fresh coffee, and joined Mel and William at the kitchen table. My baby looked decidedly droopy, as if hungover from his excesses of the night before, but he still managed a chirpy, "Ma Ma Ma," for me before he went back to playing in his oatmeal.

"Dana, if I were you, I'd drink that quick and get ready ASAP," Mel suggested, plowing through his own meal faster than usual.

"Ready for what?"

"Work. You've got a long drive ahead of you."

"Mel, I don't have a car, remember?" I reminded him, sarcastically.

He swallowed his mouthful and proudly announced, "You do now."

I felt my eyebrows shoot up at that. "You're loaning me the GTO after all?"

"Not quite. I've made other arrangements."

Placing my head in my hands, I groaned, "Please don't tell me I have to drive that VW minibus of yours?"

He just laughed, "No, Jimmy won't let the mobile command unit out of his sight."

"Then how. . .?"

He finished off his cereal and pushed the bowl away. "I called AVIS this morning, and just our luck--they have a Volvo for rent. I can drop you off at their office on the way to the Warehouse, if you get your rear in gear."

"Frohike! I was right. You ARE a godsend. Give me ten minutes." I took another swig of coffee, then got up and placed the mug, along with his empty bowl, in the sink.

"Good. That'll give me just enough time to clean this little guy up." I watched in amusement as he got up himself and started the unenviable task of trying to remove William from his highchair. Our son seemed to have gotten his second wind, as he started laughing and kicking out his little legs, making Mel's job that much harder.

Finally freed, they were heading off to the bathroom when I was broken out of my trance and I was able to call out, "By the way, Mel--yes."

Frohike turned back to me, a very sticky baby planted on his hip, and asked, "Yes, what?"

"I've given it some thought, and perhaps you're right about the house."

"Really?" He seemed surprised that I was going along with him.

I gave my S.O. a big smile. "Yeah. You've made some very valid arguments and I've always wanted my own home. It couldn't hurt to go look around and see what's out there, right?"

"Couldn't hurt at all," he eagerly agreed.

"Do you have any plans for Saturday?"

Adjusting William to get a better grip, he grinned, "Oh, I think I can clear out my extremely busy schedule for you."

"Then it's a date." As I made my way back to my bedroom, I called out over my shoulder, "You know, Frohike, I think this is one of your better ideas."

ONE EXHAUSTING SATURDAY LATER:

"This was a bad idea, Frohike. Maybe we should stay put."

"It was only one afternoon, Dana. Heck, some people spend MONTHS looking for the right place."

"MONTHS!? I can't even think about doing this for MONTHS!" In one day, we had visited eight different homes, each worse than the one before. At the memory of some of them, I started to laugh. "Remember that first place they showed us?"

He burst into laughter himself. "You mean the mayor's mansion? Damn, it was bigger than the Warehouse! Billy coulda played stickball in the foyer!"

"Oh, but the Olympic size indoor swimming pool was a nice touch," I praised, sardonically. "Can you imagine how long it would take to CLEAN something like that?"

"Not to mention the monthly payments on a 30 year mortgage for that puppy."

"30 years? Try 60!"

"Billy would be a grandfather before it was paid off," he joked.

"Well, if you want cheap, we can always go with the 'fixer-upper'," I countered.

"You mean the Addam's family house? I'm a tinker-er, Dana, not freakin' Bob Vila. I've seen condemned buildings that were in better shape than that place. The best thing that monstrosity could hope for is to be blown off to Oz."

I flopped down on the couch with a huff. "I just want something neat and simple, cute with a little flower garden and some place for William to run around. Is that so difficult?"

"We'll find it, Dana. Just give it some time."

Leaning my head backwards against the soft cushions on the back of the sofa, I sighed, "I wish it could be like 'Miracle on 34th Street'."

He came and sat beside me. "How so?"

"Well, the little girl found her dream house in a newspaper ad, and then Santa got it for her." Looking over at my friend, I gave a little smirk, "That's the ONLY way to do it."

"Maybe not the only way, Dana." He jumped off the couch and ran over to the desktop computer, mumbling, "Shoulda thought of this sooner." I watched in fascination as he logged on and his fingers flew across the keyboard until found the web page he was looking for. "Voila."

"What is it, Mel?" I asked, going to him and leaning over his shoulder.

"Real estate listings. What do you want? Colonial? Ranch? Town house?"

"Something we can afford," I joked.

"Okay, refrigerator box it is."

I punched him in the shoulder. "Frohike!" I laughed.

"Hey! Stop with the punching," he chuckled. I watched as he entered our requirements--bathrooms, bedrooms, price range, location--and suddenly a page full of homes for sale popped up on the screen. We both checked over the page, vetoed all of them and moved to the next page. . .and the next. . . and the next. He changed the parameters, upped the maximum price, and still nothing. It was so depressing, almost as bad as the afternoon had been. But just as I turned away in disgust, I caught a vision out of the corner of my eye.

"THAT ONE!" We both exclaimed at the same time, our fingers pointing to the same little house on the screen. A total cliché of the American dream--it was a two-story pale beige Cape Cod, with dark brown shutters and a huge bay window in the front; a little white picket fence, a small flower garden, and a stone walkway completed the image. All it needed was a dog and 2.5 kids in the front yard.

We immediately called the agent to set up a viewing.

The next day, we drove over to Lorton, Virginia. (Talk about a time-saver. . . we'd each cut our commute times in nearly half!) We rode down along the quiet tree-lined street until we came up to the house, which looked even better than in the picture, if that was possible. Mel let out a low soft whistle, and muttered, " 'Miracle on 34th Street', indeed."

The agent greeted us at the door; Frohike, wheeling a drowsy William in his stroller, followed her inside while I stepped around back. The backyard was a nice size and flat (currently covered with a light layer of snow, but I imagined it'd be lush and grassy in season). There was plenty of space for William to play in, and perhaps, someday, to put in a pool and a small garden; the two enormous oak trees that shaded the whole area pleased me greatly.

"Dana, get in here and check this out!" I heard Fro yell excitedly from out front, and I hurried back to see what there was to see.

30 Minutes Later:

"It's perfect," I sighed, looking out over the backyard again, this time from the confines of the sun porch. I loved the kitchen, I loved the bathrooms, I loved the staircase. In fact, I loved the whole design of the place. There was almost nothing that needed to be done or changed, and I couldn't believe our luck that it was still on the market. Frohike had commented that maybe it was haunted or perhaps a gristly murder had taken place there that was scaring the buyers away. But as I told him, ghosts and dead bodies were nothing new to me--and if that's all that stood between me and this house, then I'd learn to live with them.

"So, our search is over already?" he asked.

"I think so. We'd need to get the inspectors in and everything, but I think this is the one."

"Then Santa will get it for you."

"What about you, Mel? Do YOU like it?"

"Dana, it doesn't matter. As long as you and Billy are here, it'll be my home." He broke out into a big grin. "But yeah, I love it, too."

"Can we afford it?" I asked, concerned. This house was a bit higher than we had wanted to go. Money wasn't a major concern for us usually. I got paid pretty well at Quantico, and what Frohike didn't bring to the bank account he contributed in other ways--as a daycare worker, a cook, a maid, a plumber, a mechanic. He saved us a fortune with all his skills and talents.

He shrugged, and admitted, reluctantly, "Well, I . . I have some money stashed away." I felt my eyebrow go up on that one.

"Really? More sold patents I don't know about?" I tried for teasing but I knew my tone was slightly peeved. I didn't like the fact that he had been holding out on me. I mean, this was supposed to be 50/50, right?

"Not disposable funds," he amended. "Some stocks, bonds--that kind of stuff. I was saving them for something big. And I guess it doesn't come bigger than this, huh?"

I shook my head, realizing what he saying. "No way, Mel. I won't take your nest egg. That's for your golden years. We'll just have to find someplace else."

He took my hand. "What's mine is yours. For better for worse. For richer for poorer. 50/50 all the way, remember?"

"But. . ." I weakly protested.

"Dana, I promised you that I'd take care of you and William. I. . .I've never had a home as nice as this, never thought that I would. And besides, what good is money anyway? You can't take it with you, right?"

"Are you sure?"

He clasped my hands tighter in his, looked me straight in the eye, and asked simply, "Will this house make you happy?"

I looked behind us, through the porch door, into the living room. I could SEE it: decorated, a fire going in the fireplace, William playing on the floor, Mel and I sitting on the couch sipping wine and watching TV. It was everything I could want. Turning to my husband with tears in my eyes, I whispered, "Yes. . .if you're in it with me."

Tears momentarily filled his eyes as well before I found myself wrapped in a huge bear hug. "Then what are we waiting for?" his voice rough and scratchy all of a sudden. "Let's go put in a bid."

We retrieved William, who was now sleeping soundly in his stroller in the corner, and went off to look for the agent.

The End

Big Things story: Confessions Part 3

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 17:54:39 GMT

Title: Confessions Part 3

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Home Sweet Home'

Rating: PG, for some bad language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: Frohike is forced to do some funky sweet-talking.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we all know the song by now.

Spoilers: Any episode where Mulder got in trouble, so. . .every single episode <g>; and a passing reference to "All About Yves".

Special Thanks: To Super Shamrock! For her beta, her friendship, and her encouragement.

Confessions Part 3

Friday, March 22, 2002

I had almost made my silent escape, my hand turning the knob on the front door when I heard a throat clearing behind me.

Shit. Busted.

I slowly turned around to face a very irate Dana Scully, hands on her hips, staring daggers at me with those ice blue eyes of hers. "Ahhh. . .hi, Dana." <Oh, THAT'S intelligent, Melvin!>

"Mel," she responded, her tone as cold as her eyes.

I let the knapsack I was holding slide to the floor. "I. . .I thought you went to bed."

"I did, but I got up for a glass of water." Nodding at the fallen knapsack, she inquired snottily, "Going somewhere?"

"Ohhh. . .ahhhh. . ."

"It's 1:00 a.m." she observed, needlessly.

"Ummm. . ." You know, it's much easier to bluff when your brain hasn't shut down completely. Dammit, I haven't felt so cornered since my last major blow-up with Mykita. This one was promising to rival it, if not leave it in the dust.

She brought her arms up and crossed them over her robe-covered chest; her eyebrow quirked as she observed, "Nice outfit. Black pants, black turtleneck, black jacket, black ski-cap. If I didn't know any better, I'd say those are your poaching clothes."

Oh, boy. I was in deep shit now. "Honey, I can explain. . ." <And don't think I haven't said THAT before.>

"Frohike, just answer me one thing. Am I going to be busting your ass out of some secured government installment any time soon?"

"We're just going to be doing a bit of snooping, that's all," I answered, defensively.

She contemplated that for a moment before responding, "You know, Mulder used to snoop a lot. He used to get SHOT a lot, too."

"Yeah, well, no offense, but Mulder didn't seem to understand the concept of 'duck'," I muttered. "I've got a much better track record than him."

"Hmmm. . .as I recall, Skinner had do some pretty fancy footwork to get you guys out of the Fenix Atlantic building a few months back."

"Yeah, and without a single shot fired," I reminded her, proudly.

By the look on her face, she wasn't impressed with that fact. "Have you done this before, Mel? Sneak out like this in the middle of the night without telling me?"

"No, I swear on a stack of Bibles this is the first time."

"And that's suppose to make me feel better?" she queried.

Okay. Now I was starting to lose my patience. "Look, Dana, this is my job. This is what I do. You knew that when you married me."

"You're breaking the law," she declared, forcefully.

"Gee, you didn't seem to mind when we'd do it for you and Mulder." When I saw the stunned look on her face, I wished I could have bit my tongue off for that one. "Awww, shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean. . ."

"No, no, you're right," she agreed, amiably, once she recovered her voice. "It IS a double standard, isn't it? Just answer me one question. . .were you going to tell me about this?"

I didn't even hesitate. "No."

Her sharp intake of breath echoed in the quiet room. "Well, at least that was honest," she laughed, mirthlessly.

"Dana, you gotta understand," I pleaded. "I've blown off a lot of covert missions since we hooked up. The guys really need me this time."

"Mel, William needs you," she explained, patiently. "*I* need you."

"I know, honey." And I DID. But. . .this was important, too, even if I couldn't make her see that.

"The rules have changed, for both of us," she continued. "We have other responsibilities now than to our friends and partners. Have you ever thought about how it would look for an employee of the F.B.I. to have to bail her husband out of jail because he was caught breaking into an off-limits military site?"

"Well, I'd think they'd be used to it after all the times you had to bail out Mulder's ass for doing the same thing." <Oh, man--why is my mouth always flapping before my brain kicks into gear? No WONDER Mykita used to throw plates at me when we fought. I freaking deserved it!>

She just glared at me. "Not funny, Frohike."

"I'm sorry--I didn't mean to be so flippant," I answered, penitently.

"I know you didn't." She gave a huge sigh and dropped her arms, along with the hostile attitude. "I know you're in a hurry, but can we sit and talk for a moment?"

The change was so quick and startling that I was momentarily knocked off balance. "Uh, yeah, sure," I said, and followed her to the couch.

We sat in silence for a few moments before Dana finally turned to me, her pretty eyes sad and troubled. "Frohike, when we first entered into this 'arrangement', we both had a lot to overcome--getting used to living with a new roommate, the pressures of parenthood, the anxiety of trying to keep our secret from our family and friends. It hasn't always been easy, but I think it's been working out pretty good. . .much better than I even thought it would."

"I've never been happier," I confessed honestly.

Her face got softer as she gently took my hand in hers. "Me, too, Mel. You've made me very happy." I felt my heart swell when she said that. I had made Dana Scully happy.

"And I hope to do so for a very long time," I pledged.

"I'm sure you will." She went quiet again for a few more moments before she added, "I want you to know that I understand why you have to do what you're going to do tonight, and why you might have wanted to keep it a secret, but it still hurts that you didn't tell me your plans."

I squeezed her hand tightly. "I never meant to hurt you, Dana," I stated emphatically. "That is the last thing I'd ever do. You must know that."

She gave me a quick little smile. "Yes, I do know that." Looking down at our entwined hands, she gave a squeeze of her own as she whispered, "I want this to work so badly, but I don't know if it can if we lie to each other. . ."

"I didn't lie," I protested. "I just. . .didn't tell you, that's all."

Her eyebrow rose, questioningly. "And WHY didn't you tell me?" she asked.

Shrugging my shoulders, I mumbled, "Because I didn't want you to worry."

"And that was the only reason, right?" she queried, sardonically.

"Well, no," I admitted, hesitantly. "I figured you'd try to stop me."

"Then I did exactly what you thought I'd do."

"Truthfully, I anticipated more broken china when you found out."

That got a genuine laugh from her. "Sounds like you're familiar with those types of 'discussions'."

"Let's just say I manage to bring out the inner-discus thrower in women."

That got an even heartier laugh. "Something tells me I would have paid good money to see some of those fights."

"Shoulda put them on pay-per-view. Lot better than that FOX celebrity boxing match."

It took a while for the chuckles to die down; when they did, Dana picked up where she had left off. "I know how important your job is to you, Mel, and that you have responsibilities to your partners, but I don't like being deceived, even when it's for my own good. From now on, no more secrets, okay?"

Man, she didn't know what she was asking for. My whole life revolved around secrets--secrets that could get me or my posse or even my loved ones killed. Well, if anyone in power took me seriously enough, that is. But one day, the bastards might, and it would just be safer for everyone--especially Dana and Billy-- if I took my secrets with me. The less they knew, the better. I knew Scully was going to be disappointed in me, but all I could promise her was, "I'll try my best, sweetheart."

She gave a wistful half-grin. Dana is a smart woman, and has been around the block a few times. She knew how these people worked and what we were up against--she also knew that as much as I loved her, I wouldn't think twice about breaking my promise if I thought sharing the information would put her in danger. "That's all I can ask for, Mel."

<SHIT! How can I do this to the woman I love--put her through so much distress? How can I even THINK about putting her second, if only for one night? Am I outta my mind?> The phone was in my hand before I could talk myself out of it. "Fro, who are you calling at this time of night?" she asked, curiously.

"The guys. I'm going to tell them I can't make it."

"Why not?"

"Because--I can't do it, okay? I'll make up some excuse. I'll tell them Billy's sick."

She reached over and broke the connection. "Mel, you are NOT going to use our son as your alibi," she informed me, resolutely.

"Fine! I'll say *I'm* sick. I'll say I twisted my ankle. I broke my leg. SOMETHING!"

"You know, I think they're going to figure out you were fibbing when you don't show up at the Warehouse Monday with a cast," she teased. "What happened to your 'no more lies' pledge?"

"That promise was between us, babe, not the guys. They'll just have to make it on their own tonight."

She shook her head. "I've seen the Keystone Kops in action--they need you, Mel."

"But Dana. . ."

Gesturing to the front door with her chin, she announced, "You better hurry--you don't want to be late."

I stared at her, incredulously. "You're not going to stop me?"

"I wish I could," she sighed. "I'm really afraid for you. But it wouldn't be fair to the guys--or to the American people. They have a right to know, remember?"

<Oh, God, how I love this woman!> "You know, one day we're gonna break the big one," I assured her. "It's just a matter of time now. And you can tell everyone you knew me when I was a nobody."

"I'm looking forward to it. Now go, before I change my mind."

I leaned over, cupped her precious face in my hands, and tenderly kissed her. "Do you have a clue how much I love you?"

She smiled affectionately. "I have some idea."

With a final small peck, I stood up and headed for the door. Just as I was picking up my knapsack I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Don't forget this," and Dana handed me my cell phone. "In case you need to reach me for bail money."

"Thanks, hon. And don't worry. I'll be okay."

"Frohike, I'm a mom. All I DO now is worry."

I gave a chuckle. "And you do it so well."

As I reached out for the doorknob, there was another tap on my shoulder. "Mel, promise me one thing."

Turning to my lovely spouse, I queried, "What's that?"

She lowered her eyes and bit her lip so endearingly before she whispered, "Be careful. And come home. Please. I refuse to bring William to visit his daddy behind bars."

Her concern touched me deeply. "I promise," I whispered back. "But, honey?"

Lifting her bright eyes, she said, "Yes?"

I gave her my best wise-ass smile. "That was TWO things."

She just rolled her eyes and pondered, "Why the hell did I ever marry you?"

"Because you realized how suave and dashingly handsome I was and you couldn’t live one more day without me?" I ventured.

"I was thinking more along the lines of temporary insanity," she answered, dryly.

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other--either way you get egg rolls." I chuckled as she shook her head ruefully. "Look, honey, I'll be home by morning. Don't wait up for me." I gave her another quick kiss on the cheek, then ran off to save the world once more.

DANA:

I stayed by the door for a moment before locking up and making my way back to the sofa. Grabbing a nearby blanket, I curled up with a book I've wanted to read for some time, and began the long wait until Frohike was home again, safe and sound. Only then would I get back to sleep.

THE END

Big Things story: Florence Nightingale

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 17:52:22 GMT

Title: Florence Nightingale

Author: J.D. Rush and Shamrock

Series: Big Things; follows 'Confessions Part 3'

Rating: mild PG for language

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: Following the events of Confessions Part 3--Frohike is feeling icky-poo.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we all know the song by now.

Special Thanks: To dear sweet Shamrock. She came through big for me on this, and indeed, without her help, I couldn't have gotten this one to come out the way I wanted it. She re-worked much of Frohike's dialog for me, and I think she deserves a writing credit for that. Thanks, honey!

Florence Nightingale

Sunday, March 24, 2002

"AAAACCHHHOOOOOOO!!"

The sound greets me as I walk through the door. I find it strangely reassuring--at least nothing has changed in the couple of hours I've been gone. Dropping off my bundles in the kitchen, I then make my way to Mel's bedroom. I knock once and poke my head into the door. Poor Mel--lying there under a mound of covers, his quilt pulled up almost over his head, a huge pile of used Kleenex decorating his night table. As I stand there he lets loose with another loud sneeze, followed by a coughing fit.

My guy was a hurting cowpoke.

"Hi, Mel--I'm home," I say cheerfully as I enter his room and sit down carefully on the side of his bed. "How are you doing?"

"How do you DINK I'm doing?" he snarls--or attempts to snarl. It doesn't have quite the same impact since his voice is barely a whisper due to the laryngitis. "I'm DYIN' over 'ere."

A VERY hurting cowpoke.

"It's just a cold, Frohike. Stop being so melodramatic."

"I've HAD codes before," he informs me. "Dis is not a code. Dis is the Pervuvian Deth Fuu."

"I doubt it's the Peruvian Death Flu, Mel," I sigh, dramatically.

"So's you what kinda doctor YOU are," he grouses.

"Well, whatever it is, maybe it'll teach you to wear a coat when you go out snooping in the middle of winter," I can't help rubbing in.

"Doh, ha-ha. You're do fubby, Dana."

"They DO say laughter is the best medicine. By the way, have you checked your temperature lately?"

"Doh." I grab up the digital thermometer from the little table and aim it for his mouth. "Dat bedder not be Billy's rectal therm. . ." and while his mouth is open in full rant, I shove it on home. I may have shut him up momentarily, but his flashing hazel eyes speak volumes--specifically, once he can get out of that bed, I'm a dead woman.

I leave it in a couple of minutes longer than necessary (I'm sure the AMA would forgive me this abuse of power) then pull it out. 101.7. Crap.

A SERIOUSLY hurting cowpoke.

"You do dat on purpose," he accuses me, then nods at the device. "Doh what's da damage?"

"Bad enough," I answer, vaguely. "We need to get your fever down."

"How can I habe a feber?" he protests. "I'm freezing."

"Exactly. Look, I'm going to get you something to drink. You have to ingest plenty of fluids."

"I don't tubbose Old Granddad is on list of abbroved fluids?"

I chuckle at his sickly little joke. "I'll see what I can do for you." I walk out, with him still grumbling in the background, and head back to the kitchen. I dig out a bottle of Gatorade from one of the shopping bags I brought home, and pour a glass for him before putting the rest away in the fridge, along with the other groceries I had picked up. From another bag, I pull out the large Tupperware container Mom gave me. Lifting the cover, I get an instant whiff of the delicious aroma as it escapes. Mom's homemade chicken soup. <If this doesn't make Mel feel better, nothing will.> I spoon some into a mug and put it into the microwave to heat up before returning to his room.

By now, he's managed to push himself up in the bed a bit, but he looks like he could collapse at any moment. I again sit on the side of his bed and hold out the glass to him. His eyes twinkle when he sees what I've got. Taking the glass from me, swallows a healthy gulp before asking, "So, where were you?"

Pointing to the glass, I answer, "Well, I had to lay in some supplies. And I also took Billy to mom's house for a couple of days to get him away from Typhoid Frohike."

"Doh, you're just a laugh riot today, Dana," he grumbles. I'm just about to tease him some more when I hear the microwave 'beep'. "What's dat?" he asks, curiously.

"Lunch."

"Dot hungry," he mumbles, draining the rest of his drink.

"You have to eat, Frohike," I sigh. "You have to keep your strength up."

He hands me back his empty glass. "Only if I can habe dome more of this. With maybe a cubble of ice cubes?"

Seeing an opportunity for more teasing, I purr, "What's the magic word, Mel?"

The first hint of a smile in nearly 24 hours crosses his face. "Please?"

I smile back as I tell him, "I think I can handle that order. Be right back." With that, I hightail it back to the kitchen to get everything ready. First, a nice tall glass of Gatorade (with a couple of ice cubes), bottles of Vitamin C and Tylenol, and a box of Nyquil Liqui-caps. Then, the hot mug of chicken soup, a couple of chicken salad sandwiches (also courtesy of Mom), and a small bag of potato chips join the feast. I place everything onto a serving tray, along with a can of Diet Coke for myself, and balancing it carefully, I carry it back his room. I note he must be feeling a BIT better--his TV is now on and he's watching 'Meet the Press'. (Although, without his glasses, I wonder how much of it he can actually see.)

I carefully place the tray over his lap and once more take my seat on the bed next to him. Spying his glasses on the edge of the nightstand, I retrieve them for him; he utters a grateful, 'Dank 'ou', as he slips them on. Once he can see again, he gets a clear view of the generous spread before him. "Where'd you get all dis?" he questions, clearly stunned.

"Mom. She's been cooking like a demon since she found out you were sick. I think she likes you, Mel." I shake out a couple of Tylenol for him, which he takes without complaint.

"She's a bery special lady."

"Yes, she is." And I hand him a couple of vitamins.

Once he has swallowed them, he asks, "She doesn't bind taking care of Billy today?"

I open the box of liqui-caps and hand two of the pills to Mel. "Actually, she's going to keep him for a couple of days, just to be on the safe side."

He gets them down, then inquires, "But what about her job?"

I pull open the bag of chips and add a few to the plate with my sandwich. "She's taking a couple of personal days."

Almost shrinking into himself, he sighs, "I'm doh dorry, Dana. I didn't mean to be duch a bodder."

"Mel, it happens," I tell him, gently, patting his hand for good measure. "Don't worry about it. Just get better, okay?"

"I really hate being tick," he grumbles.

"I know."

He puts his glass back on the tray as he proclaims, "I'm tubbosed to be the strong one, the prodector. The one DOING the comfording."

"And you do all three very well, Frohike," I reassure him. "But sometimes, it's someone else's turn to do those things. It's been so long since I've had the opportunity--I was afraid I was out of practice."

"Doh way. You've got a great bedtide banner," he leered.

"You sweet-talker. Now eat up before it gets cold."

He sips at a spoonful of soup and moans happily. "Dis is delicious."

"Yeah, Mom used to make it for us whenever we'd get sick. We actually used to

look forward to cold and flu season." I pick up his TV remote. "So, anything on?"

"Don't know. Haben't checked yet." He then adds, shyly, "Are you joining be?"

I smile at him warmly. "If you want the company. If not, I'll take my sandwich and leave you alone."

"Doh I. . .I'd really like dat, Dana." He gives me a brave smile in return as he takes the remote from me and starts flipping around. "Basketball?"

"Knicks?"

"You too?"

"What can I say. . . Mulder corrupted me."

"Dope--it's The Heat verses the Mabs."

"The Mavericks? I'll pass."

"Auto racink?"

"Mel, driving around in a circle for three hours doesn't impress me."

"Well, excuuuussseee be. Golf?"

"Is that even a sport?"

"Ban, and I thought LANGLY was bicky. Movie?"

"If you can find a good one."

"I don't do Lifedime movies, Dana."

"Good. Neither do I."

"Hey, dook, 'Cabbyshack'."

"Not on a dare. Try again."

"What about 'Men In Black'?"

"Do you know how many times Mulder dragged me to that one?"

"Prob'ly as many dimes as I dragged Byers. There's always 'Hunt For Red October'."

"Oooh, Sean Connery. Alec Baldwin. Sam Neill. Tim Curry. AND James Earl Jones? I think we have a winner."

"Dure, Dana--kick be when I'm down."

"Sorry, Mel."

So we sit and eat and joke and watch the movie and somewhere along the line, Mel's head drops onto my shoulder, softly snoring in his slumber. Poor guy--this cold's really wiped him out. I think about getting rid of the tray, but that would mean disturbing him, and he really needs his rest. Instead, I carefully remove his glasses and replace them on the nightstand.

Knowing I'm stuck there as his pillow for the time being, I kick off my shoes and make myself comfortable on his bed. I can't help myself brushing his hair out of his face--my fingers gliding over his still warm forehead reminds me we have a ways to go before this bug is through with him and his fever breaks. But it's not so bad playing Florence Nightingale--Frohike deserved some pampering for a change. I kiss him lovingly on the cheek and whisper, "Sleep tight, sweet prince," before turning my attention back to the movie.

THE END

Big Things story: Lean On Me (Byers/Reyes)

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 16:01:34 GMT

Title: Lean On Me

Author: J.D. Rush

Series: Big Things; follows 'Florence Nightingale'

Rating: PG/PG-13, for disturbing visuals from the series.

Pairing: Reyes/Byers

Summary: Reyes comes home from a case, but can't leave it behind.

Spoilers: "Hellbound"; minor mention from 'The Field Where I Died'

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we all know the song by now.

Special Thanks: To the one and only, Kylara, for another great beta job. (I still haven't forgiven you for pointing out the LGM telephone thing, though.)

Author's Note: Okay, I'm veering off the path again. This is the second Reyes/Byers story that takes place within the Big Things Universe. I know I've said I abandoned the 9th season canon, and to an extent I have, but this episode still haunts me--as I'm sure it does Agent Reyes. This is my vision of what may have happened after the last 'i' was dotted and the last 't' crossed. I will admit I only saw this episode once--I found it just too disturbing to watch it again. So any mistakes or inconsistencies, well, I apologize in advance.

However, in order to make this episode fit in with my universe, I've had to change the timeline from the television series. (Since I've changed so much at this point in the game, what's a little thing like this between friends, right?)

+++++++++++++++

"The souls come back together. Different, but always together. Again and again to learn." -- Mulder/Jewish Woman: 'The Field Where I Died'

LEAN ON ME

March 27/28, 2002

MONICA:

"I don't think you should be alone, Mo. Want me to stay over?"

"No, no. . .I'll be fine."

"Maybe you should call Dana to come stay with you tonight? I'm sure Frohike can handle the kid alone for a few hours."

I gave my partner (and best friend) a small, reassuring smile. "I said I was fine."

"Well what about Byers?" he continued, unfazed, as if he never even heard me. "Maybe you could call him to come on over for awhile."

"Really, Jackie. Everything's cool. Don't worry about me."

"I hate when you call me Jackie," he grumbled, and I had to smile in spite of myself.

"But it's the only way to keep you and John separate,” I explained patiently for the tenth time.

He huffed, "Well, how come HE can't be Jackie instead?"

"Because it's YOUR nickname," I reminded him.

He paused for a moment before muttering, "Bad enough my mom calls me that."

"But it fits you, agent," I teased. "It's. . .cute."

Oh, the look he gave me then. "You're really pushin' your luck, lady," he snarled, the sting of his tone muted by the little twinkle in his eye.

I couldn't help but laugh, and I knew that was part of the reason he acted the curmudgeon so often. Doggett can always cheer me up, even when I don't want to be. And his concern about me was quite touching. It really was. I liked knowing he was there, watching out for me, not more than a phone call away. It was a good feeling. A secure feeling. But as much as I loved Jackie, not even he could help me this time.

I reached over and squeezed his right hand as it gripped the steering wheel. He looked over at me, and I could tell from the look in his eyes he knew I wasn't fine, but he also knew enough not to press. It still fascinated me that we could say so much with just a look or a nod or a simple touch.

I saw the sadness and disappointment in his face and kind blue eyes. He wanted to help me get through this but it was just something I had to work through on my own. There were simply too many things I couldn't tell him about this case; well, nothing that he would believe at any rate. I knew Agent Doggett too well. He'd pretend to believe me and humor my outlandish beliefs. It wasn't done maliciously--he just wasn't a believer. Unlike Dana, who was afraid to believe, Jackie just DIDN'T believe. If it didn't fit into his precise and ordered structure of the world, then it was dismissed without another thought.

Don't get me wrong. John Doggett is a good man--a great man. He has his own way of solving cases, and he's had an impressive solve rate, both with the NYPD and here at the F.B.I. His instincts serve him well, and I can't knock him for that.

It'd just be nice if he could occasionally push 'The Book' aside and embrace some extreme possibilities.

Turning his attention back to the road, his wiggled the fingers of his right hand until he was clasping mine tightly. He didn't need to speak the words, 'I'm here if you need me'--I heard them loud and clear.

There was no finer friend than John Doggett.

1:30 A.M.

"Lone Gunmen."

Shit! Oh, shit! I had flown out of bed and dialed the number before I had even realized what I was doing. What the hell WAS I doing? It was the middle of the night. But I just had to. . .

"Hello, Monica? That you?"

<How the hell did he know it was me? Oh, yeah, that's right. They have more tracking devices set up than the F.B.I. and the C.I.A. put together.> "Langly, is. . . is John awake?" SHIT! Could my voice get any shakier?

"Yeah, he's right here. Wanna talk to him?" Before I could answer, I heard a muffled, "John, it's for you."

<John's there. He's right near Langly. Everything is okay. Obviously. I could just hang up now. No harm no foul. Just put the receiver down, Mo. But. . .I need to hear his voice. I need to hear it for myself that everything's. . .>

"This is John."

<His voice. Oh, God. I've never heard anything so beautiful in my life. He's okay. Everything's okay. Get a grip, Monica. Things are okay.>

"Hello? Monica? Are you still there?"

"John." It was the only word I could get out, even though it was little more than a whispered sigh. Anything else and I was afraid I'd break down.

Apparently that was all he needed, though. "Mo? Are you okay?" His voice was so full of concern it brought tears to my eyes.

<He's asking *ME* if *I'm* okay? Doesn't he understand? Didn't he see?> "I. . .I. . . yeah, John. I'm. . .fine," I stammered.

"When did you get back?"

<That's it. Perfect. That's just the opening I needed. Now I can bluff my way out of this.> "A couple of minutes ago," I lied. "Just wanted to hear your voice." <NEEDED to hear your voice,> I didn't add.

"It's good to hear your voice, too," he said, a smile clearly heard in his tone.

<Oh, God. If I stay on the line any longer, I'm going to start bawling like a baby.> "Well, it's late. Just. . .just wanted to tell you I was back and. . ."

"Mo? Are you sure you're okay?" The smile was gone and the concern was back.

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" I tried to be flippant. I know I failed.

"You just sound. . .different. How was the case?"

<No. You don't want to go there, John. *I* don't want to go there.> "Long, difficult. It's too late to talk about it. Maybe this weekend? Are you free?" <PLEASE say you're free!>

"Sure. What's playing?"

"Don't know. We'll find something." <As long as it's not a horror movie with lots of killings and blood and skinned bodies. . .>

"Sounds great." Concern gone, smile back. I could practically see his handsome smiling face. It was almost enough to block out the other images, the nightmarish images. . .<Don't go there, Mo. It was just a dream.>

"Well, it's late, and I'm keeping you from bed. . ."

He cut me off, "Actually, I was working on the paper. The deadline's tomorrow. Frohike's here and. . ."

"Oh, well, then I'll let you go back to work. See ya' Saturday."

"I'll call you to make plans."

"I'd like that. Goodnight, John."

"Night, Mo. Pleasant dreams."

<Yeah, right. PLEASANT dreams. Not freaking likely. I was up for the night--would probably never sleep again.> I hung up the phone and all but collapsed onto the couch, trying to catch my breath, trying to slow my racing thoughts. John was okay. I kept repeating it over and over. John was okay. <God, what I wouldn't give for a cigarette right now. What the hell had I been thinking when I quit!?>

After some time, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to get up, I had to move around. . .I had to get a cup of cocoa. Comfort food, or drink, as the case may be. If it wasn't so late I could've thrown on some clothes and gone down to Jay's place. No, some cocoa would do fine.

I had just put the kettle on the stove (why bother with a microwave? I wasn't in a hurry) when I heard tapping at my front door. I took a quick look at the digital readout on the clock/radio sitting on my counter--2:13. Who the hell would be knocking on my door at freaking 2:13 in the morning? Remembering my gun was still lying on my nightstand, I made my way back into the bedroom and slipped it out of its holster. In the time it took me to do all that, the tapping had grown louder, until it was almost a full-fledged knock. Tiptoeing up to the door, gun at the ready, I glanced through the peephole, and almost sobbed in relief.

Throwing the door open, I simply stood there and stared at my visitor until he started to speak. "Mo--?"

"John. What are you doing here?"

"You sounded odd on the phone. I know you said you were okay, but. . .you didn't sound like yourself. I was concerned. Is everything all right?"

"It is now," and I flung myself at him. He wrapped his arms around me and just held me close as I started shaking. "You didn't have to come, John, but I'm so glad you did." I slipped my arms around his waist and held on for dear life.

He chuckled nervously, "Gee, Mo--is that a gun pressed into my back, or are you just happy to see me?"

"Oh, John. . .I. . ." I pulled back from him, and looked at the offending weapon in my right hand. Giving him a sheepish grin, I confessed, "I guess I'm just a little jumpy."

"Are you sure you're okay?" He held my eyes as he said it. I couldn't tear my gaze away from him. He looked so. . .alive. I felt my eyes welling up with tears again.

"Yeah. I'm fine," I lied. "Just a really rough case, that's all."

"You want to talk about it?" he asked, gently.

<No, not really. I'm trying to forget it, actually.> But he had driven all this way in the middle of the night, not even taking the time bother with his usual business suit. Instead he wore a simple beige cable-knit sweater with his dark brown suit pants, and I couldn't help noticing it was a nice look for him. It'd be rude not to at least invite him in for a few minutes and . . .who was I kidding? I could barely keep the words from bursting out. I HAD to talk to someone, and I knew Doggett wouldn't have--he just wouldn't have understood. I had known him long enough to realize that.

"Yes, I mean. . .yes, I'd like to talk. . ." Before I could finish the sentence, I heard the kettle whistling from the kitchen. At John's puzzled look, I murmured, "I was just about to make some hot chocolate."

He smiled and I felt my heart start beating double time--he's got a gorgeous smile. "My favorite. Why don't you go sit down and I'll whip it up for us?" He didn't give me much choice in the matter--he turned me towards the couch and gave me a gentle push.

"I have some little marshmallows on the counter," I tossed out over my shoulder.

"Gotcha. Where's the, um, stuff?"

"First cupboard on the left." I heard the opening and closing of said cupboard door as I made my way to the couch. Placing the gun on one of the end tables, I stared at it for a minute or two, not believing how wrecked I was feeling inside.

John came over a couple of minutes later, holding two full mugs, and an open box of Girl Scout shortbread cookies I had lying around the kitchen. Handing one of the mugs to me, he took a seat to my right, and placed the box of cookies on the coffee table. I thanked him softly and took a tiny sip of my drink, a smile spreading across my face. "You put Bailey's in my cocoa, John?"

"Well, I saw it up in the cupboard next to the chocolate mix and I figured it might help you relax a little," he explained, modestly.

"Thanks, John," I said again, touched by his thoughtfulness.

After taking a sip of from his own mug he turned to me and asked point blank, "Now--what's going on, Mo?"

I didn't want to. I REALLY didn't want to. I knew it was going to upset him. But I needed to talk to someone, someone who wasn't there. Someone who wouldn't think I was crazy. And John was so easy to talk to. He was a great listener. So, once I took a long drink of my spiked cocoa for courage, I told him all about the case. I saw his face draining of color as my narrative progressed. I tried not to go into too much detail, but not much was needed to get the point across.

"Skinned alive?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. I just nodded. "Oh my God."

"You can say that again."

"Well, no wonder you're shaken up," he concluded.

"That's sort of an understatement, John."

"So, did you catch the killer?"

I nodded once. "In a way. He's dead."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Not really."

"Why?"

I sighed heavily. "Because he'll be back. In 40 years time. Him, his victims, his pursuer. We'll all be back."

His brow furled in confusion. "Mo, I'm not sure I follow you. Do you mean he has followers that will continue his crimes? Is this some kind of cult thing?"

<How could I ever get him to understand THIS?> "No. I mean, Van Allen will come back. . . as someone else. His SOUL will come back and he'll kill the same men--the same SOULS--again, in the same way."

His eyebrows shot up, and he blinked those big blue eyes at me. "You mean he'll be reincarnated?" he asked, his voice filled with trepidation.

"That's what he claims."

"And you believe him?"

I nodded and gave a self-depreciating laugh that wasn't a laugh at all. "Crazy, huh?"

He sat thoughtfully for a moment before responding, "Not necessarily. Mulder claimed it had happened to him, that he experienced scenes from a previous life, but I've never personally experienced the phenomenon."

I reached for one of the Girl Scout cookies. "You're lucky, you know."

"You have?" I didn't answer him right away, content just to munch on my cookie and avoid the question altogether. But John Byers isn't put off easily, so he pressed, "Mo. You said, 'we all come back.' Are you implying this--phenomena--has happened to you? That you have previous ties with these murders?"

<Didn't I tell you he was a good listener?> I swallowed the rest of my cookie, hoping it wouldn't come back up again, then told him, "Van Allen said I never catch him--that I'm always too late to stop him. It seems my lot in every lifetime is to get close to solving the crimes but I always end up failing. And he always keeps killing"

"But Mo, even if you believe in reincarnation, you don't honestly believe what he told you, do you?"

I shrugged. When John said it, I must admit it sounded foolish. Maybe I'd be better served to take Mulder's "Trust No One" philosophy to heart. But there was still too much to this case that gave me the creeps--too much that I couldn't explain.

"John, I knew things about this case I shouldn't have known, saw things before they happened. I had these dreams--I could foresee what would happen next, almost as if I was re-watching a movie in my head. As if I were reliving it. The condition of the bodies was bad enough, but the dreams I had were even worse. I gotta be honest--it freaked me out. And not much does."

"And that's why you called me?"

I shook my head. "Doggett. . .he had suggested I call someone to stay with me tonight. He was worried about me. I told him I was fine, and I thought I was. . ."

"But you weren't," he finished for me. When I didn't respond to his comment, he sighed sadly and stated, "Mo--talk to me. Obviously something happened that caused you to pick up that phone. I want to help but I can't until you tell me what's wrong."

He was right, of course. And since talking about the case had make me feel a little better, maybe it'd do me good to get this off my chest as well. I took a deep breath and said, "I had another dream. Not like the others. It was a stupid scary dream that jolted me awake and before I knew what I was doing, I had the phone in my hand and I had dialed your number. . ." I paused, not sure where to go with this little confession.

John sensed my apprehension and filled in the awkward silence. "Must've been a helluva dream," he pointed out.

"You could say that."

"About Van Allen?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He wasn't dead. He. . . he. . .oh, God." I could see it as clear as day, the images from my dream as real as any I had encountered on the case. "He got to you, John. He. . .I found you. . .you had been. . ."

He stopped me before I could finish the sentence. "Mo, it's okay. I get the picture." Well, it wasn't very hard to conclude what I was about to say--if I had been John, I wouldn't have wanted to hear it, either. He put his mug down on the table and pulled me in tightly to him, until I was practically crushed against his strong chest. Strong. Safe. Sheltered.

It felt so good.

Steady hands started rubbing soothing little circles over my shoulders and over my back, and I heard a small whimper of appreciation slip past my lips. He held me in silence for a few minutes before he drew away from me and spoke again. "Monica--I want you to do me a favor." Tipping my mug to my mouth, he pleaded, "Here. Take a sip." Once I did, he asked, "What do you taste?"

"Warm. Chocolaty. Sweet."

He took my mug from me and put in on the coffee table next to his, then leaned in and kissed me. Tenderly. His lips pressed against mine, his soft beard tickling my cheek in a familiar and reassuring way. Pulling back, he asked, "What about that?"

I smiled. "Warm. Chocolaty. Sweet."

He cupped my face between his large gentle hands and whispered, "This isn't a dream, Mo. This is real. I'm okay. I'm alive. And so are you." And with that, he pulled me against him, where I had a good long cleansing cry.

After a while, the water works slowed down, and I started to calm down somewhat. From above me, I heard a soft, playful, "Feeling better?"

A small smile I didn't want to appear did anyway. "Actually, I am. Thank you."

"Anytime, honey."

<Honey. Isn't that cute? He really is the sweetest guy.> He gave me a quick little kiss and continued to hold me close, rocking me carefully. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt this protected, this secure, this. . .loved? Was it too early to be thinking along those lines? I mean, we'd only been dating about four months now, and we hadn't even. . .we hadn't even slept together yet.

Definitely unknown territory for me.

I just wasn't used to this. If I had to choose a word, I'd have to say John was courting me. It was different. It was nice. I liked not being pressured to move forward in the relationship before I was ready. John was letting me take everything at my own pace, very conscious of my feelings. I felt like I mattered to John, that he respected me. He was such a special man. No, it wasn't too early to be thinking about love. In fact, it was probably too late.

I think I was already in love.

"Mo?" my knight in shining armor whispered. "Are you still awake?"

"Hmmm. . .? Yeah."

"You got so quiet. . .is everything okay?"

<I'm laying here in your arms. Everything's perfect.> "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

I couldn't tell him. Now wasn't the time to be telling him how crazy I was about him. Besides, it may in fact still be too early to be making confessions like that. The last thing I'd want to do is scare John off by getting too serious too quickly. Instead, I said the first thing that came to me, "I guess I just can't get over the fact you believed me. As long as Doggett's known me--well, he tries. He really does. But he just can't take that final leap of faith."

"Or maybe he's afraid to," John replied, sagely. "I've got to tell you, Mo--being friends with Mulder and Scully--I've seen things that I can't explain. I'm not afraid anymore." And suddenly, without warning, he started to chuckle.

"John, what is it?" But instead of answering me, his chuckles grew louder. "Hey, c'mon. Spill it. I could use a good laugh right now."

"Well, I was just thinking," he got out in between guffaws, "that if your theory is right, and we keep meeting the same people over and over again, then I get to spend the rest of my lives with Langly and Frohike. What the hell did I ever do to deserve THAT?"

And just like my Jackie, John was able to break through my blues. I joined in his laughter, enjoying his quirky sense of humor. As the giggles tapered off, I was stunned to hear him say, "Of course, I guess it'll all be worth it, if I get to meet up with you again, too."

I took me a moment to get my voice back--I was so afraid I would start crying again, this time with joy. "John. . .I. . .I can't believe you just did that."

"What?"

"Turned one of the worse nights of my life into something. . ." I trailed off, not sure how to finish my thought.

"Something. . .what?" John inquired, teasingly.

"Something. . .not quite so bad," I finished, lamely. "I don't know how you found the silver lining in that cloud, but I'm glad you did."

He shrugged, the barest hint of a blush hitting his cheeks. "Just speaking from the heart." With that, he leaned again the armrest of the couch, and pulled me to him.

As I rested my head on his chest, I inquired, "Are you going to stay tonight?" wanting nothing more than to stay in his arms all night.

"Where else would I be?" he answered, softly.

"You sure?"

He pulled down the blanket I had on the back of the couch and draped it over me. "Just get some sleep, Mo."

"I think I like that idea," I whispered into his chest. And, snuggling close to him, I quickly dropped off.

BYERS:

I heard her breathing even out and gave a heartfelt sigh. The poor kid. She shouldn't have had to go through something like that alone. Even if I didn't believe her, I still would have been here, supporting her. Too bad the images she described ensured I wouldn't be joining her in slumber tonight.

Her body felt so good next to mine. This was the closest we had gotten since we started dating four months ago. We didn't get to see each other half as much as we would have liked--our respective schedules continually conspired to keep us apart. When she called tonight, I had no idea what I was walking into. All I knew was that she sounded distressed, and she was reaching out to me for help. Then, when she answered the door, wearing an over-sized F.B.I. T-shirt flannel shorts, and little white ankle socks, I though my heart was going to burst right out of my chest.

I let my hands drift over her once more, softly, as not to wake her, and sighed in pleasure. I liked holding her. I liked smelling her. I liked listening to her gentle snoring. I liked. . . I liked her. I knew I was falling for her--had been since the first moment I saw her. The first time I talked to her. Our first dance. Our first date. Our first kiss. The first time we. . .well, that hasn't happened yet, except in my dreams. Monica had been burned--badly--in past relationships, and I was NOT going to be lumped in with the rest of 'them'. I wanted her to know that I was attracted to more than just her body, that I wanted more from this relationship than just a quick roll in the hay. So, we've spent our time together just getting to know each other better, and when the time was right to move forward, we'd know it.

And what I've learned so far is Monica is a very special woman, so caring and warm, intelligent and funny. She's a woman I could see myself spending the rest of life with, a woman I wanted to grow old with. A house, a family--I could see it all when I looked at her. She could be the one.

<John, I think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself, big guy.>

She shifted a bit in her sleep, and started to moan softly. Another nightmare, perhaps. Well, that wouldn't do. I was here to protect her tonight, and guard her from those horrible dreams. Rubbing soothing circles over her back and shoulders, I placed a tiny kiss on her forehead. Magically, it worked. She sighed contentedly and instantly calmed down as she snuggled closer to me. Once more I was the responsible one--but I didn't mind it so much this time. John Byers: Slayer of Sleep Demons. It had a nice ring to it.

Oh, yeah. I had fallen for Monica Reyes hard. And it felt so good.

"Evil returns as evil, but love... love. Souls mate eternal."

Mulder/Jewish Woman: 'The Field Where I Died'

gimgolas

Sweet cat that needs a loving home

Memo about The Big Things Series

Big Things Series Begins--The First Story

AN OFFER SHE CAN'T REFUSE

Saturday, August 11, 2001

THE END

Big Things series: Going Postal

GOING POSTAL

Thursday, October 4, 2001

THE END

Big Things story: Going to the Chapel

GOING TO THE CHAPEL

Saturday, October 6, 2001

THE END

Big Things story: Confessions Part 1

CONFESSIONS PART 1

Sunday, October 7, 2001

THE END

Big Things story: Mother and Child Reunion

Big Things story: Mr. Wizard's World

MR. WIZARD'S WORLD. . .

Monday, November 5, 2001

THE END

Big Things story: Where Were YOU When. . .?

SO, WHERE WERE *YOU* WHEN. . .?

Tuesday, November 20, 2001

THE END

Big Things story: Rub a Dub Dub

RUB-A-DUB-DUB. . .

Wednesday, December 5, 2001

THE END

Big Things story: Tiny Bubbles

TINY BUBBLES

THE END

Big Things story: Confessions Part 2

CONFESSIONS PART 2

THE END

Big Things story: Ain't No Sanity Clause Part 1/2

Big Things story: Ain't No Sanity Clause Part 2/2

THE END

Big Things story: Out With the Old Part 1/2

Big Things story: Out With The Old Part 2/2

Big Things story: Stuff Dreams Are Made Of (Byers/Reyes)

THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF

Saturday, January 5, 2002

THE END

Big Things story: Times They Are A-Changin'

THE END

Big Things story: And Then There Was One

AND THEN THERE WAS ONE

Friday, February 1, 2002

THE END

Big Things story: Be My Valentine

BE MY VALENTINE

Thursday, February 14, 2002

THE END

Big Things story: They Say It's Your Birthday

THEY SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY. . .

Saturday, February 23, 2002

Big Things story: Home Sweet Home

Home Sweet Home

Tuesday March 5, 2002

ONE EXHAUSTING SATURDAY LATER:

Big Things story: Confessions Part 3

Confessions Part 3

Friday, March 22, 2002

Big Things story: Florence Nightingale

Florence Nightingale

Sunday, March 24, 2002

Big Things story: Lean On Me (Byers/Reyes)

Title: Lean On Me

LEAN ON ME

March 27/28, 2002

SO, WHERE WERE YOU WHEN. . .?