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

"So what's taking them so long?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just give her time?"

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

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

"Good."

"And, Scully?"

"Yes, John?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

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

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

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

"That's the spirit," Scully congratulated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She almost fainted.

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

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

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

"Scully..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

"You know what..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sculleee..."

The End.