Author: Agent L
LHoward388@aol.com
Classification: post-ep, Requiem
Rating: G
Spoilers: Requiem
Distribution: After-the-Fact only, please.
Others please ask for permission.
Disclaimer: To Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian
Anderson, Fox: I know they're not mine, and no money,
gifts or even chocolate would be expected or accepted for this.
Author's Note: This is a revised repost to the ATF list.
Summary: Sometimes the sidekick has to play the hero.
Feedback: Yes, please! LHoward388@aol.com
I've never thought of myself as a marrying man. Most
women don't think of me that way either.
I blame my parents, who bestowed on me the name
"Melvin." Not that isn't a perfectly good name, and
has, in fact, been in our family for generations --
like bad eyesight and premature baldness -- but just
try to find a hero in one of those women's romance
novels named Melvin. Melvins are sidekicks, villains,
comic relief. Heroes have names like Rhett or
Diego... or Fox.
We've all been a little shell-shocked over the past
few weeks, trying to adjust to Mulder's absence. At
least with death there are details to take your mind
off things, wakes to attend, toasts to make. But when
a person just disappears, there's only waiting. And
wondering. Of course we've doubled our usual scans
and alerted our operatives across the country, but
there's been no trace of Mulder, nor of the others in
the group that vanished that night in Bellefleur.
Traces of radioactivity, some typical burning
associated with UFOs was discovered in the woods, but
there's no conclusive proof.
Which is, in itself, all we need to know what
happened out there.
It's amazing, the hole someone can leave in your
life. At least twice a day one of us will say, "We
gotta tell Mulder about this..." When the phone rings
at 2 a.m., I half-expect to hear him on the other end
saying he's got a craving for cheese steaks.
At least the three of us have each other, as pathetic
as it is to see three grown men sitting around crying
in their beer. To paraphrase that great philosopher
Billy Joel, we're sharing a drink we call loneliness,
but it's better than drinking alone. We'll be okay.
We've got each other.
Scully is the one I'm worried about. Not that she
doesn't have friends and family around, but none of
them really knew Mulder, not like we did. Not like
*she* did. They'll nod politely and offer the usual
condolences and then shake their heads as they walk
out to their cars. What a shame about Mrs. Spooky.
Knocked up and abandoned by her crazy partner. Now
I'm the first one to admit that Mulder could -- can -
- be a real jerk sometimes, but he would never turn
his back on a friend. And Scully was much more than
just a friend.
So what's a sidekick to do, but to go ahead and
rescue the damsel in distress? Even if this
particular damsel can curse like a sailor and carries
a gun.
So I put on my best suit, buy a dozen roses and head
for her apartment.
It takes her a while to answer my knock and when she
opens the door I see her eyes are swollen, her nose
is red, her cheeks blotchy. She's wearing one of
Mulder's old shirts, the sleeves hanging well past
her fingertips, the hem to her knees, and gray sweat
pants.
She looks beautiful.
But as I realize I have interrupted an intensely
private moment, and start to stutter an apology,
backing down the hallway, she reaches out and touches
my sleeve, giving me a tired smile.
"Would you like to come in, Frohike?"
I nod and follow her as she turns and walks into the
apartment. We go into the kitchen, where there's
already a mug of tea on the table. She asks if I'd
like anything to eat or drink. The perfect hostess.
The perfect woman.
Mulder was like the older brother I never had - the
star jock, the Homecoming king who let me hang around
with him, made me feel like one of the cool kids.
I looked up to him -- literally, at six feet tall --
and I never envied his good looks, intelligence,
perfect hair...But God forgive me, I envy him right
now for having this woman's heart.
She slides a mug across the table and pours coffee in
response to my request. Then she carefully dips the
bag a few times in her usual precise manner, and sets
it on a nearby saucer. I watch as she does this,
secretly admiring her small hands, the economical
movements. I forget how beautiful she is sometimes --
that shining red hair...those wide blue eyes. The
full lips. We're so close that I can see the delicate
tracing of veins at her temples. She sighs softly and
looks up.
"Any news?" she asks, obviously not expecting to hear
anything. I've watched her grow less and less
hopeful, more withdrawn each day.
"Uh, no. Sorry." The expression in her eyes breaks my
heart. I clear my throat and sit up a little
straighter. "We're on top of it, though. We'll hear
something soon."
She closes her eyes briefly, then looks at me. "Thank
you." Her lower lip trembles slightly and I start to
get scared that she's about to cry. Mulder would have
a handkerchief in his pocket, of course. I've got
lint and old receipts. But just as I'm checking the
room for the nearest exit, she touches one of the
rose petals and a soft smile returns.
"They're for you," I say needlessly, rushing to fill
the awkward silence. "Uh... How are you feeling?"
She takes a sip of tea and considers the question.
Scully never does anything without thinking it
through. "I'm fine," she says finally. "Everything
seems to be normal..." She gives a little laugh, as
if there's something funny about that. "The doctors
say I should be able to carry to full term."
I release the breath I didn't know I was holding.
She's probably not telling me everything, but that's
okay for now. Sometimes it's good to hear just what
you want to hear, whether it's the truth or not.
*All right, Frohike. Enough stalling. Make your
move.*
I can almost hear Mulder's voice, see him grinning
over in the corner in one of his perfectly tailored
Armani suits.
"Scully, I..."
Those blue eyes meet mine and my voice cracks like a
fourteen-year-old's. "I - You...That is, there comes
a time..."
Mulder chuckles in my head. *Smooth, Frohike. Very
smooth.*
Scully is looking at me with a mixture of curiosity
and amusement. If nothing else, I've provided some
comic relief for a while, like a good sidekick
should. Maybe if I try the traditional pose...
I get up and walk over to Scully, kneeling down in
front of her. The amusement fades to confusion, then
her brow furrows. "Frohike, what -"
"Agent -- I mean, Scully -- er...Dana...? Will you
marry me?"
Scully's mouth falls open. I've actually surprised
the unflappable Agent Scully. After seven years with
Mulder, she probably thought she'd seen everything.
She starts to speak, then hesitates, her glance going
once more to the roses, then back to me. Tears well
up in her eyes and she blinks, hard.
"Frohike. That is one of the sweetest...I mean, I'm
so flattered. You and the guys have been wonderful
over these last few weeks." She stands up and walks
over to the window, rubbing her hands up and down her
arms as if chilled, and stares out at the darkness.
Looking for him.
Waiting for him.
I suppose I knew her answer even before I asked the
question.
She turns back to me. "Frohike, I'm honored, truly I
am. But I - " She shrugs. "I can't give up on him
yet." Her hand drifts across her lower abdomen in an
unconscious gesture of protection. "He wouldn't give
up on me."
A lump rises in my throat as I remember the times he
paced our office, demanding the impossible, not just
from us, but from himself. He slogged through pain
and exhaustion, persisted past the point of reason,
sacrificed his pride, crossed continents -- all for
her.
She will do no less for him.
I suddenly feel foolish and naive, like a schoolboy
with a crush on his teacher. Some women would be
embarrassed, uncomfortable. Some women would laugh at
me. But not Scully. She moves forward and puts her
hand on my cheek in a gesture of comfort. Her
fingers, cool and steady, drift down to my chin
as she holds my gaze. There's no ridicule, no anger -
- only affection in those clear blue eyes.
"Thank you...Melvin," she says softly, then presses a
gentle kiss to my lips.
*Thanks, Frohike.*
The End