By Polly
polly122456@yahoo.com
 

Classification:  Post episode, Frohike POV
Rating:  PG-13 for a few bad words and thoughts
Spoilers:  Dreamland I and II
Disclaimer:  Not mine; all XF characters belong to
1013 Productions
Notes:  Written for the After The Fact Dreamland II
Challenge
Archive:  If you want it, it's yours
Feedback:  Welcome and appreciated
Summary:  The Case of the Mysteriously Appearing
Waterbed

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I came awake with a jolt wondering who had stuffed
cotton in my mouth and up my nose.  Then I started
asking myself the important questions:  Exactly how
much did I have to drink?  Why do I do this to myself
when Byers and Langly go out of town?  How did I get
home?  And how the hell did a canary get in here?

I pried one crusty eyelid open just enough to read
the digital display on the clock beside the sofa.
2:42 a.m.  Jesus.  I raised my head a bit and
something exploded behind my eyes.  Bad idea.

But that damned canary wouldn't quit. I opened my
eyes, drifting somewhere between awake and asleep,
and felt a faint vibration under my cheek. The
muddled recesses of my brain finally processed the
fact that it was not a canary chirping in my ear but
my cell phone, tucked away in the pocket of my
leather vest that I was using as a pillow.  I fumbled
for it in the darkness, and somehow managed to hit
the talk button.

"Mmmm ... 'lo?"

"Get over here.  *Now*."  *click*

I pushed the end button and closed my eyes again.  It
would be pretty easy to convince myself it was just a
dream and slip back into blissful unconsciousness,
but the niggling wouldn't stop.  Decision made, I
rolled into a sitting position quickly before I lost
my nerve. I clicked on the lamp and pushed the Caller
ID button on the phone.

Even through the drunken haze I was pretty sure I
recognized the voice; the phone number just confirmed
it.  I know it almost as well as I know my own.
Temples pounding and stomach rolling, I stood up and
headed for the bathroom.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Forty-five minutes, three Tylenol, and one cold
shower later I was in Alexandria, standing in front
of Apartment 42.  I probably shouldn't have driven,
but I reasoned there wouldn't be much traffic at this
hour and the cold water and chilly night air had done
their part to sober me up quite a bit.  It still
bothered me more than I wanted to admit that I
couldn't remember how I got home from the bar.  The
little cantina where I go to drown my sorrows is only
three blocks from our place. You'd have to be pretty
wasted not to remember three blocks.

I rapped on the door and scrubbed at the stubble on
my cheek.  I didn't go on these benders very often
any more.  Maybe this memory loss was a wake up call
that my bender days should be over.

The door swung open to reveal the source of my other
unwelcome wake up call of the morning.  For some
reason, he looked royally pissed.  Well, that made
two of us.

"This damn well better be good, Mulder."

"Funny.  I was gonna say the exact same thing to
you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He pulled the door all the way open with one hand and
made a grand sweeping gesture with the other.  I
stepped across the threshold and took a quick look
around.  Even in the soft lamplight I could tell the
apartment looked different somehow, and my stuffy
nose detected a hint of Pine Sol hanging in the air.

"About time you hired a cleaning lady," I said, but
there was no answer, just a scowl that nearly curled
my toes.

I shook my head and was reminded that the Tylenol
hadn't completely obliterated my hangover.  My
patience had run out.  "Look, Mulder," I barked, "You
woke me out of a sound stupor.  I've had too much
tequila and too little sleep to play games tonight.
What the hell do you want?"

His eyes were shooting daggers at me.  "I'll show you
what I want."  He walked toward the door that opened
up into what would normally be a bedroom and pushed
it open, another sweep of his arm to beckon me
through.

To say this room looked different than the last time
I'd seen it would be an understatement.  It used to
be a not-very-organized - and that's being kind -
repository for his files, his research, and his skin
magazines - all Mulder's passions.  Now, to put it
bluntly, it was a passion pit; every guy's vision of
Seduction Central.

King size bed with mirrored canopy, leopard skin
sheets and throw pillows.  New ultra-modern furniture
and lamps that cast a soft glow around the room.
Electric sex.  Big screen TV, new stereo with
gigantic speakers on either side of the bed.
Discriminating artwork.  Fresh flowers on the dresser
and lots and lots of candles.  A luxurious white rug
on the floor.  All that was missing was the
fireplace.

"Holy Mother of God."  I sucked in a breath and
walked around to the side of the bed, watched as the
vibration sent gentle waves rippling from head to
foot.  "Who's your new decorator?  Hugh Hefner?"

He stood near the door, arms folded across his chest,
still glowering at me.  My head was throbbing, but I
was determined to get to the bottom of this
hostility.  "Don't think I'm unappreciative of this
little preview of you new shagadelic pad, Agent
Powers, but is there a point to all this?"

He started to speak, then bit his lip and nodded
toward the bed, the glare even more deadly.  I stared
at him for a moment, looked back at the bed, and then
back at him.

"Ummm ... I'm flattered, Mulder.  Really.  But I
don't swing that way."

That did it.

"Are you gonna stand there and pretend you don't know
anything about this?"  He cocked his head and arched
an eyebrow, but his voice was controlled.  No need to
wake the neighbors.

"About what?"

"About what?" he repeated.  He made a wild gesture
with both hands.  "About this ... this ... this ..."

"Coitus chamber?"

"A-ha!" He pointed at me and brought his hands to his
hips.  "I knew it!"

"What, you think *I* did this?"

"You or one of the other two stooges."

I laughed like a demon.  "Trust me, Mulder.  If we
had the kind of cake it took to put together a
fornication station like this, we wouldn't waste it
on you.  We'd put it somewhere it was likely to get a
little action."

He folded his arms across his chest again and looked
around the room.  "You guys didn't do this?"

I shook my head.  "Not guilty, I assure you."  While
he mulled over my admission of innocence I climbed on
the bed and stretched out.  Oh, man.  This was just
the cure for my aching head.

"Well, what do you suppose happened to all my stuff?"

Only Mulder could receive the gift of a room like
this and be thinking about his displaced minutiae.
"Have you checked the closet?" I asked.

"No."  He took a tentative step and stopped,
seemingly afraid to venture further into the room.
But after a few moments, he gathered up his resolve,
walked confidently to the closet, and pulled back the
shutter-style doors.

Inside, boxes were stacked in an orderly fashion from
floor to hanging rod, as well as on the shelf above,
each container labeled with a list of its contents.
He stood and stared, and I just laughed.  "What a
lucky bastard you are, Mulder.  Your Fairy Godmother
is not only an expert on love lairs, she's also a
neat freak."

He shook his head and shoved his hands in his
pockets, then turned to face me.  "If you didn't do
this, who did?"

The rolling waves were very soothing.  "Maybe it's a
gift from old Smokey or one of his cronies."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

I propped myself up on my elbows.  I'd meant it as a
joke, but he was biting his lip again, his brow was
furrowed, and that little vein beside his eye was
pulsing just a bit.  "Yeah, that would be one of his
typical strong-arm tactics - redecorating your
bedroom.  What's his motivation?  He wants you better
rested so you'll prove to be a more formidable
adversary?  I don't think so."

"You're slipping, Frohike.  It would be just his
style to put a surveillance camera in the mirror
hoping for a sex scandal.  Lots of compromising
photos."

I snorted.  "Of what?  You and your hand?"  He looked
mortally wounded.  "On second thought, you could be
right.  Maybe that is his plan - provide you with
Fox's Den of Iniquity to get your mind off
colonization and focused on headier pursuits, no pun
intended."

He was uncharacteristically silent.  "Look, if you're
really so worried about where it came from," I said,
"why don't you ask the super?  He'd probably know
about any deliveries."

"Can't," he replied.  "Water beds aren't permitted in
this building.  It's in the lease.  If he knew about
it, he wouldn't have allowed it to be delivered."

I stretched out on the bed again, adjusting the
pillow under my head.  "Then I say don't look a gift
horse in the mouth."

"That's what the Trojans said."

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, Byers and
Langly will be home tomorrow."  I glanced at my
watch.  "I mean later today.  We'll go over
everything with a fine tooth comb.  If there's
cameras or microphones in here, we'll find them."

He didn't seem convinced.  I needed to get his mind
off his enemies bearing gifts before he brooded
himself into a frenzy.  "In the meantime ..." I
patted the empty spot beside me.  "C'mon, Mulder.
Catch a wave, you'll be sittin' on top of the world.
Cowabunga and all that jazz. At the very least, if
there *is* a camera up there, we'll give Cancer Man a
cheap thrill."

For the first time this evening, a hint of a smile.
"No, that's okay.  You can sleep there, though.  I
think you'd better stay here for what's left of the
night.  You look like hell."

I studied my reflection in the mirror above.  "I
*feel* like hell.  It's a set." I scraped my hand
over my chin.  "I guess I got a little carried away
tonight, trying to get the worm out of the bottle.
Not to mention that I got rousted out of bed at 3
a.m. by an obscene phone call."

He looked at the floor.  "Sorry.  I thought ... well,
sorry."

"It's okay," I replied.  "I probably would have done
the same if the shoe was on the other foot. C'mon,
Mulder, seriously.  This bed is sweet.  You gotta
give it a try."

"No thanks, I'll pass."  He crossed his arms tightly
against his chest again, then quickly blurted it out.
"I ... I get seasick."

I sat up and happily discovered my headache was
nearly gone.  "A waterbed's not like a boat," I told
him.  "The movement's more subtle, like your mama
rockin' you to sleep in her arms.  You won't get
sick."  I could see the wheels turning.  "And if you
do, I promise to hold your hair while you puke."

My attempt at humor was lost, as he continued to
stare blankly at the bed.  "Come on, Mulder.  Give it
a try.  You might like it."  He considered for a
moment longer, then raised an eyebrow.  "Don't worry,
your virtue is safe with me."

He took one step closer to the bed and placed his
palms flat on the mattress, testing the waters, so to
speak.  He stayed that way for what seemed like an
eternity, then tentatively lifted one knee to rest on
the comforter, letting his body get used to the
motion.  A few more minutes passed and he turned
around and sat, then slowly stretched out his lanky
frame until he was flat on his back. At first he
looked terrified, his arms tense on each side, his
fingers splayed out seeking some false sense of
balance.  But gradually, he seemed to relax, so I
settled back on the pillow on my side of the bed.

"But, Mulder, if something *should* happen, I'll
still respect you in the morning."

At last a chuckle and he relaxed a little more.

"So how'd things go in Nevada?" I asked, suddenly
remembering why Mulder had been out of town in the
first place.

"Waste of my frequent flier miles," he said.  "We got
stopped out on the highway a couple miles shy of
Groom Lake.  Didn't even get close to Dreamland."

"Dreamland."  I laughed.  "You know, that would make
a pretty good name for this bed."

"Oh, it needs a name now?"

"Of course."  I checked out my shit-eating grin in
the mirror.  The mixture of Tylenol and alcohol must
finally be kicking in.  "All this talk of sex
scandals and Trojans has got me thinking.  You know
how you should christen this worthy vessel, Mulder?
With the very tasty Agent Scully."

"Yeah, right.  Just today, Scully was saying she'd
like to settle down and live a normal life - you
know, house in the suburbs, picket fence, kids, dog.
If I invited her in here, I doubt that 'normal' would
be the first word that popped into her head."

"That's just another excuse in your long line of
excuses," I mused.  "Besides, just because she wants
what most people consider a 'normal' existence
doesn't mean that applies to all things.  In my
experience, 'normal' in the bedroom is highly
overrated.  Agent Scully might just welcome a walk on
the wild side."

He frowned, but I forged ahead.  "You've put Scully
up on this puritanical pedestal, but I'd bet her base
desires aren't so different from yours."

"What would you know about Scully's base desires?"

"A lot more than you, that's for sure.  I wouldn't
have wasted six years dicking around when it's been
pretty obvious for a while now how the two of you
feel about each other."  I didn't have to turn and
face him - I could see his reactions in the mirror
canopy.  "This might come as a shock to you, Mulder,
but you're not immediately likeable.  However, you do
have a knack for growing on people.  You grew on us,
and trust me, you've grown on Scully.  She could have
left you a long time ago, but she's still here.  You
invite her over here to share this bed and I
guarantee you that Mr. Webster will have to redefine
'normal' in his dictionary."

He absently tugged at a loose thread on the
comforter. "You make it sound so simple."

"It *is* simple.  You and Scully make it complicated.
It doesn't have to be.  But one of you has to take
the first step. You come clean with Scully about how
you feel, I guarantee you'll be pleasantly surprised
at her reaction."

He laced his fingers across his chest and took a deep
breath.  "I did tell her that I loved her."  His
voice was nearly a whisper.  "Let's just say the
response was less than enthusiastic."

My mouth gaped open in spite of myself.  "When?  When
did you tell her?"

"In Bermuda.  When I woke up in the hospital."  He
sighed.  "I told her I loved her and she said 'Oh,
brother'."

I let out a belly laugh that set the waterbed's waves
rolling furiously.

He swallowed hard and looked as though he expected
nausea to set in at any moment.  "It's not funny."

"The hell it isn't," I tried to stop laughing so the
bed would stop rolling.  "Mulder, you were in and out
of consciousness those first few hours in the
hospital.  You told *all* of us that you loved us at
least once.  You even tried to kiss Skinner on the
forehead."

He sat up quickly.  "I did not!"

I smiled broadly and looked him in the eye.  "Oh, yes
you did.  Anyway, given the circumstances, I think
Scully's reaction was pretty understandable.  You try
it again. Things'll be different."

"I don't know.  I think ..."

"That's the trouble with you, Mulder," I said,
watching him in the mirror as he settled back on the
bed.  "You think too much.  You gotta stop thinking
and take action."

He considered my advice in silence, lacing his
fingers over his chest again, crossing his legs at
the ankles, and chewing on his bottom lip.  I took
the lull in the conversation as an opportunity to
consider the possibilities of the well-placed
reflective surface above us.

"You know what I'm thinking, Mulder?" I asked, not
waiting for an answer.  "I'm thinking that somebody's
firm little ass would look mighty fine from this
angle.  That is some rear view mirror up there."

"Don't talk about Scully that way, Frohike."

"Who says I was talkin' about Scully?"

He glanced over warily, I smiled sadistically, and we
both looked up at our reflections.  "Take it from
someone who's known you a long time, kiddo."  He
realized he was about to get a lecture and closed his
eyes. "Scully is the best thing that ever happened to
you.  You know it, I know it, we all know it.  Tell
her how you feel - and not when you're in some drug-
induced haze or when one or both of you is in the
hospital recuperating from God-knows-what.  I'm not
gonna stand on the sidelines forever, you know.  I've
given you six years to make your move.  Your time is
running out.  If you don't tell her soon, I'm gonna
snatch her up and we'll use this bed as it was
intended to be used.  You hear me, Mulder?  Mulder?
Mulder!"

I raised up on one elbow to see if he was playing
possum, but the steady rise and fall of his chest and
the sound of a soft snore convinced me that the
gentle waves had done their work.  His fingers slowly
unknotted and his left hand dropped to his side, his
right still rested on his chest.

"Seems like no matter who I take to bed, it always
ends the same," I whispered.  I swung my legs around,
careful to create as little motion as possible,
waited for the turbulence to subside, then stood up.
I was steadier on my feet than I was earlier, and my
head was definitely clearer than when I first arrived
at Mulder's door, but I'd already tempted fate once
tonight and I wasn't going to do it again.  It was
just dumb luck that I didn't get stopped on the way
over here; no use risking a DUI when Mulder's couch
had a vacancy.

He didn't stir as I loosened the knots on his Nikes
and eased off his shoes and socks.  In this muted
light he looked much younger than a man nearing
middle age, all the world's worries that Mulder
usually carried in his features smoothed away in
slumber.  He looked peaceful, strong yet vulnerable.
And I often imagined that he looked exactly like my
own son would have looked if he'd had the chance to
grow up.

I'd never told Mulder about the loss of my wife and
son and I never would.  Hell, I'd never even told
Byers and Langly.  If they'd known, they never would
have left me alone today ... yesterday.  It happened
a long time ago, and I'd buried the pain deep down,
but once a year it floated to the surface.  Thank God
for tequila - the only substance capable of washing
it back to the depths where I wanted it to remain.

Mulder would probably be offended if he knew I
sometimes think about him like a son, but he should
be flattered.  If my own son had grown up to be half
the man Mulder is, it would have made me extremely
proud.  And I couldn't be prouder of Mulder if he
were my own flesh and blood.

Except for his love life, of course. His love life
needs serious work and I'm just the man to take on
that challenge.  I don't know where this monstrosity
came from, but something tells me if I can get the
bed, Mulder, and Scully in the same place at the same
time, things will take care of themselves.

I paused at the bedroom door for a moment and glanced
back.  "Goodnight, kiddo," I whispered. "Sweet
dreams."  I yawned, clicked off the light switch, and
headed toward the living room where an empty leather
sofa was calling my name.

THE END

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