Hi Everyone,
I apologize in advance for this. Apparently, aol can't handle five pages at a time, so I have to go with four. That means this story will be in 9 sections. If you don't want to wade through all the emails, I HOPE to have the story up on our webpage sometime this weekend. (http://pages.ivillage.com/tallsor/)

This one has been brewing for awhile now--about 4 months. Hope it was worth the wait...
Peace,
Joelle

Title: Necklace of Tears
Author: J.D. Rush
E-mail: yanksfan462@aol.com
Web page: http://pages.ivillage.com/tallsor/
Feedback: always welcome and appreciated
Rating: R for some bad language, angst-y situations, m/m relationship (no graphic sex--sorry)
Summary: A story tip turns tragic. Angst and schmoop ensue.
Archive: The Lone Slasher; The Basement, others upon request.
Pairing: F/B and sometime L
Spoilers: One Breath (maybe)/ Never Again (a bit)/ Three of a Kind (barely)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to CC, FOX, and 1013. I tried to take good care of them, but they insisted on getting into trouble this time.
Author's Note: The story I didn't intend on writing. This is in effect, the fourth part of The Pining Trilogy. It takes place in the same universe, approximately three months after No More Lonely Nights. (Title was stolen, ahhh, BORROWED from Paul Simon's album, 'You're the One'.)
Special Thanks: Once more to my incredible, one-of-a-kind, can't do without her beta, Kylara. Here's looking at you, kid.

---

NECKLACE OF TEARS
By: J. D. Rush

FRIDAY NIGHT:

The shots rang throughout the empty warehouse. I turned to Mulder, his eyes wide in surprise, and we took off at a dead run in the general direction of the sound, nearly crashing into Skinner and Byers as they flew around some packing cases. All four of us took a quick inventory of who was there and who wasn't and noticed two members of our party were missing in the now deadly silence. We all turned tail and spread out to try to find them.

It wasn't quite supposed to turn out this way. The three of us had been waiting for a reliable contact of ours down by the pier when we saw Mulder and Scully pull up outside an abandoned warehouse and disappear inside. Not more than five minutes later, A.D. Skinner sped down the street, skidded to a stop by the other car, and ran in after the agents like a bat outta hell. Our curiosity piqued, and figuring they could use our help (not to mention the prospect of a good juicy front page story) we blew off our clandestine meeting and sprinted in behind them all.

Skinner wasn't all that thrilled to have us along, but Mulder and Scully seemed to welcome the additional assistance. . .well, at least Mulder did. We had split up into pairs in order to search the massive structure--apparently Mulder had been tipped off that there was a high tech bio-chemical weapon being stored there, and he was determined to find it before it fell into the wrong hands. Somehow, through meetings and more splits, we had ended up with our current partners.

Now Scully and Frohike were missing.

I was calling their names, much as the other guys were, when we heard a panicked female's scream, "MULDER! HURRY!" Following the voice, I carefully made my way towards Scully, not knowing what circumstances I was going to find her in, and hoping that Frohike was with her. I heard other footsteps, even as her cries for Mulder continued, and knew the rest of the guys were not far behind me. Keeping an eye out for dangerous situations, I finally came upon Scully and Frohike--but not the way I wanted to.

Scully was down on her knees; on the ground next to her lay Frohike, bleeding profusely. I assumed it was from a bullet to the chest, but I couldn't tell. There was so much blood, even though Scully had tried to do her best to stem the flow with her balled-up jacket. I watched for a few moments as she pressed the sodden material to his chest, murmuring soft comforting words I couldn't understand from where I was standing.

She must've heard me approach, because she looked up--I've never seen such a look of hopelessness and shocked disbelief on Scully's usually impassive face. Her mouth opened to say something to me, but just then Mulder raced in from my right. Instead, she turned to him and shouted, "Call emergency! Civilian down!" He had his phone out and was dialing 9-1-1 before she even finished her sentence.

"Oh God!" a choked whisper came from behind as Byers drew up to me. I grabbed for his arm, but he ignored me, dashing to Scully and his fallen lover. He dropped to his knees beside her, grief etched in his face. Carefully lifting Frohike's head, he placed it in his lap, gently stroking his hair, chanting softly, "Oh, God, please don't die. Oh, God!"

Suddenly she was yelling at me, "LANGLY! Come here! I need you." I ran over to where she was kneeling, finding my legs felt like lead. "Down here. . .hold this." I squatted down across from her; she grabbed my hands, and had me pressing down on the makeshift dressing while she leaned over and began artificial respiration. Part of my traitorous mind couldn't help thinking that Frohike would really be enjoying this. . .if he were conscious TO enjoy it, that is. The other part of my brain was just trying to keep me from barfing.

"Bastard got away," Skinner's gruff voice boomed out, as he finally caught up with us. "Chased him out a side door and. ..oh shit!" he added with emphasis when he saw the scene before him.

Scully took a break in her ministrations to look up at me. Her eyes were filled with tears, as she mouthed, "I'm sorry."

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

The ride to the hospital was done in total silence. Mulder was driving, as John and I were in no condition to be behind the wheel; Scully had gone ahead of us with the ambulance. Frohike was so pale and so still as they loaded him on the stretcher, attached to more medical equipment than I knew existed--I didn't even want to think about it anymore. Skinner had stayed behind, organizing an F.B.I. net to try to catch the assailant. Fat chance, but it was his job to try.

When we finally arrived, Scully was standing in the emergency room, still in a daze, just staring off into space. I watched as Mulder approached her, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Scully, are you okay?"

She continued to stare straight ahead towards a double set of doors at the end of the corridor. "They took him into surgery about ten minutes ago," she muttered, her voice devoid of any emotion. "He never regained consciousness."

Mulder placed a second hand on her other shoulder, and turned her to face him. "Scully, I asked if YOU were all right. Were you hurt?"

Finally, her eyes looked up, into his face, but it was as if she didn't even see him. Shaking her head minutely from side to side, she whispered, "No. I'm okay. Only Frohike. . . ." She didn't finish the sentence.

Byers couldn't stay silent any longer. He stepped over to her and asked, gently but firmly, "Dana, what happened back there?"

She turned to him, her gaze still blank. For the first time I could see her eyes, normally full of fire and life, were now empty and dead. I felt a heaviness settle in my chest that was making it hard for me to breath. For some reason her look--her demeanor--was scaring me more than the vision of Frohike in a lake of his own blood. "Don't know," she hesitantly began. "One minute, we were searching for the bio-weapon, the next he was down. The shooter was already on the run by the time I got my gun drawn. I fired a couple of times but I never even got a good look at him."

Maybe not, but she had certainly gotten a good look at Frohike. ..and it shook her up pretty badly. Mulder squeezed her shoulder and said, quietly, "C'mon, Scully--let's go see if we can get you something to wear."

She gave him a puzzled look. "Huh?"

"Ahhh--Scully?" I stammered, and gestured to her blood-soaked white blouse and tan pants.

She followed my finger and looked down at her ruined outfit, as if seeing it for the first time, her eyes opening in bewilderment and shock. Yes, that's what it was. No wonder she was acting so strangely. She must have gone into shock. You'd think she could handle something like this, being a doctor and all. Perhaps she was freaked out because it wasn't just anyone who had gotten shot, but a friend of hers and Mulder's. Or maybe because she understood Frohike was so much more than a friend to me and Byers. All I knew was that she had seriously gone off the deep end.

Whatever it was, she left docilely with Mulder as they went in search of some clean clothes. Byers and I took a couple of seats, as close to each other as possible, and began the waiting game. I reached out a tentative hand and entwined it with John's, but I don't even think he noticed. There were no words between us--there were none to say. We were both in our own little worlds, thinking about our dying friend. <No, Langly,> I told myself. <Don't go there.> Frohike was going to be fine. Damn, I was having a hard enough time dealing with all this. I couldn't even begin to imagine what was going through John's mind.

Their relationship came as quite a bit of a surprise for everyone, myself included. Heck, I thought I was the only sexually deviant in the group. John was straight as an arrow, and thoroughly committed to a woman he had met only once over a decade earlier. And Frohike? Well, Fro marched to his own drummer. Never saw him with a date in all the years I knew him--girl or guy. He seemed content with his porn rags, which he collected and traded with Mulder the way guys usually trade baseball cards. It was weird, but who was I to call him out on it? It worked for him, and that's all that mattered.

Then one day, a few weeks after that fucked up trip to Las Vegas, I noticed that they were kinda looking at each other all goofy over their computer monitors. I shook it off as a trick of the light or something, but then it kept happening. I started to keep an eye on them, catching them brushing past each other, or the secret little smiles they shot one another when they thought no one was looking, or sitting just a bit closer than usual on the couch while watching C-SPAN. It didn't take a rocket scientist to guess what was going on, but I suppose my brain just refused to believe it.

Everything was revealed the night I came home from a frustrating date. (I had gotten stoned for the first time in ages, and consequently, couldn't get the general to salute, if you get my drift.) I found them stretched out, Byers leaning against Frohike on the old ratty couch, his suit jacket and tie folded neatly over a nearby chair. They were watching 'ALIEN' for probably the hundredth time (Frohike has a major league crush on Sigourney Weaver) It was such a semi-normal situation that I didn't think anything about it until I noticed Frohike had his right arm wrapped around John's waist, and his hand was casually stroking our bearded friend's woody through his dress pants.

Even from where I was standing, I could hear John's breathy little moans, as Fro's hand continued its intimate caress. Byers suddenly turned enough to press his lips to Mel's. The kiss soon took on a passionate urgency as John rolled over on top of the smaller man and began to rock his hips against Frohike's thigh. The Fro-man reached around and grabbed that shapely ass in his hands, pulling Byers tightly against him as they deepened the kiss, the movie now all but forgotten.

I knew spying on them was wrong, but I couldn't help myself. I stood transfixed, sure that I was more stoned than I had previously thought, as Byers began scooting downwards, unbuttoning Frohike's shirt as he went, leaving little kisses along the newly exposed furry torso. When he started undoing Mel's belt-buckle, I figured it was time to give them some peace. 'Sides, I had discovered that the little scene had finally awakened my slumbering 'buddy', and, as they say, a good hard-on is a terrible thing to waste.

Only thing is, I was still 'feeling good', and the impulse to tease my friends was too strong. So, I kinda cleared my throat, the way your dad does when he's caught you doing something you weren't supposed to be doing. They looked so cute when they jumped apart, embarrassment and guilt flashing across their reddening faces. I just stood there, arms crossed and asked, in my best Ward Cleaver voice, "Well? Anything you boys wanna tell me?"

And tell me they did. Man, oh man, Byers and Frohike! Who'd've thunk it? And yet, was it so odd? They had always been very close, right from the beginning. I knew they were both lonely, and they were both great guys. (Even if Frohike could be a bit aggravating at times.) They were good for each other, and they really cared for one another. . .that was easy to see. I was glad for them since they were so happy, but it made me wonder if I'd turn into a third wheel. You know, two's company, three's a crowd and all that. And I couldn't help but be a little envious, wishing I had someone that special, too.

The guys were great, though. Both were really adamant that things not change between us--never wanting me to think of myself as an interloper. They did everything they could so I wouldn't feel out of the loop, going out of their way to make sure I was included in their lives. . .a path that lead, surprisingly, into their bed.

It wasn't planned--like all great things in life, it just happened. Gave me a whole new outlook on our friendship, and a deeper understanding of just how wonderful these two men were. It's happened a few more times since--not enough for me, but what can you do? Each time has been special, emotional, and VERY hot! (Never knew the narc and the gnome-prince had it in them!) It was great to discover that things were just as before, except we were even closer, if that was possible.

Damn, I loved them both so much. Frohike couldn't die. He just couldn't! It was something I wasn't ready to deal with. As if sensing my distress, John stretched out his right arm, and draped it around my shoulders. I looked up at my friend--all the fear and pain and misery I felt was reflected on his handsome, tired face a thousand fold. Yet he was the one who pulled me close, and let me rest my head on his shoulder. At a time when he needed comfort, he was comforting me. I just wrapped my arms around his waist and hung on tight.

Mulder and Scully eventually wandered back over to us--they had managed to find her some hospital scrubs, a little big, but clean. Still, she looked like hell. (Yeah, like I'm sure Byers and me looked like spring daisies.) We made room for them in our little corner and they sat down to join us in our silent vigil.

That's where we all were some time later when Skinner walked through the door, and approached our circle. "No luck yet, but we've got every available man on the trail," he reported, as he took a seat by Scully. One glance at her, and the concern was evident in his stern face. "Agent Scully, you look like hell." A.D. Skinner isn't one to beat around the bush.

"Matches the way I feel, sir," Scully answered, distractedly.

That brought Skinner up short. "Agent, are you okay?" he asked, more gently.

"I'm fine, sir," she replied in a small voice.

"I doubt that. Why don't you go get something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry, sir," she protested, weakly.

"That's an order, agent. Take her down to the cafeteria, Mulder." He looked over at me and Byers, and said, "You guys, too. You all need a break. I'll keep the watch going."

"No offense, Walter," Byers corrected him, evenly, "but I'd prefer to stay."

"Me, too," I added quickly, wanting to be there for John.

He just stared at us, and shook his head. "Fine. Suit yourselves." He pulled out his wallet, and handed Mulder a ten-dollar bill. "Bring us some coffee when you come back, okay? And I expect some change."

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

Mulder came back a few minutes later with our coffee (and Skinner's change), but without Scully. She had wanted to stay in the cafeteria, needing some time alone. The four of us sat for the next hour or so sipping our cooling java, the conversation stilted and sporadic. Skinner kept checking in with his team, but there had been no sign of the shooter. Even more disturbing was that a thorough search of the warehouse had yielded no bio-chemical weapons. It was starting to look like Mulder and Scully had been set up, and we were unlucky enough to have bumbled into the crossfire.

Finally, after an excruciating amount of time, the doctor approached us to announce that the operation had been successful, but Frohike was still in serious danger. The bullet had done quite a bit of damage to his heart before puncturing a lung. And despite Scully's best efforts, he had lost a lot of blood. The doc didn't come right out and say it, but you could read between the lines. The chances of Frohike coming out of this were looking pretty bad.

After some negotiations, they allowed us into the recovery room to visit. Oh man! And I thought he was hooked up to a lot of machines when the EMT's had shown up! Tubes and wires and things going 'ping' all over the place. I couldn't even guess at what half that stuff could be used for.

I thought for sure Byers would pass out when he entered, but I don't think he even saw any of it. He just walked right over to Frohike and kissed him tenderly on the forehead, unmindful of what Mulder or Skinner thought. He then plopped down in a chair next to the bed, reaching instantly for his lover's hand, carefully holding it so as not to disturb the IV that was attached to the back of it.

I admired his strength and composure--my knees were wobbly and I felt terribly lightheaded. I grabbed onto John's shoulders, as much to steady myself as to give him some reassurance. After a few deep breaths, I got my equilibrium back and no longer felt like I would faint at any moment.

From behind me I heard Mulder whisper, "Someone should go tell Scully."

"I'll do it," Skinner answered.

"No." Three sets of startled eyes focused on me. Did I really just talk back to A.D. Skinner? Yeah, I guess I did. I kept remembering the looks Scully gave me at the warehouse, and again down in the ER. Something was telling me I should be the one to deliver the news. "I'll go."

John asked, concerned and surprised, "You sure, Ringo?"

"Yeah. I'll be back in a few," I said with a shrug, talking a lot bigger than I felt. I gave his shoulders a friendly, comforting squeeze, and went off to hunt down Scully.

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

I found her still down in the cafeteria, an untouched sandwich, and an almost full bottle of Evian water in front of her. She was just staring at the wall, looking lost and alone. I could feel my nerve rapidly dissipating; I was about to leave and send Skinner down after all when she turned and saw me. "Langly! Any news?"

<Oh, man, why the hell did I volunteer to do this?> Inching closer, I gulped, then said, "I. . .I thought you'd like to know.. .he's out of surgery. They--they just wheeled him into recovery."

"And?" she asked quietly, hopefully.

"And. . .and he's in critical condition. He, ah. . .he's not conscious yet. . .they say he's in a coma. I. . .they. . .said he's got a 50/50 chance of coming out of it."

She buried her head in her hands, "Oh, God. . .I'm so sorry, Ringo. This is all my fault."

I took a step closer, puzzled by her odd behavior all night. "Scully, it's not your fault."

Shaking her head she started rambling, "I never heard him. I was busy checking out one of the shipping crates, and. . .and there was a sound. I turned around and there was a gun pointed at me. He pushed me out of the way. Frohike took the bullet for me. He saved my life. If I had only been more alert and. . ." That was all she got out before she broke down completely.

I had no idea what to do. I'd never seen Scully cry like that before. "But, but that's not what you told Skinner," I commented, lamely.

"I know. I couldn't. . .say it. Couldn't. . .admit it. . .to him. . .or to myself."

That explained the looks she kept giving me. The way she kept apologizing to me. She blamed herself for what had happened. Before I realized what I was doing, I was crossing the span between us, and pulling her into a hug. "It's okay, Dana," I whispered, using her name for perhaps the first time since I'd known her. "He'll be okay. I know he will. It's not your fault. Frohike would have done that for any of his friends. That's just the kind of guy he is. And 'sides, he's too crotchety and stubborn to die."

She gave a small choked laugh. "He certainly is."

I jerked my head towards the exit. "C'mon. . .let's go say 'hi' to him."

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hands, she took a deep breath, trying to regain her poise. She fixed me with her crystal blue eyes, and with a tiny smile whispered, "Let's."

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

When we got back upstairs, Skinner was gone, called back to the crime scene, hopefully because they had found a lead. Mulder was fidgeting in the corner--understandable. If I spent half as much time in hospitals as he seemed to, I'd be wanting to get the hell out of there, too. Byers hadn't moved, still sitting by Frohike's side, watching as his lover fought for his life.

Scully went over to his chart, and quickly scanned his condition. I knew that John could have easily read it himself, but if he was like me right then, he didn't want to know how hopeless it was. She returned the chart, then came up behind Byers and wrapped her arms almost protectively around him, joining him as he sobbed softly.

I took the seat across the bed from my friends, and clasped Mel's other hand. It felt so strange. I was so used to his strength--as he worked on all that electrical equipment back at headquarters, or the way he could hack into anything, anywhere, as he hung from ropes and wires and telephone poles. But now, his hand felt cold and brittle, as if I could crush it just holding it. I looked up at his face--the oxygen tubes taped to his nose and mouth, machines breathing for him, IV's hanging here and there, electrodes everywhere. He was so still. And I felt the tears leak from my own eyes.

I leaned in close to his ear and whispered in my most intimidating voice, "You can't die, Frohike. You hear that!? You can't fuckin' die on us, man!"

TUESDAY NIGHT:

It went like that for the next 72 hours. Byers and I were at the hospital nearly every waking moment, and most of our sleeping ones too. (Well, if you call the 10 or 12 winks we got every few hours 'sleep'.) We'd leave Frohike's side only for a bite to eat, tend to bodily needs and to change our clothes--that is, when I could drag John away. The staff was getting tired of us, but there was nothing they could do. A nuclear strike wouldn't have moved Byers from his lover's side.

It seemed like Scully was there as much as we were. Mulder popped in and out, occasionally with Skinner--they had yet to find the shooter. It was likely he (or she) was long gone and Mulder's contact had not been heard from since that night. BFS. Big Fuckin' Surprise.

Skinner was less than happy, as could be imagined, to think there was a price on his agents' heads. Mulder was now showing signs of the same guilt that was troubling Scully. He had withdrawn from us, throwing himself into his work, pushing aside his normal quest in his obsession to find Frohike's assailant. Of us three Gunmen, he has always been closest to Frohike, and this was his way of dealing with what happened. I think he thought if he solved the case, he could sleep easier at night.

That would make one of us.

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

Don't even know what time it was when I felt someone shaking my shoulder. Oh man, must've dozed off. I opened my burning eyes to see Mulder standing there. He gave me a sad little smile. "Come on, Langly, I'm taking you boys home. Doctor's orders."

"No, I'm staying here," I replied, automatically.

"No, you're not," Scully chorused. "You and Byers are going to go home and get some sleep."

"If it's all the same, Dana, I'm staying," Byers answered, decisively.

"John, you've been here for four straight days. Go home and get some sleep."

"I can sleep here," he argued.

"I find that quite debatable." Approaching him she knelt down by his chair and spoke quietly, but determinedly, "John, listen to me. You're not eating. You're not sleeping. You've been running on fumes for days now, and you're going to need your strength so you can be there for Frohike. And for Langly. They are relying on you. You'll be no good to them if you wear yourself down and wind up in the hospital, too."

He looked over at me--I couldn't dispute what she said. I'd always looked up to my older friends. They watched out for me, and I'd be lost without them. I saw a small smile tug at the side of John's mouth as he gave a slight nod. "I guess you're right. But what if he wakes up?"

Scully clasped John's hands in hers, "I'll be here for him."

"YOU?"

"Well, there should be a familiar face here when he awakens." She stood up, and patted him on the back. "Now go. You should get some rest."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black," he muttered, but gave in to her concerns. Bringing Frohike's hand up to his lips, he kissed it, then carefully placed it back on the bed. Standing gracefully he turned to Scully and insisted, "You'll call me, if anything happens?"

She nodded, "I will. I promise."

He leaned down and kissed Frohike one last time on the cheek, then called to me. Throwing an arm around my shoulder, he gave me a brave smile and joked, "C'mon, Ringo--I'll tuck you in."

SCULLY:

"Scully, you sure Mulder knows what he's doing here?"

"You're asking ME?"

"Well I just figured you'd know, since he's your partner and all."

"I don't know, Frohike. We've been chasing these guys for almost two weeks now, but they always seem to be one step ahead of us. Anything in that box there?"

"Nada. You think there's an inside snitch?"

"Doubt it. No one else knows about this case. . ."

"'Cept Skinner. Any luck?"

"Nothing here. Are you accusing A.D. Skinner of sabotaging this?"

"No, but he has superiors. And a lot of them want you and Mulder gone. If they could discredit you guys somehow. . ."

"Frohike, we're talking about Fox Mulder here. How much more CAN he be discredited?"

"Touche. It's just, well, I worry about you, Scully."

"I'm grateful for your concern, but I'm sure you're just over-reacting."

"Yeah, right. Good ol' paranoid Frohike."

"That's not what I meant. I'm just saying you're probably reading too much into all this. And Skinner wouldn't do that to us. He's saved our butts more times that I can count."

"Well, if you and Mulder trust Walt, that's good enough for me."

"I do. And I wouldn't let him hear you call him 'Walt'. He hates it."

"I'll try to remember that."

"What about those crates over there, Frohike?"

"Paper supplies. You know, I'm not knockin' Mulder--I like the guy--but we've been through this whole place, top to bottom and I haven't seen anything resembling a state of the art bio-weapon. I'm starting to think that tip was a hoax."

"I'm sure it's here somewhere. Mulder may have unorthodox methods, but he's rarely wrong."

"What was that?"

"You heard me. And if you ever repeat it to him, I'll make you sorry you were ever born."

"Oooh, yeah. Hurt me, baby."

"You are one sick man, Frohike."

"I try my best."

"Well, how about TRYING to find this weapon?"

"But of course. You know I'd do anything for you, Scully. ..ANYTHING."

"That's sweet. Now, less talking, more snooping."

"Ahh, my middle name."

"Melvin 'The Snoop' Frohike?"

"Heck, it's better than my REAL middle name."

"Which is. . .?"

"If you go out with me, I'll tell you."

"Frohike--we've gone through this before. MANY times before."

"Awww, c'mon Scully. One little date. What could it hurt?"

"Our friendship, for one thing."

"You KNOW I'd still respect you in the morning."

"But maybe I wouldn't respect you."

"I'll take my chances, pretty lady."

"I'd prefer to keep our relationship on a professional level."

"Fine. I'll call you AGENT Pretty Lady, if you want. I'm adaptable."

"Here's the thing, Frohike. . .I don't think you could handle me."

"Oh, mama! It may kill me, but I'd sure like to try."

"Besides, what about Byers?"

"He's a pretty easy-going guy. He'll understand--as long as he can watch."

"Frohike--I'm really, REALLY hoping you're joking."

"Maybe. Maybe not. You'll just have to find out for yourself. Now, when can I pick you up?"

"Frohike. . .I'm going to be completely honest with you. I'm afraid you'll ruin me for all other men."

"Hmmmm, you may be right, Scully. I couldn't do that to you. I mean, you know what they say: Once you've had a little taste of Frohike. . .what was that?"

"What was what?"

"I heard something. . .like a. . .DANA! DOWN!!"

"Huh? What do you. . .?"

*BANG*

"Frohike!!? Frohike??!"

"Frohike!!"

The cry, which echoed in my own voice, startled me awake. I shook myself as the disturbing flashbacks still haunted my memory. Those horrible moments that will stay with me forever, right before my friend was shot. Saving my life.

So many things we did wrong. *I* did wrong. If only we hadn't been joking. If only I had been paying attention. If only we had never followed up on that stupid tip in the first place. If only I had listened to my instincts and told Mulder that the Gunmen should leave, that they didn't belong there. If only. . .

The rough masculine hand in mine twitched. I looked up to see two puzzled, glassy eyes staring back at me. "Frohike?" His hand twitched again, and a breath caught in my throat. "Frohike, can you hear me?" He squeezed my fingers--lightly, but enough for me to know he had heard me, and had understood.

"Scccuuulll. . .?"

"Yeah, it's me." His breathing tube had been removed earlier in the day, and he now only required a thin oxygen line leading to his nose. But his throat was still irritated from the tube's insertion and removal, making his voice scratchy and wispy; his weakness didn't help, either. I poured a cup of ice water from the pitcher on the bedside table, and placed a straw in it. "Here. . .take a little sip." He followed my instructions, and I got a small twitch of his mouth as thanks.

"Where. . .where. . .?"

"You're in the hospital."

"You get. . .number. . .of bus?"

"Frohike, it wasn't a bus. You were shot. At the warehouse. Do you remember that?"

"Rather not." He closed his eyes for a moment, then cracked them open again, a shadow of his lecherous grin playing on his lips. Pressing my hand slightly, he wheezed, "I've died. . .and gone.. .to heaven."

I had to smile. From death's door to full-blown flirt in the blink of an eye. "Not yet. And not for a long time if I have anything to say about it."

"Johhnnn. . .?" he asked, serious again.

"He's fine. I sent him home to get some sleep."

"Rin. . .Rin. . .?"

"Ringo's fine, too. He went home with Byers."

"Fox?" His voice seemed to catch on the single syllable.

"He's the one who drove them."

He looked me right in the eye, and whispered, "You okay?"

I felt the smile grow bigger, even as the tears began to fill my eyes. "You saved my life, Frohike."

He took a deep breath and sighed, "Would do. . .again."

"Oh, Mel." The tears I had tried so hard to hold in would not be denied any longer, and slid silently down my cheeks. I went to grab some tissues from the nightstand when he lifted a shaky hand to wipe one away with his thumb.

"Don't cry. . .honey. Please." Of course, that just made it worse. I placed my head on his arm and sobbed, as days of anxiety and guilt finally caught up with me. Fragile fingers skimmed through my hair, bringing a calm in their wake.

It took a couple of minutes to pull myself together. When I finally did, I looked up to see him smiling down at me. "Never thought. . .you cared, Dana."

"More than you know." He brushed some stray hairs away from my face, and I gave him a grateful smile. I leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Now, get some sleep. We'll talk more when you're stronger."

"Don't wanna. Afraid you'll be gone . . .when I wake up."

Hearing the fear in his voice, I rose out of the chair and sat down on the edge of his bed. I took his hand in mine, telling him resolutely, "I'm not going anywhere, Frohike," and gave him a baby kiss on the forehead to seal the promise.

A deep, heartfelt sigh. "Now. . .I KNOW. . .in heaven."

I chuckled softly. " 'Night, Frohike. Pleasant dreams."

"Will. . .now," he mumbled, sleepily.

I held onto his hand with my right, my left brushing through his hair, gently caressing his forehead, giving him comfort where I could. The nurses had washed his hair earlier, and it was herbal smelling and baby soft. I watched his mouth quirk into a tiny smile as his breathing evened out, and he quickly fell back to sleep, while I found my mind wandering into territory I had become quite familiar with these past few days.

Who was this strange little man who had been part of my life for over seven years now? I knew almost nothing about him, even though I did count him as one of my close friends. I used to think that was indicative of the sad state of my social life, but recently, I had begun to rethink that position.

Yeah, he was a little rough around the edges, and certainly a little crude, especially when it came to what he called 'compliments'. The day he called me 'hot' was the mildest of these 'terms of endearment'. Mulder was always quick to report back with others, ranging from 'lovely' to 'tasty' to 'savory'. And I got a full month of grief from him when Frohike once referred to me as 'succulent'. That one was almost enough to dissolve our partnership.

But Frohike meant no harm by them. Indeed, they soon became a running joke between us, as he constantly tried to out-do himself. And as I spent more time with him, I came to learn that a lot of his coarseness was an act, a shell he used to protect himself. He was a hard man to get to know, but once he trusted you, his hidden persona shone through--the one that was intelligent, and funny, and deeply protective of those he loved. Under that gruff, coarse exterior beat the heart of a sensitive, gentle soul.

When I found out about him and Byers--well, I was surprised. VERY surprised. From the way Frohike was constantly flirting with me, I had no idea he was gay. And as for Byers, he never gave any indication of his deep feelings for his friend. But then, sometimes, love can work that way. I must admit I was taken aback by the strange concept at first, but as I learned more and more about Frohike, I could understand what John saw in him. If anyone epitomized the notion that beauty was more than skin deep, it was man whom I currently cradled in my arms.

I came to the conclusion that Byers was a pretty lucky guy. And speaking of Byers, I suddenly remembered my promise to call him. Carefully reaching over to pick up my cell phone from the nightstand so as not to disturb Mel, I dialed up the Lone Gunmen's headquarters. After only a half-ring, the line was picked up, and John's apprehensive voice asked, "Scully?"

"Hi Byers," I whispered into the quiet room. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Who else would be calling at 2:00 am?" he replied, logically.

"Yeah. . .I know it's late, but you told me to call about. . ."

"Is he okay?" he asked, breathlessly. "What happened?"

"Byers, calm down. . .he's fine. He came to a couple of minutes ago."

"Thank God!" he sighed, gratefully. "I'm on my way."

"No rush, John. He fell right back to sleep. And you should do the same." Faintly in the background I could hear another male voice, so I added, "And Langly, too."

"Yes, mom," the man on the phone responded, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Are you sure he's okay?"

"Uh-huh. He sounded alert. . .coherent. That's a good sign. And he was asking about you. Was worried if you were safe." I didn't hear anything on the line for a moment or two and thought that we had been disconnected. Suddenly, there was a choked sob, and I realized he was crying. "John. . .are you all right?"

"You'll stay with him?" he asked, softly.

"Yes. All night. I promised."

A pause. "Okay. You win. I'll go to bed."

HURRAY! I had finally won. "See you in the morning, John," knowing the smile could be heard in my voice.

"Good night, Dana. And. . .and thank you." Then the line went dead.

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

WEDNESDAY MORNING

LANGLY:

The three of us, Byers, Mulder and me, were at the hospital with the larks the next morning. We stopped in the gift shop on the way to get some goodies for Frohike--John bought him a huge bouquet of flowers; I picked him up some Hershey bars and some crossword puzzle books; Mulder got him the latest issue of Playboy. (At John's inquisitive look, Mulder had calmly replied that 'they had some interesting articles.' Right, G-Man. Damn, Mulder needed a date more than *I* did!) Bearing our gifts, like a twisted version of the Three Wise Men, we made our way to his room. The ladies at the nursing station just gave us a smile and a wave as we passed. . .maybe they thought that now the all-night vigils would cease and they could get back to some kind of normal routine.

The door to the room was open, and we all followed John inside. The sight that greeted us was shocking, to say the least. Agent Scully was sitting on the bed, fast asleep, her head slumped against the backboard; Frohike's head was pillowed on her thigh, holding her hand. Mulder turned to me and Byers and said, "Now THERE'S a Kodak moment."

"Yeah, 'cept Scully would have your nads if you took it," I shot back.

"She already. . .got them. . .long time ago."

The raspy voice came from an unlikely source. . .the man in the bed. Both John and I exclaimed happily and in unison, "FROHIKE!"

"Shhh--don't wake her. . .had long night." His words were halting, as if having a hard time pushing them out. But when he opened his eyes, they were almost sparkling. "She stayed. . .all night. . ."

Mulder smirked, "Frohike, you pervert. You better not have taken advantage of her." Our old friend just gave us one of his lecherous grins, and patted the agent's shapely leg.

Byers didn't waste a moment. Thrusting the flowers at me, he rushed over to the other side of the bed, opposite the sleeping agent. Carefully picking up Frohike's left hand, he kissed it tenderly, the tears already streaming down his face. He glanced up to see Mel watching him intently; he leaned down and lightly brushed his lips over his lover's.

I watched, silently, as Frohike ran a shaky hand down John's cheek, his fingers tracing the lines of the tears and stroking through the soft auburn whiskers. Even from where I was standing, I could see Mel's eyes welling up, too. Byers collapsed in a nearby chair, grasping again at Frohike's hand. "God, Mel. . .I never thought. . ." Byers stammered, "I had so much to tell you. . .I. . .I wanted to tell you. . .I love you so much."

"Shhh. . .I know. Love you too." He looked up at me still standing in the doorway with the bunch of flowers, and a smile pulled at his lips. "Hiya, Hairball," he gasped.

"Back at ya, *MELVIN*," I rattled off automatically, happier than I thought possible to be bickering with this man once more. I approached the bed, with flowers and gift bag in hand, "We brung you goodies."

"Great!" He eagerly opened the bag and pulled out the skin rag. "Whoa. . .Playboy. Thanks, Mulder."

He didn't even have the good taste to seem embarrassed. "Hey, you'd do the same for me, Mel."

I was leaning over the bed, giving Fro a friendly peck on the cheek when we heard a soft feminine moan. "Ahhh, the salacious.. .Scully. . .has awoken," Frohike croaked.

"Ooohh, my neck," she groaned, as she raised her head from the headboard, her hand already reaching up to massage the aching muscles.

"Was it. . .good. . .for you, too?" Frohike asked her with a definite leer in his voice.

"So good, I blacked out," she deadpanned. It seemed things were starting to get back to normal.

Mulder came over to the bed, and replaced her hand with his, taking up the gently kneading. "C'mon, Sleeping Beauty...I'll buy you breakfast."

She sighed, heavily. "You keep that up, Mulder, and I'll follow you just about anywhere." He leaned down to whisper something in her ear; she suddenly flashed a rare ear-to-ear smile and nodded enthusiastically. Sliding off the bed, she efficiently crammed some stuff into her small handbag before finally grabbing her jacket off the coat rack in the corner.

As she slipped it on she turned to me and asked, "Coming, Ringo?"

I looked around quickly, then turned back to her. "Um, are you talking to me?"

"Unless there's another Ringo I don't know about," she teased. "C'mon, Mulder's paying."

"Hey!" Mulder protested, playfully.

It was like she was talking a foreign language. "You mean. ..you're inviting me? To have breakfast with you two?"

She laughed, "Yeah--and we better hurry before the cheap skate changes his mind."

"HEY!" Mulder exclaimed, clearly insulted. Scully just stuck her tongue out at him.

"Well, I don't know. . ." I wanted to take them up on their offer, but it didn't feel right. My place was here with the guys. "I think I should. . ."

Mulder came over to me and threw his arm around my shoulder. "Free food," he announced, speaking two of my favorite words. "Sides, it'll give the love birds some time to themselves."

Of course. What the hell was I thinking? Byers should have time alone with his lover without me hanging around. Langly, the third wheel. I looked on as John and Mel reveled in each other's company--they were so happy, they were practically glowing. I felt separate, alone, no longer a part of them. They were a couple, after all--and I was just a hanger-on, a sometimes plaything.

I hated feeling jealous, envious, possessive--feelings I had no right to be feeling. I hadn't felt like that in a long time, thought it was all behind me. But watching them together, I realized they had something I could never really share. I'd always be an outsider, no matter how much they tried to include me.

I was so lost in my self-pity I didn't know Scully had approached us, and was now standing alongside of me. My god, she's so tiny! It's hard to remember that--her presence is so large and dominating. She wrapped her slim arm around my waist and looked up at me with those bright blue eyes of hers, giving me another one of those broad smiles. "Mulder's right, Langly. The guys should have some time alone. You can always come back and visit this afternoon."

''Right, who wants a spare wheel hanging around?" I sulked, enjoying this pity trip to the fullest.

"Actually, Mulder and I have been looking everywhere for a spare wheel," she giggled. SCULLY? GIGGLING? And what an infectious giggle it was. "I think you'd fit the bill. What do you say, Mulder?"

Mulder just smirked. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"Really?" I asked, not sure what to make of all this. ME? Hanging out with Mulder and Scully? This was totally whacked out.

"Yeah, really. If you don't mind listening to Mulder talk about little green men all though the meal," she joked.

"Actually, they're grays," I corrected her, noting with some satisfaction Mulder's delighted laughter and Scully's notorious raised eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes heavenward and complained to no one in particular, "Great. Just what I need. TWO of them. What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"If you're really sure. . ." I hesitated.

"I'm sure. Now, let's go get something to eat, cutie," she said with a wink.

CUTIE? She hadn't called me cutie since Vegas. That decided it for me. "Well, I'm not one to turn down free food," I finally conceded, dropping the bouquet on the bed, and walking out of the room, still flanked by the two agents. I glanced over my shoulder; my last vision was of the lovebirds holding hands, deeply involved in some non-verbal dialog--lost in each other's eyes and smiles.

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

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

FROHIKE:

"How many, kid?"

"Two. And don't call me 'kid'. I hate that."

"I'll remember that. Not. Byers?"

"Um, two as well."

"Two to the handsome chap with the beard." Said chap blushed sweetly. "And dealer takes three."

I looked at my hand. Crap. It was always crap. I look around at the other players. Well, at least I wasn't doing as bad as John. He was down to just a little pile of M & M's. Langly meanwhile. . .

"I bid ten," he said with a sinister grin. The bastard.

"Fold!" I groused as I slammed my cards down. "You should do the same, Johnny."

"No, Fro--I think he's bluffing this time," Byers said with far too much confidence. Poor guy. He just doesn't learn. "I'll see your ten and raise you. . .ten more."

"Hmmmm. . .narc-boy thinks he's got something. Well, I think I can afford to play along," Langly smirked, looking at his huge mound of candy. "Ten. . .and twenty more."

John's smile was small and self-assured. "You're going down, Ringo. I'll see your. . ." He looked down to see only six lonely M & M's in front of him. "Oh, um. . .I seem to be a bit short. Mel?" he asked hopefully.

"Uh-uh, John. You still owe me a pound bag from the LAST game we played."

"But I can WIN this time, Mel," he whined.

"Read my lips, babe. NO FLIPPING WAY!"

"Yo, Byers. I'll spot ya," Ringo butted in, tossing the requisite candies into the pot. "So, whatchoo got?"

With a triumphant, "Read them and weep," John displayed his cards. "Two pair. Tens and queens."

I was already shaking my head ruefully, even before Langly laid down his hand. . .a full house. He cackled sadistically as he scooped up his loot. "Chirst's sake, Ringo, didn't you ever learn to be a gracious winner?" I grumbled.

"You kidding me? To the victor go the spoils, my friends," he retorted, scoffing up a half-dozen of the little chocolates.

"Nice attitude, Lord Jackhammer," I remarked.

"That's Manhammer, asswipe," he amended, snidely.

I waved him off. "Whatever."

"Someday, Ringo, I swear I'm going to beat you," Byers predicted.

"Yeah, right. Someday," he smirked. What a brat! Crunching on a few more pieces, he twisted the knife further by observing, "Man, Byers, if we had made this strip poker, we could have had you down to your boxers by now."

"Briefs," I corrected him.

"Boxers," Langly insisted.

"Briefs!" I persisted.

"Leopard print spandex thong," John enlightened us.

I groaned at that heavenly image my lover had just planted in my brain. This enforced celibacy was going to be the end of me. "Geez, babe, don't do that to me," I pleaded. "I'm dying over here, I'm so horny for you."

"Don't say that!" he reprimanded me. "You're not dying."

"It's just an expression, Byers," I commented, puzzled by his outburst.

John crossed his arms across his chest and huffed, "Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd use a different one in the future."

"Dude's just pissed I won all the M & M's again," Langly grinned, as he snatched up another candy from his pile.

"I have more to be concerned about than some damn candy, Richard," John snapped back.

The tension level in the room was suddenly oppressive. Langly just stared at me, his grayish-blue eyes wide and startled, and I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. John never snaps at us like that, and certainly not over anything as silly as an M & M or two. Something was bothering our friend, and I wanted to know what it was.

"Ringo, could you go get me some ice water, please? I'm kinda thirsty." He knew what I was really asking--we had been together too long not to read between each other's subtext and frankly, I think he was glad for the chance to make a break for it. He picked up the pitcher, gave my shoulder a quick squeeze, and practically fled the room.

Once we were alone, I turned back to my lover and asked him point-blank, "Okay, John. . .you gonna tell me what's up?"

He picked up the deck of cards and started shuffling them idly. "Up? What do you mean?"

I sighed heavily. I loved the man, I really did, but sometimes he could be very infuriating. "John, you never could lie very well. You've been quiet and withdrawn the last couple of days, more so than usual. And now you just snapped at me and Langly for no reason at all. What the hell's bugging you?"

He turned to me, his bright blue eyes on fire. "You want to know what's bugging me? Okay. You betrayed me, Frohike."

"Betrayed?" The word hit me in the gut like a roundhouse punch. "What? When?"

"You told me no story was worth dying for. You even made me swear to it. Then you go out and almost get yourself killed. I thought we had an understanding after that incident in Nebraska, at the military base--no more reckless risks." He stood up abruptly and started pacing. "How could you do something so stupid, so irresponsible. . .?"

"I'm sorry, but all I was thinking about was saving Scully, remember? I didn't do it for some damn story!"

He turned on me, "Isn't that the same thing, Frohike? What were we doing there anyway, huh? The only reason we went into that stupid warehouse in the first place was for a story."

"And thank God we did!" I shot back. "Would you rather have Scully in this bed? Or in the morgue? What about Mulder? Or Skinner?"

"Frohike?!? Are you even listening to me? This isn't about Mulder or Skinner or Scully. It's about you and me." He stormed back over to the bed and got his face right into mine. "Dammit, Frohike, I came this close to losing you! I went through hell that night. And then the next four days. . .not knowing if you would live or die. All I could do was watch over you, and pray. I felt so helpless, wondering how I could ever go on living without you. I can't take that again, Mel. I don't ever want to go through something like that again."

Actually, I was wondering when all of this was going to bubble to the surface. John had been too calm, too passive these past few days. He was way overdue for a boil-over, but even I had never seen Byers this angry before. "I'm sorry, John," I said again, feeling strange about having to apologize for getting shot, but knowing that it was what he needed to hear.

So I played my part, but he wasn't listening to me. He wandered over to the other side of the room, and just stared out the window. After a few moments he turned to face me, his arms folded across his chest. Taking a deep breath he announced, "Never again, Frohike. That's it. . .it's over."

Okay. This wasn't in the script. "You're dumping me?" I asked, fearfully.

He dropped his arms, and gave me a look Scully would have been proud of. "Not you, Frohike--the paper. All this espionage shit. We're getting out of the spy business."

"Byers. . ." I tried to pacify.

"No, Mel. Don't even try. I've thought about this a lot and I think it's time we make a break." His eyes drifted back to the window, and the setting sun casting a reddish pink glow across the sky. "I can't keep going from day to day, wondering if the next assignment will be the one that gets somebody killed. It's not like we're doing any good anyway. We should just pack up and move somewhere, together, where no one knows us, and no once cares. Just the two of us."

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" I questioned, softly. "What about Langly?"

He slipped his hands into his pants pockets, and leaned against the wall, refusing to look at me. "We can cut Langly free--we've only been holding him back, anyway."

That made me curious. "What makes you think that?"

"C'mon, Frohike. He's brilliant with computers. How many times has he told us he could be making a fortune in Silicone Valley if it wasn't for us?"

"And how many times has he actually made good on that threat?" I reminded him. "He's not our prisoner, John. In case you haven't noticed, Ringo's here because he wants to be here. Just like me. Just like you. We all believe in the dream."

He finally looked back at me, and the sadness in his eyes was profound. "I'm not even sure if I know what the dream is anymore."

"The innocent America we lost. The one that can live again, if we all work together," I repeated, knowing the mantra by heart. "A country where we can once again trust our elected officials and know that they're doing what's best for us all."

A wan grin crossed his face. "But it's not a dream, Mel. Can't you see that? It's a maze, and we keep going around like rats, just exactly where the Powers That Be want us. They give us just enough so we'll keep going, thinking we'll uncover the Big Lie someday. We've been doing this for years, and what have we really changed?"

"We're telling the truth. Truths that others are afraid to tell," I stated, adamantly. "We're providing the public with information that affects their lives. People are listening, John. I know they are."

He just shook his head sadly. "I'm not so sure, Mel. When we started doing this, I thought. . .I thought I could make a difference. But it's ten years later, and nothing's changed, except for the worse. Every step forward, we've fallen three steps back. I'm screaming, and no one's listening." Slumping against the wall, he sighed, "I'm so tired, Mel."

I was starting to get scared. Real scared. It wasn't unusual for one or more of us to get discouraged from a lack of progress in our chosen mission, but I had never seen Byers so low before. "John, love, you're just having a crisis of faith, that's all," I whispered, trying to convince myself as much as him. "It'll pass."

"No, I'm having a revelation. The three of us have been banging our heads against a brick wall for too long. It's time to put an end to this madness."

"Then they win," I proclaimed, flatly.

"I don't care anymore, Mel. I only care about you, and keeping you safe."

I had to laugh at that. "No one is safe, John. Hell, LIFE isn't safe. I could just as easily be laying here because of a car accident, or a heart attack, or getting electrocuted by one of my stupid contraptions."

"Mel, that's not the same thing, and you know it. You PUT yourself in a dangerous situation."

"For a friend, and I'm sorry about that, babe. It's not how I planned it, but I'd do it again if I had to."

His shoulders drooped. "I know, Mel. And you know I don't wish anything bad on Scully or the others."

"I know, hon. I know," I soothed.

"It's just. . .I'm just so. . ."

"I know. C'mere, babe," and I patted the bed beside me. He walked so dejectedly across the room, sitting gingerly on my bed. My heart cried out for the hurting man by my side. I took his hands in mine, and held on tight. "John Byers, you're a good man, with a caring heart, a pure heart. Can you honestly just walk away from everything you've worked so hard for? Turn your back on all those people? I know I can't. We're in this too deep. We know too much. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't tell as many people as I could everything I know. I can't stop. . .anymore than you could."

I wanted deperately to steal away the sadness that resided in his eyes, and protect the lost little boy my lover had suddenly become. "No--you're right. I can't quit, either," he admitted, reluctantly. "I'm just so scared, Mel. I don't want to lose you."

"Hey, you think I want to die? When I finally have something to live for?" I brought his hands up to my lips and tenderly kissed the palms of each before gazing into his eyes and sighing, "I love you, Johnny boy."

And through the gloom his smile shined so brightly. "I love you, too." I tugged on his hands, drawing him to me. His lips touched mine, and I tried to kiss away his fear.

"Knock. Knock." We looked up to see Langly standing in the doorway. He came over to the bed, and placed a pitcher of ice water down for me. "You guys better cool it. I just passed the nurse of Yucca Flats and she's heading this way to tell you visiting hours are over."

John leaned over and kissed me one last time, promising to be back first thing in the morning. I said my goodbyes, and watched sadly as he walked out the door. Langly was just about to follow him out when I called him over to the bed. "Hey, Ringo, c'mere."

He approached the bed. "Yeah?"

I reached up, grabbing him by the front of his RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE T-shirt, and pulling him down close to me--I didn't want to risk Byers overhearing what I was about to say. "Take care of him," I pleaded, a catch in my voice. "Please take care of John.. .you know. . .if something happens to me."

He seemed kind of shaken by my both my behavior and words. "Frohike," he laughed, nervously, "Nothing's gonna happen to you, man. You're gonna outlive all of us."

I wrapped my hand tighter in the shirt, emphasizing my point. "I'm serious, Richard. I worry about him. We think he's so strong, so sure, so dependable. But he's only human. And humans are fragile. And John is more fragile than any of us believe he is. He needs us."

Intelligent eyes stared at me through thick glass, and with a somber nod, he answered, "I know. I'll do my best. I promise." I released his shirt, and he hugged me to him, carefully, so as not to cause me any pain. Turning on his heel, he started walking out of the room when he suddenly put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out something. "Oh, man, almost forgot." Returning to the bed, he handed me a Palm-Buddy. "Don't you dare lose this--I made some special modifications. And make sure Nurse Ratchet doesn't get ahold of it."

I started to laugh. No-nonsense Nurse Reynolds, who DID bear an uncanny (and unfortunate) resemblance to Louise Fletcher, had already banned the laptop the guys had tried to smuggle into me, saying I needed my rest. "Langly, you're the best. I almost want to take back some of the things I've said about you." He leaned down and gave me another big hug and a kiss on the cheek, then scampered out after Byers. He really was a good kid.

Sometimes.

ONE WEEK LATER:

Well, after two weeks, I was getting ready to go home, with admittedly mixed emotions. My shooter was finally caught--Mulder had gone beyond the call of duty tracking him down. A street-level crystal meth dealer. Apparently we had ALL crashed a drug buy that was going sour. What happened to me could have happened to any one of us--in fact, it's a wonder I was the only one who had gotten hurt.

Kinda pissed me off that I almost died not trying to protect the world, but because some jack-off scumbag had upped the price of his merchandise. On the postive side, the little worm had spilled his guts, and the F.B.I.--with Mulder and Skinner heading the task force--were at this moment on their way to arrest his boss, one of the most notorious drug lords in the D.C. area.

It's nice to have friends in high places.

As for the bio-weapon, well, it DID exist. Unfortunately, Krycek had gotten to it first, and had already smuggled it out of the warehouse before the agents ever arrived that night. (Or at least that's the story Mulder was able to beat out of Rat Boy, once Fox finally got his hands on him.) It's a good bet the damn thing was already in the hands of the highest bidder.

Hey, you win some, you lose some.

I was sitting on the bed, tying up my boots, when Scully popped her lovely head in the door. "Getting ready to be sprung, huh?"

"Yup, and not a moment too soon. One more cup of tapioca pudding, and I was gonna start taking hostages." I picked up an elastic band I had put on the bed and started pulling my hair back in a little ponytail. "And you're heading back to work?"

"Yeah, Monday. Feels strange, after so much time off."

I knew she had taken a two week leave right after the shooting. ..in fact, Skinner had almost insisted on it. "Sorry you spent most of your time here in the hospital, Scully."

She shrugged. "It wasn't so bad. I really needed some time to myself, and I needed to make sure you were okay. Plus I got a lot of housecleaning done." Stepping into the room, she came and stood by the bed. Resting her right hand on the mattress next to me, she queried, "Langly stopped me outside and said you wanted to see me. Is something wrong?"

I ran my hands over my hair, smoothing what was left of it in place. "Not really. I just wanted to thank you for, well, what you did for me."

She shrugged again, her beautiful eyes lowering slightly. "It was just basic emergency first aid."

I reached out and wrapped my hand around hers, and told her, quietly, "No. That's not what I mean. I'm talking about what you did here--holding my hand. Staying with me. Talking to me."

Her eyes lifted, filled with surprise. "You heard me?" she asked, astonished.

Squeezing her hand tighter, I nodded, "Yeah. Just like an angel in the night. Calling to me. I woke up, only to find you."

She blushed a bit. She's so pretty when she does that. "Well, that's what friends do, right?"

Bringing her dainty hand up to my lips, I kissed it gently. "And I'm damned lucky to have a friend like you."

The blush deepened as she caressed my cheek then shyly pulled her hand away; it was pretty obvious she was uncomfortable with all this mushy stuff. Taking a steadying breath, she quickly composed herself and inquired, "So. . .um. . .is that all?"

"Well, no, not exactly. I also wanted to tell you I'm going to take you up on your offer."

Her right eyebrow raised in puzzlement. "What offer was that?"

"You said if I lived you'd show me your tattoo."

Her mouth dropped open in shock. "I said no such thing!" she exclaimed, indignantly.

"Oh, no, I'm sure you did." Placing my hand over the bandages that criss-cross my heart, I reminisced, dramatically, "When I was drifting on the wings of unconsciousness, between life and death, I heard you say you'd show it to me."

She crossed her arms across her chest and declared, "Frohike, you are so full of shit you could open up your own fertilizer plant!"

Waving my hand around distractedly, I rambled, "Sure, go ahead. Make promises to a dyin' man, then break your word. I didn't think you could be that cruel and heartless, Scully. I mean, all I did was take a bullet for you. No big deal."

The fire in those ice blue eyes could have put the flames of hell to shame. "Frohike, so help me God, if you ever mention this to ANYONE, I'll kill you myself!" With that, she turned her back to me, and pulled her shirttails out of her skirt, revealing her bare lower back. . .and THE tattoo.

I was stunned, and almost knocked speechless. "Wow! That is really. . .wow!"

"Are you done yet?" she asked, impatiently.

"This is gorgeous. A real work of art." I couldn't stop myself from running a finger lightly over the head of the ouroboros. "Quality craftsmanship. I'm very impressed."

Her head tilted to one side. "Gee, thank you," she replied, a touch of pride in her voice.

I gave her a playful slap on the butt. "And the tattoo's kinda nice, too," I added, gleefully.

She yanked her shirt down furiously and spun around to face me. "Frohike!" she scolded.

Hot damn, she is so angry when she's beautiful! "Thanks, Scully.. .I'll treasure the memory always. It was almost worth getting shot for."

Her eyes bore into me as she frantically tried to tuck her shirt in, and fairly growled, "You are incorrigible."

Giving her my most innocent face, I asked, "Is that the same as loveable?"

"Not even close," she grumbled; all smoothed down and presentable, she headed for the door.

"Oh, Scully?" I called out to her retreating form.

She spun back to look at me, her eyes dark and murderous. "What?"

"Wanna see my scar?" I asked, lifting up the bottom of my shirt.

"OOMMPPHH!!" she blustered, and stormed out to the music of my laughter. Jesus, she is SO gonna kick my ass!

Byers was coming in just as she was flouncing out; she crashed into him in her haste and didn't even bother to apologize. My lover took one look at me and demanded, "Frohike, what did you do to Agent Scully?"

Still trying to play it innocent, I told him the truth. "Nothing really. Just playing a little show and tell."

He closed his eyes against the pain. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not. You'd never believe me anyway." I stood up and grabbed the new leather jacket that was lying on the foot of my bed, the one my friends had all chipped in for to replace the one that got ruined in the warehouse. Slipping it on, admiring the perfect fit, I did a little model's turn for John. "So, how do I look?"

Langly took that moment to come barging in like a bull in a china shop. "Like roadkill," he stated.

"No one asked you, furball," I groused.

"Actually, you look like a miracle to me," John whispered, the tears sparkling in his eyes.

"Jesus, John. . .you raise mush to a whole new level," I joked around the lump forming in my throat.

A smile on his face, he stepped forward and carefully wrapped his arms around me for the first time in a fortnight. I hugged him close to me as I felt my own eyes tearing up. My God, I can't believe I had almost lost this forever. And then he was kissing me, the way that John kisses me--tenderly, sweetly, lovingly, his lips soft and hot and magical--and I was whole and complete once more. He pulled me in tighter, the kiss becoming deeper, more passionate, his mouth claiming mine, reminding me I was his, giving me back my life, my soul.

The perfect reunion was ruined though with a disgusted snort from the Peanut Gallery. "Awww, Jesus! Am I going to have to hose you two down?"

I reluctantly pulled away from John's luscious lips to glower at our partner. "Jealous?"

"Hardly," he responded in a way both infinitely bored and supremely sarcastic. That boy has such an attitude problem.

"Will you get over here, brat?" He loped over, in that slouching sulky way of his. There wasn't anger or jealousy in his eyes, but curiosity, and a challenge--sorta like, 'What are ya' gonna do, old man?' Well, I showed him what I was going to do. I snaked my hand around his neck and pulled him in for a proper kiss of his own.

Instantly his long gangly arms encircled me and a soft sob reverberated in his throat. Bold lips crushed themselves to mine, and I eagerly opened my mouth, allowing him to plunder at will, his kiss insistent and demanding and terrified. And as I held the trembling man in my arms, only then did I realize just what our young friend had been though the past couple of weeks himself.

Ringo's not one to show his emotions, hiding them behind a wall of sardonic wit and nasty comments, and sometimes it's hard to remember that he can feel things as deeply, if not more so, then the rest of us. The young man kissing me was terribly confused: scared and relieved, mad and happy, wracked with grief and euphorically joyous.

And he was more loved than he would ever know.

When he had all but taken my breath away, he broke the kiss, looking almost embarrassed over the display. Running my fingers lightly through his hair, I murmured, "Better?"

He held me tightly but carefully, as he bent down and laid his head on my shoulder. "Oh, yeah," he mewed contentedly as I placed some butterfly kisses against his temple. "Much better. But don't you DARE do that to us again, Mel."

I glanced at John standing behind Ringo and smiled. "Don't worry, kid. I've already gotten that lecture once. And I learned my lesson."

"I thought I told you--don't call me 'kid'," he grouched.

Byers stepped forward before I could lob a verbal volley, and wrapped his arms around us both, hugging us all close to him. The Three Musketeers (or The Three Stooges, depending who you talk to), together again. To think I almost lost all this. Exasperating and endearing Langly. Noble and loving Byers. My friends. My partners. My lovers. My life.

John leaned over Ringo and gave me a small kiss on the cheek. "What you boys say we head on home?" he asked with a smile.

"Amen to that," I agreed, happily.

Langly pulled out of our little huddle, saying, "Be right back." Before I could ask John where he may have gone, he returned with a wheelchair and announced, "Your chariot awaits, Caesar."

I shook my head adamantly. "Uh-uh. . .no fucking way."

"Hospital rules, Mel," John explained, patiently.

"I'm not getting in that thing," I replied, stubbornly. "I can walk out of here on my own."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice, hon," John insisted. "The hospital doesn't want to get sued if you fall on the way out."

Langly couldn't help throwing in his two cents. "Yeah, Frohike, so just sit yer lazy ass in the damn thing. I wanna go home."

Home. Oh, God, that sounded so good--even if it meant the embarrassment of riding in one of those contraptions. Tugging on John's tie and reeling my lover in for a quick kiss, I conceded defeat. "Okay, you boys win." I took my seat and sighed, "Take me home."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw John heave my overnight bag over his shoulder; falling into step beside us he smiled and said, "Thought you'd never ask."

THAT NIGHT:

"I can't believe they had to shave your chest," he whined, the distinct echo of disappointment ringing in the words.

"Well, they didn't have much of a choice," I sighed sadly, as his hand continued to rub tiny soothing circles over my clean-shaven chest and carefully around my bandages. I really wasn't looking forward to showing him the wound in the morning when it came time to change the dressing. . .maybe I could get Scully to come over and do it for me? Nah. She was gonna need a while to cool down after that little stunt I pulled in the hospital.

"I miss it," he all but whimpered, the hand continuing to caress me, as if he hoped he could magically make it re-appear.

"Me, too. But it'll grow back." Man, I felt positively naked without all that fur, but it was so good to have John in my bed again, even if I was 'out of commission' until further notice. The doctors didn't want me stressing myself too quickly, so, for now, fooling around was a big no-no. I had to practically beg John to stay with me--he was worried the temptation would be too great for us and wanted to sleep in his own bed. But as I explained to him, we had gone over eight years without any nookie. A few nights wouldn't be the end of the world. And besides, the cuddling would be really nice.

"Are you sure?" he persisted, still rubbing my torso. I could really get to like this.

"Sure I'm sure," I assured him. "And heck, if it doesn't, we can always cut off Langly's hair and glue it on."

That got a guffaw out of him, and a disgruntled, "I heard that!" from the doorway. John and I both glanced up to see a disheveled Langly standing in the doorway, clothed in baggy boxers and a rumbled ripped Psychedelic Furs tee-shirt.

"What are you still doing up, Ringo?" John asked, concerned. "You went to bed hours ago."

"I couldn't sleep," came the muffled reply as he tried to speak around a humongous yawn.

"Oh, and I suppose that means you want to join us?" I grumbled, playfully.

Langly didn't even give me a chance to pull back the covers before he managed to scoot into the bed. Long legs entwined with mine and he practically molded his body to my side, much like a cat, as his head fell heavily on my shoulder. "Glad your home," he mumbled, kissed me on the cheek and he was out like a light.

From my left side Byers chuckled, "How the hell does he do that?"

"I have no idea. He's one of a kind, that's for sure."

"He certainly is," John readily agreed. "He missed you, you know."

Tilting my head towards the slumbering Ringo I replied, "Gee, you think?"

My lover reached across me and gently ran his hand down Langly's hair. "He didn't talk about it much while you were in the hospital. I think he was afraid of upsetting or overburdening me. But I knew he was hurting--the fact he WASN'T talking told me that. I tried to make time for him, but it was hard because I was so worried about you. It was like I didn't have the energy for anything else. Sometimes I wasn't sure if I could keep going on, and he'd suddenly appear to crack a little joke or surprise me with some ice cream or a candy bar."

"Good to know you ate healthy," I teased.

"No, he made sure I ate real food, too, even when I didn't want to. He was so good to me, Mel--just being there when I needed him most. A real friend." With one last stroke down Ringo's silky mane, he sighed, "I don't know what I would have done without him."

"And you just wanted to cut him loose," I reminded him, gently.

He flushed. "Did I really say that?" he asked, ashamed.

I leaned over as far as I could without disturbing Langly, and gave John's lips a quick kiss. "You were scared, hon, and lost for a while. I know. I've been there. I knew you didn't mean it, that when things got back to normal you'd change your mind."

That earned me a grin. "Normal? When has anything ever been normal between us?"

"Oh, I don't know." I kissed Langly on the top of his head--he made a happy gurgle sound in his sleep. "This seems pretty normal to me."

John's chuckling was music to my ears. God, how I missed that sound. He snuggled against me, and rested his head on my other shoulder. "Mel. . .about the paper. . .?"

"What is it, babe?"

"Well, we ended up missing a couple of issues when you were in the hospital. I didn't want to--but Ringo and I just couldn't pull it together to get them out. We sent out letters to our subscribers, to let them know. They were pretty understanding--in fact, you have a bunch of 'get well' e-mails waiting for you."

"Awww, that's nice," I said, feeling strangely touched by our readership's concern.

"Anyway, I was just thinking that we really should make it up to them somehow. Maybe with a knock-'em dead front page story this week."

I just looked down at my lover--his bright eyes shone in the dimmed light of the bed lamp. "So the paper's still in operation, huh?" I questioned. After our discussion that day in the hospital, when John had talked about chucking everything, we didn't broach the subject again. Apparently, though, it was never far from John's thoughts.

A little sheepish smile crossed his handsome face. "As if I could give it up. You know me better than I know myself."

"After ten years I should hope so," I told him, confidently.

"So, any ideas for the lead?" he prompted.

"Well, we COULD go with positive proof that miracles exist."

He shifted beside me, sitting up higher in the bed. "You mean the fact that you're here, alive? Did you have an out of body experience or come back from the dead or something like that?" he asked, excitedly. "What kind of proof do you have?"

"Actually, I was thinking of Scully's tattoo," I confessed.

I'm still surprised his groan didn't wake up Langly. "Frohike, I'm serious."

"Hey, so am I. YOU didn't see it! And if we could get a picture of it--instant Pulitzer."

He just laughed. Have I ever said how much I love his laughter? "Mel, you're hopeless."

"Eh, tell me something I don't know."

"Hmmm. . .how about 'I love you'?" he asked silkily, as his lips nuzzled against my neck.

I purred and melted into his touch. "Nope. I already knew that, too."

Oh, man--he found that little spot behind my ear that drives me crazy. "What about that I adore you? I worship you? I. . .?"

"Aye-yi-yi!" He had started nibbling on that little spot like a tasty tidbit. "You know, babe, I'm starting to wonder if having you in my bed tonight WAS such a great idea after all."

He released a disappointed sigh and pulled away. "You know, you're right. We should save this until you're better. Besides, we wouldn't want to wake Langly."

I looked down at the slumbering young man; he was now sprawled over my entire body, covering me like a quilt and drooling on my shoulder. Shaking my head I proclaimed, "John, a UFO landing in this bedroom couldn't wake Langly."

Scrunching back down beside me, John mumbled, "Maybe Ringo's got the right idea. We should get some sleep--you really need to save up your strength."

"Hmmm, and why's that?" I murmured as I pulled him close to me.

John snuggled against me and announced, "Because I guarantee that once your doctor gives you a clean bill of health, we won't be leaving this bed for a week!"

"Oh, baby," I groaned, the frustration already mounting. "I can hardly wait."

MONDAY MORNING

SCULLY:

What a weekend! The bust had gone down like a fine wine--Mulder and Skinner were the heroes of the moment, bringing down Gomez and his drug empire in a single raid. The whole city was talking about it, and it was garnering national attention as well. This was a big boost for the F.B.I., and frankly, it couldn't have happened to a better agent. After years of abuse and ridicule, Mulder was finally getting the recognition and accolades he deserved. I wished I could have been in with him on it, but I must admit that he and the A.D. had worked well together--well enough that I had joked with Mulder I was probably going to be replaced as his partner. (But he quickly assured me that I was irreplaceable. The flirt!) It was almost worth the fact that we had lost the bio-weapon to Krycek and his dirty buyers.

Almost.

I arrived at the Hoover Building late, knowing that little work would be getting done on the X-Files for the next few days at least. Mulder was basking in his 15 minutes of fame, as he was wanted for exclusive interviews by half the papers in the country--not to mention quite a few talk shows as well. Skinner, meanwhile, was busy with the administrative aspect of wrapping up the case, and making sure to supply the courts with enough evidence to keep Gomez behind bars for a long, LONG time.

Of course the excitement of the arrest was tempered by the fact that the dealer who had sold out his boss--the fucker who had shot Frohike in the first place--was turning state's evidence. Not only was the bastard going to get off scot free, but he was also receiving federal protection at a cost to the taxpayers. It just wasn't fair sometimes, and it sickened me to know that deals like this were made every day in the name of justice. But there wasn't much I could do about it--it was an evil necessity in our quest to uphold the law.

As I opened the door to our office, I was surprised to be greeted with a basket of flowers on the desk, a beautiful, tasteful bouquet of roses, orchids, and assorted colorful buds. I gave a laugh--they had to be from Frohike, probably apologizing for that obnoxious display back at the hospital. (VERY obnoxious, even for him.) Or perhaps thanking me once more for saving his life, even though all I really did was keep him stabilized until the medics arrived. He could be so sweet sometimes.

I hung up my coat and started brewing up a pot of coffee before I sat down in Mulder's chair and lifted the little card from its nesting place. And in the lonely quiet of that basement office, the prose on that tiny card brought tears to my eyes:

Dana,
I never believed in angels until you came into our lives. Thank you for giving back to us what was almost lost. You have my eternal gratitude. . .
Love,
Ringo
P.S. Are you free for breakfast tomorrow?

Ever since I was a little girl, I have been told--by the church, by my parents, by my teachers-- that God has a master plan, and each of us was put on this planet with a purpose, a part to play in that plan. Many times over the years I've had reason to question whether I chose the right path in my life, deciding to join the FBI instead of dedicating my life to medicine. How many lives could I have saved if I had become a doctor? How much good had I really done in my chosen profession?

But now I found myself reflecting back to that night two weeks ago, and the forces of nature that had brought all of us together in that one spot at exactly that moment in time. So many variables had to occur simultaneously for the events of that night to transpire the way they had, far too many for them to have happened randomly. Mulder's tip, Skinner's concern that sent him searching after us, the Gunmen waiting there for their source--all of us drawn to that single location for one reason or another.

And the variables continued. If Frohike hadn't been there, I may have been killed. Without my medical training, Frohike could have died. Was that why God put me here on this planet? Was that my purpose--to save Frohike's life on that night? Or perhaps, was it his purpose to save mine?

We'll never know. That's also part of God's plan--to keep us guessing, to keep us believing. All He'll allow us is the trust to put ourselves in His hands, and the faith that He knows what He's doing.

Seven year ago, destiny brought Fox Mulder into my life. Mulder in turn introduced me to Byers, Langly, and Frohike. At the time, who could have foreseen that on one terrifying, unforgettable night, our fates would become entwined, our lives inseparable. The Gunmen will forever owe me, as I will always owe them. Not just for my life, but for three friendships that mean more to me than I could have ever imagined. And as I reached for the phone to take Ringo up on his offer, I felt a smile cross my face.

Perhaps God's plan was a pretty good one after all.

THE END

Archived: September 15, 2001

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