~~~~ October 13, 1996 ~~~~ The streets were black and slick with rain, oncoming headlights cutting through the gloomy night and nearly blinding her as Scully waited to make a left turn into the tiny parking lot. Finally there was a break in traffic large enough for her to squeeze her Corolla through, and she took the only space left, the one farthest from the door. Large, fat drops plopped onto the back of her hand as she hurried into the wine store. The crowded lot had yielded only two other customers, an older man with a bushy gray beard and a sweater vest, and a younger man with a fresh haircut and wire-rimmed glasses. They both glanced up at her as she came through the door on a gust of wind-swept rain, and then turned their attention back to the wine racks. Behind the counter, a man smoked pipe tobacco and read the newspaper. A blob of gray cat sat next to him, its eyes shut and its mouth turned up in a satisfied smile. The floor was concrete, with traces of sawdust near some of the wine racks. Scully wandered among the narrow aisles and studied her many choices. Stooping low, she found some overlooked Burgundy from 1987. She touched a fine layer of dust that had gathered on one particularly old bottle. Just pick one, she said to herself. Usually it did not take her twenty minutes in the store to decide on a bottle of wine. But here, making a selection was tantamount to saying she was going to the party. She had the Burgundy in hand when she hesitated again near the register. It's either this or go home alone, she thought. Three nights running, she had awakened in a cold sweat, muttering German and trying to rub away the shooting pain between her eyes. The cat began licking its paw as the clerk rung up Sculy's purchase. At the last moment, she added a tall gift bag with a Harlequin pattern on it. "Special occasion?" the man asked as he took her credit card. "Mmm," she said, not really wanting to elaborate. She still couldn't quite believe she was going. Twenty minutes later, however, she was underground at the Gunmen's self-made bunker, ringing their bell and staring into the video camera lens. She didn't hear anything on the other side, but since they had a bank vault for a door, this wasn't too surprising. The vault swung open and a thin man with thick glasses stood there with a beer in his hand. "Whoa," he said, as rock music blasted from behind him. The room was dark but lit with a black light, making the label on his beer glow an eerie white. "Who is it?" Mulder stumbled into the frame from stage left. His work shirt and tie had disappeared and in their place he sported a black T-shirt that read, "Party Animal." Scully let her eyes follow the claw markings down his chest to the rim of his knees. "It's you," he said, sounding pleased as he took over the doorway. This was when she noticed he wore a leopard-print, cone-shaped party hat. "I didn't know you were coming." "Frohike invited me." She cradled the wrapped wine against her middle and resisted the natural inclination to grip it by the neck. "Well, come in, come in." He touched her arm as she passed by into the lair. She shuffled a few steps and stopped, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the low light. The place smelled of pizza, alcohol and at least one cigar. She gasped when Mulder's hands closed over her shoulders. "Let me take your coat," he said as his warm fingers brushed against either side of her bare neck. She turned and held the bottle. "Where should I...?" "Over there on the table." As she worked her way through the bodies, she wondered if Mulder knew all of these people, and if he did, why they had never come up in conversation. A guy with a goatee and a shirt that read, "Live Funk or Die," nodded at her in passing and she clutched her wine a little closer. Byers tended the punch bowl in his ubiquitous brown suit. "Agent Scully," he said with a broad smile. "How delighted we are that you could come. Help yourself to some pizza." She cast her gaze at the boxes lined up like hopscotch squares and despaired of finding a single vegetable under their greasy lids. "Wow, you brought the good stuff," Byers remarked as he drew the wine from its colorful sheath. "I didn't realize there was going to be so many people here..." Just as she said the words, someone jostled her from behind. She lurched forward into the table, but Mulder materialized to catch her elbow. "No table surfing this early in the evening, Scully," he murmured near her ear as he set her on her feet again. "Who are all these people, Mulder?" "Lovers and other strangers," he replied, taking a sip from a red plastic cup. At her widened eyes, he grinned. "I don't know half of them," he said as a young woman with black, stringy hair, a leather bustier, and a lot of eye makeup appeared at his side. She braced herself heavily on Mulder's arm as she stretched across in front of them to select a glass of punch. "Thanks, Johnny," she said to Byers, and blew him a silent kiss before washing like the tide back into the sea of bodies. "Angela does our graphics," Byers explained. "And our fake IDs," Langley said as he wedged between Mulder and Scully to get to the pizza. "You boys all look over twenty-one to me," Mulder said, a teasing glint in his eye. "But do I look like security at the Hubert Humphrey Building?" Langley replied over the music, and Byers looked at the ground. Langley nudged Mulder in the ribs. "It's your go, birthday boy. You're holding us all up." Mulder finished the rest of his drink and wiped his mouth on his bare arm. "I'll be right there." He grabbed a pizza box with one hand and her with the other. "Come on," he hollered, tugging her through the main room towards the back. She followed, stiff and squinting against the crowd and the noise. When she saw they were heading for a large black curtain, she braced herself for what sort of illegal activity might be lurking on the other side. Up close, the curtain was actually a green army blanket that had been hung with nails over the doorway. Mulder shoved it aside and urged her into the room ahead of him. There was a pool table with balls scattered across it. "Sweet holy Moses, it's Scully!" Frohike jumped down from his stool with a pool cue in hand. He shooed some other guy from his perch. "Get off of there, Sheff. The lady always gets the one that doesn't wobble." "As if there's ever been a woman back here before," Sheff grumbled as he moved. He wore a bowler hat and over-large smoking jacket. "She's on my team," Mulder declared from behind her. "Mulder, I haven't played since college, and I wasn't very good back then." He bent low, so close she could smell the beer on his breath. "That was before years of FBI target training." Scully was dubious. By his logic, she should be allowed to pull out her SIG and shoot the balls into their pockets. This would be a version of the game she could handle. "We'll just rack 'em up again," Frohike said, laying his cue aside. "Sure, start over," Mulder agreed. "I'm already kicking your collective asses in this one." "It's not good manners to humiliate the birthday boy," Frohike shot back. "Oh yeah? What's this then?" Mulder gestured at his odd hat and gaudy T-shirt. "The only present you're gonna get." Frohike removed the rack from around the balls and stepped back to retrieve his cue. "Just to show you how sportsmanlike I am, you can break." "Suit yourself," Mulder said. He turned to Scully. "Hold the pizza." She stood there with the box in hand while Mulder stretched himself across one end of the table. A sharp crack later, and the balls tumbled and caromed over the green felt. "Scully and I'll be solids," he said, sinking an easy one. Langley looked at Frohike in disgust. "At least we don't play him for money any more." "Chicken?" Mulder asked as he banked a shot off the far right corner and the ball dropped into the nearest pocket. "You know, if she's on your team, you have to let her take a shot," Langley said. "Sure," Mulder said easily, extending the cue to her. She set the pizza on top of a stool and reluctantly took up the slim wooden stick. It was practically as tall as she was. The remaining balls all seemed impossible to sink, either ensnared in the corner or nestled among their striped counterparts. "Did I mention Scully was a physics major?" Mulder asked innocently as she studied the table. "If she's a ringer too, I'm out of here," Sheff replied. "There's a difference in theory and practice," Scully told him. She took a deep breath and bent over the table. "Don't hold it so tight," Mulder said as he came up behind her. "Keep your left hand loose, see?" He reached down and tickled her palm to slacken her grip on the cue. The motion pressed his hips into her backside, and she winced as her caught her squarely across the giant bruise she had hidden under her pantsuit. Mulder caught her sharp inhale and backed off immediately. "Sorry," he said. "You okay?" She nodded, feeling exposed and embarrassed. "Just sore," she muttered for his ears only. Gerry Schnauz hadn't hurt her much, but the hard tumble onto the parking lot concrete when he'd knocked her out had left her with a nasty bruise and a sizable lump on her head. Mulder rubbed her non-tender hip in a subtle, affectionate gesture of understanding. "Just line yourself up with the shot," he said. "Keep your elbow loose and try to catch the ball on the left side." She bent down again and closed one eye. The balls loomed large from this angle. She tested the shot twice, gently pulling the smooth cue between her fingers before finally letting it tap the white ball. It snapped forward and nudged her target ball in the right direction, but it stopped short of dropping into the pocket. "Ah ha!" Frohike declared as Scully straightened again. "Our turn." "Sorry, Mulder." His hand closed over hers as she tried to give the cue back to him. He squeezed. "This way we get to eat pizza," he said, and stood the cue up against the wall. The slice he handed her was lukewarm but the sauce was spicy, and God be praised, it at least contained red and green peppers. "Where did you learn to play pool so well?" she asked him as they stood on opposite sides of the pizza box. "Pub crawling in London. A bunch of us would go out after classes, and the losing team always had to buy the next round -- I quickly found out how expensive it was to be a loser." In the end, her ineptitude was not enough to overcome his skill, and the Mulder/Scully team beat the geeks three games in a row. As the hour grew later and people started to leave, someone turned the house lights up and Byers opened the wine that Scully had brought. "Sorry about the stemware," he said as he handed her a plastic cup. Frohike was showing Mulder his latest video game, something that involved running around inside the earth and shooting lava monsters. They offered her a turn, but she settled with her wine on one side of the couch and contented herself with watching. Between the party hat on his head and his chortles as he made lava men disintegrate, Mulder resembled an over- grown child. He sat cross-legged in front of the TV, his cone hat blocking her view. She smiled and laid her head down on her arm. Her eyes must have been closed because she heard voices but the faces were gone. "Apparently our hosting skills have fallen farther than we'd thought." "Should we wake her?" "Let her be." This was Mulder. Not sleeping, Scully protested, but somehow the words stayed in her head. She drifted in this nebulous state, feeling movement around her and bits of phrases that incorporated themselves into her dream woven narrative. "We took the P600 from the Hewlett-Packard model and spliced it into pepperoni leftovers." "I hate pepperoni." "The original song was like a lame version of Gilligan's Island." In her mind, she pictured Mulder in a fisherman's cap and a red sweater. Get us off the island, little buddy. She felt cold all of a sudden. Did someone open the door? "Hey." A gentle touch on her arm made her start and open her eyes. Mulder knelt in front of her. His hat was gone and he wore his overcoat. He smiled at her with infinite kindness as she stretched and righted herself. "Time to go home," he said, laying her heavy wool coat over her lap. "Do we have to?" She looked around and saw the party had ended totally. The long table had been folded away, and she caught a glimpse of Byers in an apron washing dishes in the galley kitchen. "We don't have to go home, but we can't stay here," Mulder said as he tugged her to her feet. "The guys are getting ready for bed, and rumor has it Langley sleeps in the nude." She shuddered and put on her coat. "Best hurry then," she agreed. "We're out of here!" Mulder shouted. "Thanks for the gala!" Byers poked his head out of the kitchen. "Many happy returns, Mulder." Frohike emerged from the back wearing pajamas and a nightcap. "Aw, what'd you wake her up for?" he said. "I thought she was spending the night with us." "Good night, Frohike," Scully said, and Mulder steered her toward the door. "I cleared out space in my bunk and everything!" Frohike yelled after them. Outside, the rain had stopped but the cold night air was still saturated with moisture. Scully hunched her shoulders let Mulder cut the wind with his larger frame. "If you really don't want to go home yet," he said, "I know something else we can do." His words misted in the air, hanging between them for a suggestive moment before vanishing in a rising curl of steam. He had his hands in his pockets, his hair on-end and his cheeks were ruddy from the wine and wind. She wondered if this was how he'd looked a dozen years younger, slouching around outside some London pub. "It's three in the morning," she said. "What's there to do at this hour?" "It's just down the street," he answered, nodding in the appropriate direction. "We can go in my car." Rain had beaded on his roof and she touched her finger to it while waiting for him to unlock the doors. She rejoined the drops with a swirl of her finger, the bits of water clinging to one another until they became a tiny wave that slipped over the edge to trail down the window. Inside, Mulder turned the heat up to a roar and she held her fingers over the vents as he navigated the quiet street. Most of the buildings were dark, save for a few illuminated business signs. She didn't see a soul walking about. When the car slowed, she looked up to see where he was taking them. "IHOP?" she asked as he pulled into the lot. "Where else are you going to get pancakes at three a.m.?" There was an eighteen-wheeler parked near the chain-link fence at the back, and a few other scattered cars. Mulder stopped them under the branches of a low-flying tree, its limbs bending and swaying in the wind. "I haven't been in one of these in years," Mulder said as he held the door for her. "I drive past this one all the time, but I've never stopped here." "You went pub crawling, I went here," she said as they took an orange booth. Her hip gave a twinge of pain when she slid across the bench seat, but she ignored it. "You were an IHOP groupie?" Mulder asked her from behind a plastic menu. "We would bring our study books and drink their never-ending coffee. The only drawback was the waitress smoked like a chimney. I remember she had breasts that practically bumped the counter and this bright blue eye shadow. Never kicked us out, though, despite the fact that we couldn't really leave her a big tip." Their waitperson for the night turned out to be a male named Steve, or so the gold pin on his shirt labeled him. He had apparently lost fifty percent of his hair and one hundred percent of his interest in the job. He chewed gum and barely looked at them as they made their selections. Mulder opted for pancakes, and Scully ordered the French toast. "So," she said when their coffee appeared. "Was it a good birthday?" He checked his watch. "I guess it's officially over, huh? I have to be thirty-five now." "Beats the alternative," she said as she turned the mug around in her fingers, warming them. "You know, I remember on her sixth birthday, Samantha came downstairs and told all of us she wasn't going to be six. She liked five so much, she decided she just wanted to stay there. Dad said, 'So then you want us to cancel the party and the cake?' And of course she didn't. She wanted the party and the presents, but instead of six, she just wanted to turn five again." "So what happened?" "Mom convinced her that if she was turning five again, we'd just have to rewrap her presents from last year. She decided six was okay in a big hurry after that." He shook his head. "God, she'd be, what now? I guess thirty-one next month. It's hard to imagine." "I know what you mean." Off his look, she said, "Melissa used to drive me crazy when we were kids because she was always the older one. She got to go to school first, she got to stay up later, she wore make-up and went on dates and all that stuff before I ever did. I remember I used to think that I could catch up, but she said no, she was always, *always* going to be the older sister. Oh, I just wanted to kick her in the shins when she said that." She took a breath and leaned back in the booth. "Well, next year I'll be as old as she was when she died. In all likelihood, I'm going to end up the older sister. Isn't that odd? I can't fathom it. Even when we didn't speak all that often, I knew she was still out there, living ahead of me in time. I never realized how much comfort the idea gave me until she wasn't here anymore." Mulder reached across the table and briefly squeezed her hand. They parted when Steve returned with their food. "Pancakes are one of nature's most perfect foods," Mulder said as he poured syrup over the top of his stack. "They're warm and fluffy and you put liquid sugar on them. Plus, they're round. Round food is always best." She raised her eyebrows. "I had no idea you were particular about the shape of your food." "I think round food feels better in your stomach. Maybe I'll write a book -- the Round Food Diet. For breakfast you can alternate between pancakes and Cheerios. Oh, and eggs. They're almost round, right?" "Mulder, you're nuts." "Nuts! See, another round-ish food. They can also go in the book." He eyed her plate. "Are you going to eat all that bacon?" He had shared enough meals with her to know the answer was "no." She liked bacon, but it was so unbelievably bad for you that she rationed herself to just 2 strips. As he reached for her plate, she pulled it back. "Bacon's not round, Mulder." He lifted up from the seat enough to reach her. "No, but the pig was," he said as he chomped down on the crunchy strip. They ate and chatted for nearly an hour, when she started yawning again. She gave Steve an overly-generous five dollar tip to make up for all the times she'd had to stiff Beverly back in the day. Mulder dropped her off back near the Gunmen's place, and got out with her when she went to her car. She unlocked it and turned around one last time. "Happy birthday, Mulder," she said, tugging affectionately on the end of his sleeve. He cupped the sides of her head and for a breathless moment she thought he might kiss her. But his lips settled low on her forehead and between her eyes, right where Schnauz had touched, right where he'd said the howlers lived inside her. "Thank you," Mulder whispered before his mouth touched her skin. She closed her eyes and smelled the wet wool from his coat. He pressed a lingering kiss to her head and then dropped away. Later in bed, she touched the spot again, as she had for several nights in a row, probing for something she couldn't name. She pulled the covers up to her chin, shut her eyes against the arriving dawn, and slept. ~~~~~~ syn_tax6@yahoo.com